Chapter 40 The Holly and the Ivar
the holly and the ivar
Holly
Holly stood at the mirror, chuckling at her sweater for the hundredth time. It was perfect, and she couldn’t wait for him to see it.
Finally, the inn’s grandfather clock chimed seven. Her heart skipped as she slipped on her shoes, did up her jacket, and stepped into the hallway. Liv’s warm greeting drifted upstairs, followed by Ivar’s deep voice.
Taking a deep breath, she walked to the stairs and paused.
Ivar stood in the lobby below, talking quietly with Liv. The warm light caught in his hair, turning it gold at the edges. A dark green sweater poked out from under his jacket, and in his hand, her broom.
Her breath caught in her throat. Not only did he have her broom, he’d put a tiny hat and scarf on it.
As if sensing her presence, he looked up.
“Hi,” she said, descending the stairs.
“Hi.”
Liv glanced between them, then made herself scarce with her knowing smile.
“Sorry I missed your text earlier. The only place that had my Christmas sweater in stock was in Montreal, and I forgot to toss a phone charger in the truck. As soon as I saw the design online, I knew it would make you laugh, so I had to go get it.”
“You drove to Montreal?”
“I’d do anything for you. Driving to Canada was nothing.”
“Ivar…” was all she managed, but her eyes said the rest. Her throat tightened, and an ache of tenderness spread through her and wrapped around her heart. He’d crossed a border for her—literally.
“I’m assuming you didn’t take my broom,” she teased after a moment. “So, why do you have it?
“Actually,” Ivar said, holding it out to her, “it found me. I woke up this morning and there it was, leaning against my front door.”
Holly took it gently. “It has a mind of its own sometimes.”
“I’ve learned that.” His eyes never left hers.
As she stared into those stunning blue eyes, understanding dawned. She’d asked for answers, and she’d gotten one. La Befana had said that when the time came, it would guide her to the truth. And it had done. He was standing right in front of her. But she’d already figured that out.
Ivar moved closer. “You asked me once if I believed in fate,” he said, his voice low. “It occurred to me that you might have been worried about us even then.” His eyes were serious, searching hers. “But I don’t think we’re here because of fate. Fate implies a lack of personal control.”
Holly nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“I think our situation has more to do with destiny,” he went on. “Destiny sets us on a path, but we still have personal agency. We make choices. We take actions.” His hand covered hers on the broom handle. “There are stories galore about unfulfilled destinies. But that’s not our story.”
“No?” she whispered.
“No,” he said firmly. “Our destiny is fulfilled because we made it happen. It didn’t happen to us.”
“So you don’t think... what we feel... it’s not just because of the Yule Tree?”
“The Yule Tree may have brought us together,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But every moment since has been our choice. Every laugh, every conversation, every text message. That was us, Holly. Not magic.”
She looked down at their joined hands on the broom, then back up at his face.
Yes. He was right. She could now see how every decision, every hesitation, every step they’d taken had led them here. Not because of some magical decree, but because of who they were and what they chose, again and again.
The magic hadn’t bound them; it had simply cleared the path. The rest they’d done themselves. They weren’t surrendering to love. They were choosing it.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “We’re more than Guardian and Giver.”
“Much more,” he agreed. “We’re Kringle and Ranger. Holly and Ivar.”
She carefully set the broom against the wall and took his hand properly in hers.
“In that case, Ranger, I believe you promised me a dance.”
His smile lit his whole face. “So I did, Kringle. So I did. Oh, but we can’t forget the broom. I agreed to let it chaperone.”
***
Holly couldn’t believe how the town hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland.
Evergreen garlands draped from exposed beams, fairy lights twinkled like captured stars, and red velvet bows adorned every pillar.
The band—five locals with fiddles, a guitar, piano, and an upright bass—tuned their instruments on the small stage while the dance caller, an elderly man named Walter with suspenders and a white beard that rivaled her grandfather’s, arranged his notes.
Holly stood at the edge of the polished wooden floor, watching as townspeople streamed in. Liv bustled by with a tray of cider cups, winking as she passed. Tess and Marty hung additional wreaths near the refreshments table, playfully arguing about symmetry.
“Ready?” Ivar asked, his hand warm against the small of her back.
“For contra dancing?” Holly laughed.
“First, our sweater reveal. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Okay, on the count of one, two, three.” They unzipped their jackets.
“Oh, my gosh,” Holly cried. “I love it.” Ivar was wearing a green sweater with a Christmas tree on it. I’m Pining for You.
“I think yours takes top prize,” Ivar said. “All I Want for Christmas is Yule. That might be the most appropriate Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t know,” Holly said. “They’re both perfect. And if you stand on my left, technically our sweaters read, Yule Tree.”
“There, see? We are perfect for each other. Hey, can we wear these when I meet your parents? A little Guardian / Giver humor to break the ice.”
