Chapter 38
holly-day forecast: complicated
Holly
While she waited for Ivar to get back from the hospital, Holly searched his cupboards. He’d texted that Rowan was fine and would be home soon, so she busied herself with finding something to make for dinner.
Al walked into the kitchen and stretched out across the floor.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she told the dog. “My culinary skills are limited.”
She opened the fridge, relieved to find eggs and cheese. “It will be either omelets or scrambled eggs, depending on how they turn out. Sound good, Al?”
Al’s tail thumped on the floor. She’d wait a few more minutes before starting so the food would be hot for Ivar’s arrival.
With the land issue resolved, the Yule Tree would be safe. And yet, beneath the relief, her thoughts tumbled, because it was time for her to return home.
Christmas Eve was only two weeks away. She should be at NED, overseeing logistics, scheduling sleigh routes, reviewing last-minute toy reports. She’d built her whole career—her life—on keeping Christmas running like clockwork.
But now, in Ivar’s kitchen, with a fire crackling and a dog at her feet, she decided to step back, take a breath, and let someone else run the show. Just this year—she wasn’t quitting; she’d never do that—but she needed a break. She didn’t want the season to feel like a deadline anymore.
And she didn’t want to spend the season without Ivar. They’d been through too much, their connection too strong, for her to leave at what she considered the beginning of them.
Confident in her decision, she pulled out her phone and dialed.
Rita picked up on the second ring. “Boss? Everything all right? Are you still in Vermont, or are you home?”
Home. Ivar was home. “I’m still in Vermont, and I’m staying here for Christmas.”
There was a pause. “Staying? But the Christmas Eve run—”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. Nicola and Finn are ready. It’s time they took the route. They can each do half.”
“You’re serious?” Rita’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if someone might overhear. “Holly Kringle is taking a vacation?”
“Don’t sound so horrified,” Holly teased. “It’s for professional development. For them and for me.”
“But you’re not quitting, are you? Giving up on your dream of Chief Executive Santa?”
“Oh, heck no. I’m simply changing my strategy.”
Rita let out a breath that turned into a laugh. “Well, thank goodness.”
“I’m letting you know first because you’ll need to start planning for this. Just give me a day or two to notify my father. Then you’re free to tell the troops.”
“Will do,” Rita said in a tone that was practically a salute. “Have a happy holiday. You can tell me about him when you get back.”
“Rita!”
“Ha! I knew it. Enjoy!”
“You too.” She was about to hang up when she added, “Rita… I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing this if it weren’t for you. Merry Christmas.”
Holly smiled as she ended the call. For the first time in years, Christmas wasn’t a checklist. It was an open door.
She was about to block the Christmas Eve countdown alert her father’s office sent out every day, then stopped. This year, she wouldn’t see it as a reminder of all she had to do. She’d see it as a tradition she’d been part of her whole life.
“Let’s get cracking and make dinner,” she said to Al, laughing at her own joke.
The cheese had just been added to the eggs when Ivar returned. He walked in, kicked off his boots, hung up his coat, gave Al a scratch, and then walked over to Holly at the stove, wrapping his arms around her. “What a night,” he said. “Rowan is safe, and I get to come home to you.”
“I’m making you dinner.”
“Smells great.”
“It’s just eggs.”
“Dinner is a gift, and it’s the thought that counts.”
She laughed, plating the eggs right as the toaster popped. And as they sat together in the cozy little cabin in the woods, Holly had never been happier.
They’d just started eating when her phone rang. “It’s Henry. I’d better take it.”
“Ciao, Hol. I’m in Italy. I took your advice, and you were right. I got a lot of great information.”
“Henry, you’re on speakerphone. Ivar’s here too.”
“Ivar? The Guardian?”
Ivar started choking on a mouthful of eggs.
“Henry. Come on,” Holly admonished.
“Sorry, this is all very exciting. It’s like meeting a legend.”
This time Ivar nearly launched his mouthful of eggs across the room.
“What’s going on?” Henry asked.
