Marrying Miss Kringle: Nick

Prologue

PROLOGUE

NICK

I pace across the worn yet cozy rug in the family room, my thoughts spinning faster than the snowflakes outside the frosted windows of our ice castle at the North Pole. The wooden walls and cheery fireplace usually fill me with comfort, but today, a sense of unease prickles beneath my skin.

Gail and Harvey Kringle settle into their rockers by the hearth. This year, they are fully retiring as Santa and Mrs. Clause. Ginger Kringle and her husband Joseph have been doing the Christmas Eve ride as long as I’ve been part of Christmas’s most famous and most secretive family, with Gail and Harvey filling in as needed. You’d think Santa wouldn’t need a fill-in, but Ginger and Joseph wanted a family, and sometimes a mom needs a minute and can’t do the reindeer inspection at Reindeer Wrangler Ranch or doesn’t have time to be in the Macey’s Day Parade .

Robyn, the oldest Kringle and my sister-in-law, and Gabe, my brother, cozy up on chairs near the buffet table laden with Robyn’s famous Italian pastries. Robyn runs the kitchen and is over all the goodies Santa uses to fill stockings. She’s finally out of her random-flavored candy cane stage and has moved into a flavors from around the world stage. The sight of her baked goods would normally set my mouth watering, but my stomach twists with too much anxiety to even consider eating.

I glance over at Ginger, A.K.A. Santa, and Joseph, her husband, nestled together on the sofa, hands intertwined. A pang shoots through me at the sight of their easy affection. I want that with someone, though I have no idea how that could ever happen, considering I’m an orphan/slightly magical Christmas being.

Ginger is wearing a red velvet dress trimmed in white fur. She’s all Christmas all year long. Joseph is wearing one of his lumberjack outfits, a plaid flannel and jeans. He runs the world’s largest chainsaw carving business and used to hang out in the wood shop all the time. He’s warmed up to the family and has a more balanced approach to life.

I miss their daughter, Layla, fiercely. She was the only teenager at the North Pole when I hitched a ride up here on the Christmas Eve when Gabe married Robyn. Which meant she was my only friend for a couple of years. Eventually, more kids showed up, but they were so young that I was more of a babysitter than a friend. It’s gotten better as they’ve grown, and I consider them all friends. Layla’s the only one who has ever felt like a sister, though .

Stella, wearing knee-high patent leather boots, perches on the coffee table’s edge while Lux sits in a high-backed chair, laptop open and glasses nudging into her massively curly auburn hair. In the corner, Frost and Tannon pore over Santa letters in the corner, Frost seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from each crayon word despite tipping her ear this way to follow the conversation.

My gaze darts to the far wall where Hazel, Rye, and their cousin Oliver lean - the rest of my sprawling family is either busy with homeschooling or bustling about the ice castle that has expanded over the years to house our growing numbers and ever-evolving interests. The love suffusing these walls used to practically burst from the seams...but lately, something feels off.

And deep down, I suspect it’s my fault.

After all, I’m not a true Kringle—just the orphaned tag-along little brother Ginger’s husband brought into the fold. Christmas Magic may allow me to live here, but it has never fully accepted me. The lack of a shimmering tinsel tattoo on my wrist, the mark branding all-natural and adopted Kringle grandchildren, makes that painfully clear.

I’m not a grandchild, though. I’m somewhere in the age gap between the five magical sisters and their offspring. But the crisp letter clutched in Harvey’s weathered hand could change everything. I swallow hard, trying to tamp down the fragile hope fluttering in my chest.

Gail’s gentle smile settles on her husband as she nudges him. “Read the letter out loud, dear.”

Harvey blinks in surprise. “I thought I was. ”

Shaking her head fondly, Gail waits as Harvey shifts in his rocker and clears his throat. The rustling of the paper sounds too loud in the expectant hush.

“Blah blah blah, by the powers, blah, blah, the adoption requested by Harvey and Gale Kringle has been approved. As of this date, Nicholas Fowler is, of his own free will and choice, Nicholas Fowler Kringle.”

Cheers erupt, and my family surges forward, arms outstretched. I hold out my arm, waiting for the Magic to stamp me one of the fold. They step back with eyes glued to my inner wrist.

I yank up my sleeve with trembling fingers. Nothing but smooth, unblemished skin greets me. No burst of Christmas Magic searing me as one of their own. No sparkles. Not even a sputter of trumpets. I shake out my arm as if the Magic is stuck in my veins and needs a good thump to get going.

Nothing.

Oliver groans. Rye cringes sympathetically. Hazel’s fingers flutter to her own tattoo, as if trying to shield it from me.

Lifting pleading eyes to Ginger, I rasp out, “Maybe it’s because I’m not a grandchild?” Technically, I’m her brother now. The only one of that generation that has a tinsel tattoo is Ginger.

Her brow furrows. “I don’t know what’s happening.” Sniffing, she reaches into her enchanted Kringle purse, only to withdraw a fluffy teddy bear. With a frown, she stuffs it back inside. Another sniffle, another rummage in the purse. This time, she produces an extravagant diamond necklace. “Does anyone have a tissue?” she asks weakly.

Stella digs into her own magical bag and proudly extracts a lush bouquet of velvety red roses. “How lovely,” she coos, taking a long inhale before passing them to her mother.

On her next attempt, Stella’s elegant fingers close around a single cowboy boot. She arches a brow. “Just one?”

“Stella, stop teasing,” Ginger chides. Determined, she plunges a hand into her purse again, only to retrieve a quilted hot pad. The sisters exchange alarmed glances as they hold up their nonsensical items—definitely not the requested tissues.

