Chapter 28 Tinsel and Tension
tinsel and tension
Ivar
Holly had barely spoken a word since they’d left the Hale property.
Ivar didn’t push. He kept his eyes on the winding road, glancing over occasionally to make sure she was still with him—physically, at least. Emotionally, she looked miles away.
There were things he wanted to tell her, like the way the forest had seemed to pulse as they’d left.
He’d heard the slow stretch of sap moving through frozen trunks, a mouse chewing on paper somewhere under the eaves, and what he could have sworn was a fox snoring.
He’d always been attuned to the woods, but this was different.
Sharper. Had the Yule Tree altered him in some way, or was it simply that the experience had made him more attuned to the world around him?
And if he could sense these things, could Holly?
And then there was Chad. Ivar could still sense the man’s fear of the forest.
But that could wait. Right now, Holly needed him.
By the time they reached his cabin, dusk had painted the sky in pinks and icy blues. The first stars blinked through the treetops as he parked, climbed out, and came around to open her door. “You need dinner,” he said simply.
She followed him inside without a word.
Al trotted over to greet them, tail wagging, nails clicking on the wood floor.
He looked from Holly to Ivar and back again, ears pricked as if reading the room.
Ivar gestured to him, then Al padded over to Holly, settling beside her on the couch—close enough to comfort, watchful enough to protect.
Ivar would thank him with an extra treat at dinner.
The smell of roasting root vegetables and garlic filled the air as Ivar moved around the kitchen. He chopped quietly, giving her space. Holly remained on the couch, arms wrapped around her middle, staring at the crackling fire.
“Ivar,” she said finally. “Do you believe in fate?”
He glanced up. “I believe some things are too weird to be coincidences.”
She nodded; seconds passed before she spoke again. “Betty Hale knew. About the land. About us. About magic.” Her voice caught. “I should have known.”
“How?”
She pulled out her phone. “Let’s find out.”
He watched as she dialed. “Calling your assistant?”
“No,” she said. “My father.”
The line clicked, and Adam Kringle’s voice came through loud enough for him to hear. “Sweetheart! Any news to report?”
“Dad.” Holly’s tone was sharp. “Did you know about the Hales? That they had a connection to us?”
A pause. “What?”
“I need the truth. No riddles. No side comments about sleigh bells and destiny. The house on the Hale property was full of stuff from our villages. You should have told me.”
A sigh. “Holly. If I’d known, I would have told you. But we lost a lot of records in the Eastern Archives fire in the 1970s. A result of too much polyester, I’m afraid. Boxes full of records were lost. We pieced together what we could, but some records were lost forever.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that when you sent me here?”
“Why would I mention it? I had no idea. I simply sent you to scout a potential workshop site,” he said gently. “That’s all.”
She pressed her lips together, exasperated.
From across the room, Ivar whispered, unable to stop himself, “So… is that really…?”
She nodded. “I’m putting you on speakerphone. Ivar Nilsen’s here, and Dad, he’s connected to all this somehow.”
The voice boomed. “So this is your park ranger. Binoculars, right?”
Ivar froze, a ladle in one hand. He pointed at Holly. “You told him?” he mouthed.
She shook her head. “Dad,” Holly said tightly, rubbing her forehead. “This isn’t helping. I need answers.”
“I understand,” Adam replied. “Have you tried contacting Henry?”
“Henry. Of course,” she sighed.
“He’s been knee-deep in research since the moment he learned of the Yule Tree. Let him know what you need. And Holly, just remember, we don’t choose where the magic leads us. We choose whether to follow it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Got one in there, huh? Love you. Bye.”
The room fell silent. Ivar realized he was still standing there like a statue, the ladle hovering midair.
Holly waved a hand in front of his face. “Sorry about my dad.”
Ivar blinked. “Sorry? For what? Santa spoke to me.”
“Okay. That’s rude. He hasn’t delivered toys in years. I’m a Santa too, remember? I don’t see you going all loopy when I talk to you.”
“Well, yes, but… I mean, no, but… I mean, you’re Holly. You don’t talk like—”
“Like what? Like this?” Her voice transformed into a perfect imitation. “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, Ivar. I hope you’ve been good this year.”
He dropped the ladle.
“Is that what you mean?”
“Yes,” he said, voice calm, but his ears turned red. “And I might have just peed myself a little. Please don’t ever do that again.”
Holly laughed, picking up the ladle and handing it to him, but not before using it to gently whack him on the shoulder. “I won’t if you change your sexist attitude.”
“Consider it changed,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. He followed her in, liking the way her presence filled the space. His cabin had always been his retreat. Tonight, with her, it felt like home.
He ached to tell her that. To tell her how much she meant to him. To tell her that some part of him had known her long before today. Before the forest. Before the Yule Tree. But how did a man say that to a woman who’d just talked to Santa on speakerphone? Who was a Santa herself?
So instead he said, “I made roasted squash while Sa—I mean your father was on the line.”
“Thank you,” she said, then turned to him apologetically. “Pretty weird day, huh?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then shrugged. “Honestly? Not even the weirdest one this week.”
***
Holly
Holly was tucked under the inn's quilt. She should've been asleep hours ago, but her mind kept replaying the night—the firelight, Ivar's crooked grin, the way he'd said "we" without hesitation. She liked being part of a "we" and an "us." The world didn't feel quite so lonely.
Her phone buzzed.
Ivar: Is this the North Pole?
Holly: Be careful. You’re on the “nice but leaning towards naughty” list.
Ivar: That tracks. I think you might be on the “works too hard and forgets to have fun” list.
Holly: Ouch. Accurate.
Ivar: You did laugh tonight, though. Twice, I think? That’s progress.
Holly: If you count laughing at you dropping a ladle.
Ivar: I’ll take it. Night, Kringle.
Holly: Night, Ranger.
She set the phone down, but the glow still painted her ceiling in soft light. Her body was tired, but her heart—her heart was awake.
It had been years since someone had made her laugh like this. Years since she’d let someone see her this unguarded.
And she wasn’t sure what scared her more: that she wanted to see him again tomorrow, or that she already knew she would.