Bursting with joy, Holly threw her arms around him. He caught her easily, laughing as he lifted her off the ground and spun her in a circle.
He set her down just as the first notes from the fiddle cut through the room, silencing the crowd. Walter’s booming voice followed: “Ladies and gentlemen, find your partners! Form two lines facing each other.”
Ivar gave a mock bow and extended his arm toward her. “Shall we?”
For twenty minutes, the dance continued—switching partners, forming stars and circles, weaving between lines. Holly enjoyed the magic of it: not Santa magic, but the simple human magic of community, of joy shared and multiplied.
When the music finally paused for a break, Holly was breathless and glowing. The room buzzed with chatter and laughter. Liv circulated with trays of cookies, while Tess handed out cups of her special winter brew.
“That,” Holly declared, accepting a cup of water from Ivar, “was not what I expected.”
“I hope in a good way,” he said, leaning against the wall beside her.
The band struck up a slower melody, sweet and nostalgic. Couples drifted to the center of the floor, arms encircling waists and shoulders.
Ivar offered his hand. “May I?”
Holly placed her palm in his. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He led her to a quieter corner of the dance floor, where the crowd had thinned. His hand settled on her waist, warm and sure. Unlike the energetic chaos of the contra dance, the waltz allowed them to move as one, steps aligned in perfect time.
“You know,” he murmured, “for someone who claims she doesn’t dance, you move like you’ve done this forever.”
“Maybe it’s my partner,” she replied, looking up at him.
His eyes never left hers as they turned slowly. In the soft glow of the lights, with snowflakes drifting past the windows, they drifted to the edge of the dance floor, where the music was softer. Holly noticed Ivar’s gaze shift upward.
Following his eyes, she saw it: a sprig of mistletoe, tied with a red ribbon, hanging from the beam above them.
Their steps slowed until they were barely moving, just swaying together in the corner of the room.
Their eyes met beneath the mistletoe, the music fading to a distant hum. Holly’s breath caught as Ivar’s hand gently cupped her cheek.
“I’ve been waiting for this since the moment you called me Ranger,” he whispered.
“That long?” she murmured, her fingers resting lightly on his chest.
He leaned down, and as their lips met, the world disappeared around them.
It was like standing in the eye of a hurricane—utterly still while everything else spun.
That same energy she’d felt beneath the Yule Tree pulsed between them, coursing through every point where they touched.
It flowed through her veins, between her cells, until she was sure they’d become pure energy, lifting them higher and higher.
Colors burst behind her closed eyelids—silver and gold, emerald and azure—like the forest and sky had merged inside them. For a moment that stretched into eternity, Holly wasn’t sure where she ended and Ivar began, their connection complete and perfect.
Then, gradually, she became aware of the music again, of the solid floor beneath her feet, of Ivar’s arms holding her steady. They were still on the dance floor, surrounded by spinning couples, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Their lips parted, foreheads leaning against one another.
“Wow,” Ivar breathed.
“Yeah,” she whispered back. “You’re a heck of a kisser, Ranger.”
His laugh was soft. “It takes two.”
The moment was interrupted when the door burst open, a blast of cold air sweeping in. George stood framed in the doorway, his face illuminated by a strange, shifting light from outside.
“Everyone, you’ve got to come see this!” he shouted. “It’s the Northern Lights. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
People rushed toward the exit, exclamations of wonder rising as they spilled onto the street. The music faltered as even the band members set down their instruments to investigate.
“You don’t want to see the lights?” Holly asked, noticing Ivar hadn’t moved.
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “No. I’m exactly where I want to be.” His fingers traced her cheek with impossible tenderness. “Besides, nothing in the universe could ever outshine what I have right here.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, slow and sweet, while outside the lights shimmered and danced across the winter sky, their colors reflected in the snow like thousands of fallen stars.
***
Music from the dance played in Holly’s head along with memories of their kiss as she lay in bed waiting for Ivar to text. She didn’t have to wait long.
Ivar: You make a habit of kissing people under government-issued mistletoe, Kringle?
Holly: Only those with excellent sweaters and questionable dance skills.
Ivar: Ouch. You didn’t complain during the Winterwood Reel.
Holly: I was too dizzy. Also, that was your fault.
Ivar: Sure. Blame the ranger.
Holly: Always.
(pause)
Ivar: You know, when I walked you back to the inn, I could sense the change. The balance.
Holly: Me too. Everything felt… right.
Ivar: And so do you… in my arms.
Holly: Careful, Ranger. You’re one text away from getting added to my nice list.
Ivar: What happens when I get there?
Holly: You stay there. Permanently.
(pause)
Ivar: I love you, Kringle.
Holly: Took you long enough.
Ivar: How did you know? Observation or magic?
Holly: A Kringle never gives up her secrets.
(pause)
Holly: I love you too, Ranger.