Chapter 23 No Elfing Way
no elfing way
Holly
Holly stood beside Ivar’s truck, craning her neck toward the enormous banner in his arms.
“Welcome to Winterwood’s Christmas Carnival,” she read aloud. “That looks heavy.”
“Only if you’re not a big, strong park ranger like me,” he said, flashing her a grin.
“Well, I guess you don’t need me, then.”
Ivar chuckled and climbed the ladder, the banner draped over one shoulder. “You’re in charge of keeping your end from touching the ground.”
“I can handle that,” Holly said, tugging her mittens tighter. She lifted the bottom edge, then promptly lost her balance when the wind caught it like a sail.
“Careful!” Ivar called, steadying the rope from above.
“I’m fine!” she said, even as the banner whipped against her like an angry flag. “I just didn’t expect aerodynamics to be part of the job description.”
A familiar voice piped up from a nearby bench. “You’ve got to anchor the corners, young lady!”
Holly turned to see George Keating, leg wrapped in a bulky brace, waving a cane like a conductor’s baton.
“I thought you were supposed to be resting, George,” Ivar said, halfway up the ladder.
“Supervising,” George corrected. “I’ve got decades of banner expertise. Someone’s got to make sure you don’t hang it crooked like last year.”
“It was straight,” Ivar said.
“Not from where I was sitting.”
“You were sitting at the brewery.”
“Best vantage point in town.” George winked.
Holly laughed. “Should we take his advice?”
“Absolutely not,” Ivar said. “If we do, the banner will be upside down by noon.”
“I heard that!” George hollered.
Holly grinned up at Ivar. “You two seem to have a history.”
“Small town,” he said. “Everyone’s got history.”
Ivar tugged the rope taut. “Hold steady. Almost there.”
The banner fluttered once more before falling neatly into place across Main Street, its red letters gleaming against the gray sky.
They stepped back together, side by side, admiring their handiwork.
“Perfect,” Holly said, brushing snow off her coat.
“Not bad for Spreadsheet Holly,” Ivar teased.
“Careful,” she said. “I might start adding event management to my resume.”
“Pretty soon you’ll be running the whole carnival.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
A cheer echoed from across the square, where Emma and Tess were hauling out boxes of ornaments and garland. Emma cupped her hands around her mouth. “Looks amazing! Holly, you’re hired!”
“I’ll send you an invoice!” Holly called back, laughing.
“Good luck getting paid!” Tess shouted.
George thumped his cane approvingly. “Straight enough! Could be a bit tighter, but I’ll allow it.”
Ivar rolled his eyes. “You should really take up a hobby, George.”
“This is my hobby.”
Holly smiled, feeling remarkably at home.
The illusion shattered when her phone rang. It was Rita. “I better get this,” she said to Ivar. “I’ve been avoiding them all morning.”
“Hi Rita. Is everything okay?”
“I’m calling to ask you the same thing. I haven’t heard from you all morning. And I know you’re not out in the wilderness. Your father told me about the you-know-what. Is it true?”
She cast a glance at Ivar, who was trying to untangle a set of lights. “I believe so.”
“That’s incredible.”
“Kringle, let’s go. I need your help,” Ivar called out, holding the lights up in defeat.
“Kringle?” Rita asked.
“Can I call you back at another time? I’m helping set up for the Winterwood Christmas Carnival while I wait for updates on the land purchase.”
“You’re what? Wait. Are you being… social?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. Spreading Christmas cheer and goodwill is part of the job description.”
“Well, whatever it is, it sounds a lot like fun. I’ll leave you to it,” Rita said, and Holly could hear the smile in her voice as she hung up.
“Everything okay?” Ivar asked.
“It is.” Holly slipped her phone into her coat pocket and realized, with surprise, that she hadn’t asked for NED updates.
“Good. How about we warm up with a hot chocolate and a scone? Or perhaps you’d prefer hot milk and cookies? Emma has some sugar cookies in the shape of reindeer.”
“You’re a funny man, Mr. Park Ranger. Be careful, or I’ll put you on the naughty list.”
“The naughty list. Are you saying that there’s…” He held up a hand. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Suit yourself, but if those binoculars you want don’t end up under the tree, you’ll be sorry.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “How’d you know I wanted binoculars for Christmas?”
“Relax. I saw you looking at some on your phone.”
“Of course, I mean… I didn’t really believe that…” He held the cafe door open.
“You make this too easy,” she teased, walking past him into the Maple Mug.
Ivar placed the order while Holly found a table by the fire. He arrived carrying a plate and two forks.
“It’s a maple cranberry tart. We can share.”
“You folks never get tired of maple?”
“Bite your tongue.” He held out his arm, rolling up his sleeve. “See these veins? Pure maple syrup.”
She laughed and brushed her fingers against his arm. That unforgettable, tingly warmth spread up her arm. She gently withdrew her hand, wondering if he felt it too, though she wasn’t quite brave enough to meet his eyes.
***
Ivar
“There you go, enjoy,” the server said, placing their drinks on the table.
“This place is dangerously comforting,” Holly said, stirring her foam. “If I lived here, I’d never get any work done.”
Ivar smiled, the heat from her touch still radiating up his arm. It was cute, the way she'd blushed, so he knew she'd felt it too. “Your work ethic is too strong, but I’d like to see you try.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but the bell over the door jingled so sharply that half the cafe glanced up.
Gwen Brooks swept in, cheeks flushed from the cold, a red scarf trailing behind her like a warning flag. She didn’t bother removing her gloves before striding straight toward their table.
“Ivar,” she said, slightly out of breath, “mind if I sit for a moment?”
He straightened, instantly wary. “Sure, Gwen. This is Holly Kringle. She’s with the family interested in the Hale land.”
Gwen nodded briskly and offered her hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Kringle. I was actually just on the phone with an Adam Kringle not ten minutes ago.”
Holly blinked. “My father.”
“Right. Well, I’ll tell you both what I told him.” Gwen dropped into the empty chair, leaning forward, her expression grave. “Rowan Hale’s brother, Chad, has decided to get involved. And apparently, he’s managed to convince her not to sell.”
“So she’s pulling out?” Ivar asked.
“Worse,” Gwen said. “Chad’s put together a whole business plan. He wants to develop the land himself—a ski resort and spa. Says it’ll ‘modernize’ Winterwood and ‘bring in tourism dollars.’” She air-quoted the words.
Ivar’s hands curled around his mug. “I checked recently. That land isn’t zoned for that kind of development.”
“Not yet,” Gwen said. “But Chad’s persuasive. He’s already talking about investors and infrastructure grants. He’s got big-city energy and, apparently, enough charm to match. And Ivar, I’m sorry, but if this goes through… we’ll lose access to the trail network.”
The words hit like a gust of cold air. Ivar’s pulse quickened, and for a split second, he could swear he heard the forest—the deep creak of branches, the moaning of ice under stress. A pressure built behind his ribs, sharp and protective, as if the land itself was calling out in protest.
“No commission for me,” Gwen added with a humorless laugh. “And a lot of angry townsfolk once the bulldozers roll in. Anyway…” She stood, pulling her scarf tight. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings. Ms. Kringle, lovely to meet you. Though I suppose there’s no deal to be made now.”
And with that, she was gone—the door jingling behind her, letting in a swirl of cold before it shut again.
Silence filled the space between them. The cheerful buzz of the cafe felt suddenly distant, muffled by the weight of what Gwen had said.
Holly stared at the table, her latte cooling untouched.
Ivar exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “A ski resort. On that land.” He shook his head.
“Holly,” he said softly, but with clear determination. “We can’t let him destroy the forest, the tree.”
“Then we don’t.”