“Hold on,” Holly said, muting the phone. “Are you okay?” she asked, half laughing, giving Ivar a few whacks on the back. “I’m getting you a glass of water.”
“You don’t find it funny? Someone from the Santa family calling me a legend?”
“Huh. I guess that is kind of funny.”
“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking.”
She unmuted the phone. “Hey, Henry, we’re back.”
“Okay. The reason I’m calling—” There was a pause as Henry flipped through the pages of his notebook. “According to what I’ve pieced together, the Yule Tree is very particular about when it appears. It chooses when and to whom.”
“So it chose to show itself to us,” Holly said.
“It’s not that simple,” Henry said. “And honestly, I don’t quite know what this means.”
Something in his tone caused a little ball of fear to form. “So, what did you find?”
“Most of the old texts say that only the Guardian can truly see it—like, really see it, not just sense the Yule veins beneath it or see some light. The Tree only reveals itself to the one it trusts. Everyone else walks past it without realizing what they’re standing beside.”
“But Henry, I saw it.”
“Did you really, or did you just sense it?”
“We both saw it. We both felt it. We… never mind.”
There was a long pause. “Holly. It could be important.”
Ivar reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “We held hands, and the power of the Yule Tree traveled through us, connecting us to each other and to the forest,” he told Henry. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Holy smokes.” Henry’s voice was barely a whisper. “Hol, this is huge. Why didn’t you tell me this before? You guys are basically rewriting our understanding of history in real time. These tomes I’m finding—no one’s looked at them in decades, centuries even.”
“A bit dramatic, no?”
“Well, yes, but that’s because it is. What you’re telling me isn’t in the texts.
But I did read—where is it?—hang on one second.
” He shuffled more books around. “I think it’s in here.
Ah, yes. Here it is. I found one passage that describes a rare exception.
I hadn't paid it much attention, but that was a mistake.”
“An exception?” she and Ivar asked simultaneously.
“Yeah. According to the text, when both connection and giving fall out of balance at the same time, the Yule Tree calls not one, but two—the Guardian and the Giver.”
Holly sat up straighter. “The Giver?”
“Loosely translated, yes,” Henry said. “The Guardian protects the land’s heart—keeps us grounded and reminds us how interconnected we all are with nature, each other, the elements, the world.
The Giver restores the balance of spirit.
Through generosity and kindness, we are reminded of why it all matters.
But when both forget their purpose, when the Guardian can no longer connect, and the Giver forgets how to give with her heart…
” He took a deep breath. “They need each other to heal.”
Holly’s throat tightened as she turned to Ivar. “The Yule Tree called us both.”
“Looks that way,” Henry said softly. “It must be rare, as I only found mention of it once. But the notes say that when they find each other, their light spreads twice as far.”
“So, how do we know when things are back in balance?” Ivar asked.
“I haven’t come across that yet,” Henry said. “But I’ll keep looking.”
“You do that,” Holly said. Although was that what she really wanted? More legends and ancient truths?
Henry hung up. A dense silence filled the room, so thick it was practically suffocating.
“Sooo,” Ivar said after a minute passed. “That was your brother.”
“Yup. He really geeks out over stuff like this.” Holly picked at her eggs, no longer hungry. For a moment, all she heard was the faint hum of the refrigerator and Al’s soft snoring.
“So,” she said finally, “it’s not only that you’re the Guardian. It’s that the Tree called us both because…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
“Because things fell out of balance,” Ivar said gently.
“No. Not things. Us. You and me.” She stood, pacing around the room.
“It might not only be about us, but also what we represent.”
“Ivar, that is not helping. I do not need more pressure while I figure this out.”
“Hol,” he began gently. “The Yule Tree wasn’t wrong about me—and yes, that sentence did leave my mouth. But kidding aside, I’ve been withdrawn since returning from California. But then you came into my life, and I’m living again.”
She leaned on the kitchen counter, allowing the tears to flow freely.
“My whole life has been about giving. It’s all I ever wanted to do.
It’s my job, and I worked tirelessly to be the best, only to discover that a tree judged me and found me lacking.