Frost releases a long-suffering groan, sinking into her chair. “It’s happening again.” She grasps Tannon’s hand and holds so tightly that her knuckles turn whiter than her hair. Her purple eyes widen, and she sucks in.

“What’s happening again?” I demand.

Robyn’s sigh blends with the crackle of the fireplace as she laces her fingers through Gabe’s. “We’ve seen this before,” she tells me soberly. “Christmas Magic misbehaves when it’s time for one of us to get married. You’re part of us now.” She circles a finger around to include the Kringle family.

“Married?!” I stumble backward, colliding with an end table and sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

“Technically, it has to be his true love.” Stella takes the roses back and starts plucking petals. “She loves him. She loves him not,” she sing-songs. Gail snatches the roses back from her and frowns at the small pile of pedals on the floor.

The thought of love, of opening my heart to someone and risking the abandonment and loss I know all too well, sends icy fingers of dread clawing up my spine.

“Love?” I choke out. “I can’t...I don’t...I won’t!”

Lux scrunches her pert nose, making her glasses slide from her hair to her nose, where they perch in the perfect spot. “I’m not certain this is the same thing.” All eyes swivel to her as she clears her throat, settling into lecture mode.

“The symptoms are reminiscent of when Frost had to perform an act of extraordinary Christmas cheer to get her magical abilities back. Because this is an adoptive situation, I’m more inclined to think Christmas Magic wants proof that Nick can and will contribute to Christmas.”

Harvey leans forward, rubbing his snowy beard. “Explain your hypothesis.”

“When Frost was banished,” Lux reiterates patiently, “her magic weakened. Not even the sleigh would stay in the air for her. Nick doesn’t have any magic outside of not getting cold, living here, and flying a sleigh. If he wants more, he’ll have to do what Frost did and bring the Spirit of Christmas to people who don’t have it.”

Understanding dawns on the faces around me; heads bob in unison like metronomes, keeping time to a carol.

Robyn pins me with an encouraging smile. “You should try that. Try performing an act of Christmas cheer.”

I rake a hand through my hair. Is that all it will take to finally find the place I belong? I want to be a part of a family. I want what I had before my parents died. As much as the Kringles love me and treat me as one of their own—even going so far as to adopt me—I still feel like I’m on the outside. I don’t have a Christmas job. I just want to feel important to someone or something. What could be a better cause than bringing happiness and joy to children all over the world? “I’ll give it my best shot. What do I do, exactly?”

Gale rises, her ever-present tablet tucked in the crook of her arm. She’s a busy woman—retiring from Christmas hasn’t slowed her down at all. “We have several homes you can live in while you work on your project. Perhaps choosing a location will help you narrow down your options.”

In the corner, Rye, Hazel, and Oliver put their heads together, whispering furiously. Though I strain my ears, I can’t make out a word. The intensity of their expressions sets my nerves jangling.

Pushing the unease down, I nod at Gale. “Okay. Where should I go?”

Her smile warms me like a mug of rich cocoa. “Clearview, Alaska, was fruitful for a couple of our daughters.”

Joseph chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll say.”

Ginger pokes his side playfully. “Be nice.”

Gail continues, “We also have Oregon, New York, California, Arkansas, Maine, Massachusetts...” She draws a breath to keep going .

“Massachusetts,” I blurt out unthinkingly.

Robyn’s eyebrows wing up. “Why there?”

Heat creeps up my neck as I fumble for an answer. “I don’t know,” I confess. “It just...sounded right.”

Gale practically vibrates with excitement. “I have ancestors who sailed on the Mayflower and landed in Founder's Grove. You’re going to love it there.”

“I have something for you. It’ll help with your quest,” Harvey says.

Great. Now I’m on a quest. Did I ever think my life would lead to a Christmas quest? No. No, I did not. Am I upset about this turn of events? Not exactly. I mean, how many men actually get to quest these days?

With a grunt of effort, Harvey levers himself out of his chair and ambles over, digging in his pocket. He extends his hand, a gleaming gold coin resting on his callused palm.

I gently push his offering away. “Thanks, but I don’t need money.”

Undeterred, Harvey takes my hand and presses the coin into my palm. “It’s not money, it’s a wish.”

A gasp escapes Frost’s lips, echoed by the others. “A wish?” she whispers. “I thought those were extinct.”

“There are only a few of them left.” Harvey clarifies, his voice grave. “I think you should take it with you. You can’t use it for yourself. You have to use it for someone else.”

The coin feels at once weightless and impossibly heavy as I turn it over in my fingers, examining the intricate holly etchings. “No problem,” I say with all the flippancy I can muster .

Inside, a cold fist of fear clenches in my gut. The wish, the task before me...it all hinges on my ability to generate enough Christmas cheer to prove myself worthy of the Kringle name.

To finally, truly belong.

The weight of it presses down on me, squeezing the air from my lungs. Because what if I fail? What if, by some cruel twist of fate, even my most valiant efforts fall short?

I’ll be right back where I started - the outsider looking in. The little orphan boy who doesn’t quite fit, doomed to watch everyone else find their happily ever after while I stay frozen on the fringe, nose pressed to the frosty glass but never basking in the warmth within.

I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. A family to call my own, a place to belong forever - not just for Christmas, but always.

I meet the expectant Kringle gazes, the family I so desperately long to claim as my own in truth as well as name. I grip the coin until its edges bite into my palm.

They believe in me. They took me in, gave me a home, and have now granted me the Kringle name. It’s up to me to prove that their faith and their love haven’t been misplaced.

Massachusetts, here I come.

I am Nicholas Kringle. And somehow, someway...I’m going to prove it to Christmas Magic.

After that, I might just believe it too.