Chapter Six
VICTORIA
“ M agic?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are we talking about tapping the side of your nose, or do you need a wand?”
“You need to believe. Seeing is believing.”
“Did you just quote Polar Express ? Do I need to start ringing a bell?”
“No,” I laugh. “But you would get a lot of kids excited if you did that around Christmas Eve. Actually, now that I think of it, that’s a good idea. We should do a train around the town square as part of the Christmas festival.” I quickly pull out my phone and make a note to look into trains when I return to the office.
“So if there’s no magic or bells, how did you become an elf?”
“I don’t think there’s a secret to being one,” I say, slipping my phone back into my purse and sipping my milkshake. My drink is going to give me a sugar rush, but it’s worth it, especially after the day I’ve had.
“No special talents? Skills? Do you have to know the big guy himself?” James jokes.
Since we sat down at the booth, he seems like a completely different person. It’s almost as if the James I met at the square was on guard or like a public version of himself that he wants everyone to know. Here, he’s quieter, more real. Even the way he’s sitting seems more relaxed compared to when Nancy was at our table.
I think I like this version of him.
“No, I don’t know ‘the big guy’ or have an in,” I laugh, swirling my straw around my glass. “After getting my business degree, I was looking for a job at a company where I could do some good. I always knew I wanted my job to be at a place where I could really help people.”
“That’s really admirable,” he says, giving me a small smile.
My heart skips a beat with the way he’s looking at me right now. His short, sandy-blond hair stands up in neatly placed spikes, looking messy but in a purposeful way. His green eyes are only on me, and I can see a hint of a dimple when he smiles.
He is cute, just like Avery said. No, cute doesn’t encompass James Northman. He’s adorable. Handsome.
Is adorable-handsome even a phrase? If not, it should be.
“And how did you come across C.O.C.O.A.?”
“That’s a funny story, actually. One of my professors knows the founder and suggested I apply after I wrote my final essay on the role of social media in bringing marketing awareness to non-profit organizations.”
“That’s really impressive. But also, I guess it means you knew a guy,” he jokes.
“I mean, sure, if you want to think of it like that. But Mr. Jones isn’t Santa,” I laugh. “He just knew they were hiring, and I applied.”
“Well, if the event today is any indication, it was a good suggestion. You and Avery made a lot of kids happy today.”
“Thank you,” I look down at my milkshake, feeling my cheeks get even warmer under his kind words. “It wasn’t just us. We had a lot of volunteers that helped make it all happen. Plus, the vendors. And thank you, too. I know you didn’t ask to be here, but you also made a lot of kids happy today.”
His shoulders rise closer to his ears as he leans back against the wall of the booth. “Happy to help.”
“Hey,” I say. “You did great today.”
Without thinking, I reach across the table and place my hand on his. His gaze shoots to mine, and before I can pull away and slink under the table out of pure embarrassment, he turns his hand, linking his fingers with mine.
“I may not have asked to come back to Gingerbread Grove, but I’m glad I did.”
“Even if you had to be on your feet all day?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“And be next to Al Pacacino and Llamelai Gilmore?”
He shrugs, his shoulders dropping a little lower than they were before. “We were friends by the end of the day. Al Pacacino was still judging me, but Llamelai ate some hay out of my hand. I think that means we called a truce, at least. I do have to ask, though. Why was Avery walking around calling them both paca-somethings?”
I laugh. “Pacallamas. It’s because when they first came to the farm, we couldn’t tell which was an alpaca or a llama. So, we called them pacallamas. We still do, but we try to keep that to ourselves. Llamelai tends to spit at us if we do it around her.”
“I knew she was a sassy one.”
“And what about your jersey? I hope you’re able to get the juice out of it?”
When I had been doing my rounds earlier in the day, I noticed that he had replaced his jersey with the team shirt he’s currently wearing. Casey had informed me that an overexcited toddler saw the logo and flung his juice box at James out of excitement.