” She half laughed, half sobbed. “How can a Santa fail at the only requirement in the job description?”
His chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it back, joining her, his arms wrapping around her. He pulled her close, and she leaned into him, his embrace like a sponge, absorbing her pain. The miracle of it almost caused her to weep, for at her darkest moment, she was not alone.
Because the truth had hit her, and it was hard to bear: a Santa who had turned giving into a job. Who treated Christmas as nothing more than a to-do list, full of spreadsheets and production quotas.
Holly clung to him, her lifeboat, as her words poured out. “How do I fix this, Ivar? I’ve changed, I know I have. With you, I’ve rediscovered joy and fun. I even phoned Rita and told her I was taking Christmas off this year because I want to spend it here with you.”
His happiness hit her like a wave. “You don’t have to do that. I can come with you, provided that’s allowed.”
“You’re so sweet, and yes, it’s allowed, but I wanted to enjoy Christmas and not have it be a checklist.” She leaned into him. “Oh gosh. That says it all, doesn’t it? Darn that tree. I guess it’s two for two.”
“It would appear that way.” He leaned past her, grabbing a box of tissues. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“Just be gentle. Those were friends of mine once.”
Holly snorted out a laugh through her tears.
A silence stretched out then, and she reached for his hands, loving the way his rough fingers wrapped around her smaller ones. She leaned against his chest, listening to his heart beat in sync with hers—two hearts beating as one. Guardian and Giver. Chosen to fix the balance.
Chosen.
She stepped back. A snowball of panic formed, and it started rolling downhill. “Think about all that’s happened since we held hands in front of the Yule Tree.”
“Okay.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Guardian-and-Giver-wise, or you-and-me-wise?”
“Do you think we can separate them?”
“I do.”
“Then you and me.”
“Easy. It means we were meant to be together.”
“But aren’t you worried that the amazing connection we have was created only for the purpose of ‘restoring the balance?’” she asked, mocking Henry’s voice. “What if it’s not real?”
He squeezed her hands tight. “There’s not a single cell in my body that questions whether what we have is real. My heart knows it, my brain knows it, even the very tips of my fingers know it.”
“I’m not so sure.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Her head dropped against his chest. “I’m going back to the inn. I need some time alone.”
“Whatever you need, for as long as it takes. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He was trying to be strong for her, but she heard the heartache in his voice, felt his pain pulse through her, and it twisted her heart into knots.
She slid into her coat and boots and walked out softly into the night, leaving her heart behind.
***
Back at the inn, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while tears ran down her cheeks.
She loved Ivar, but how could she ever be sure it was real, that they weren’t just pawns in some weird cosmic game.
There was so much to process, so much to consider.
She’d come to Winterwood to assess Yule lines. How did it get so complicated?
“I should have stayed at NED. This is why I don’t take vacations.”
Her broom fell over. “Don’t act all offended.
You took us to the tree. If anyone should be mad, it’s me at you.
” She leaned out of bed to prop up the broom.
As soon as she touched it, she heard La Befana’s voice.
“When the time comes, it will guide you to the truth your heart has forgotten.” She scoffed.
“Why does everyone have to speak so cryptically?”
We don’t choose where the magic leads us. We choose whether to follow it.
The light sleeps beneath the roots. It wakes when the world forgets.
“I want answers!”
The fire flared up, the desk rattled, and her window burst open. She watched helplessly as her broom flew out of the room like it had somewhere better to be. And with a last gust of wind, her window shut, and the fire returned to normal.
“Now what?” she wondered, rubbing her temples.
Beside her, her phone pinged, and she didn’t have to look to know it was Ivar. She automatically reached for it, stopped, then picked it up anyway.
Ivar: So… the Carnival Dance. You coming?
She chuckled, wiping her tears away.
Holly: That depends. Are you asking as a chaperone or as a date?
Ivar: Definitely not a chaperone.
Holly: Then I’ll think about it.
Ivar: I’ll pick you up at seven.
Holly: You’re very confident.
Ivar: Not confidence. Faith.
(pause)
Holly: See you at seven, Ranger.