Or excitement was what Casey and I were going with. It was better than it being out of some loyalty to another team.
“Oh yeah, it’ll be fine. If not, the team has lots of spares, just in case.”
“And you don’t mind that you had all those kids pulling on you, asking for pictures with every nearby family member?” I laugh, thinking of the times I had walked down the path past his booth.
On my rounds, of course. Not that I would have gone out of my way–multiple times–to walk past him. Or to catch a glimpse of him. Nope, I definitely didn’t do that.
“No, I don’t mind at all. I didn’t even mind when they got less excited when they learned I wasn’t our captain or top scorer.”
I cringe. “Oh no.”
“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “As long as it doesn’t make it back to the team. Then I’d never live it down.”
“And you can trust Casey to keep that secret?” I joke.
“He knows to keep quiet if he wants me to stay on as a client.” He gives me a playful smile, which drops a little when he adds. “Which I hope he still does.” I think he meant for the last part to be added under his breath, but I caught it.
“Well, you were definitely the talk of the town. A lot of people were happy to see you back.”
I can tell the mention of the town–and likely the reminder of why he’s back–is making him uncomfortable. So, I switch gears, trying not to lose my train of thought. He rubs the back of my hand with his thumb absentmindedly and looks out the window.
“So, what do you have against Peeps, anyway?” I ask, pulling my milkshake closer with my free hand and taking a sip.
“Other than the fact they’re pure sugar?” he asks, pulling his coffee closer to him with his free hand. We both have to maneuver awkwardly to get our drinks, but neither wants to let go.
“Yes, besides that.” I roll my eyes.
“Can you even call it a food?”
“Of course you can. It’s edible. It’s food.” I pick up a pink marshmallow bunny covered in whipped cream from the top of my drink and eat it, proving my point.
“And what food group does that belong to exactly?” The corner of his mouth lifts, showing me the hint of his dimple again.
Swoon .
“Okay, maybe it’s not exactly listed as ideal food in the Canada Food Guide, but it’s Easter, and Easter means chocolate and artificially flavoured marshmallows. It’s like a law.”
“A law,” he repeats doubtfully.
“Yes,” I say more confidently. “In fact, can you even be a Gingerbreadian if you don’t have sugar as a main food group?”
“I’m starting to think that maybe you weren’t being completely truthful about how you became an elf. Are you sure you’re not related to Buddy?” He leans in closer to me again and whispers, “Do you eat spaghetti with maple syrup and marshmallows for breakfast? It’s okay; you can tell me.”
“Why are you making this out to be a ‘blink twice if you need help’ situation?”
“Do you? Did you just blink twice?” He looks around the restaurant. “Are you being held hostage by a group of elves against your will? Or is this more like a Santa-clone-gone-bad like in Santa Clause 2 ?”
“I’m impressed with your holiday movie knowledge.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I laugh. “No, there’s no bad Santas, and I’m not being held against my will. I just like Peeps.”
We sit for a moment, holding each other’s gazes, our hands still joined. The silence between us is comfortable. Neither of us feel the need to push the conversation or fill the void. It’s refreshing.
“Here’s your food,” Nancy says, placing our plates on the table between us, forcing us to let go of each other. I immediately feel the loss of his hand in mine.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, looking between us with a smirk.
“I’m good, thank you,” I say, breathing in the smell of grilled turkey with cranberry sauce.
“Same, thank you, Nancy,” James says, popping a fry in his mouth.
“Holler if you need anything.” With a final glance between us, she walks away.
“So, one thing I do know about the town is that they go overboard for the holidays. What else does Gingerbread Grove have in store for Easter?” he asks, picking up his burger.
“Surprisingly, not much else. They had to put some things on hold after an, uh, eventful Christmas.” I say, not sure how to sum up everything Avery told me about the Yuletide Games.
“What happened there exactly? My mom mentioned something about games and lanterns, but I didn’t quite understand what she was telling me.”
I fill him in on everything I know, from the Survivor-style games to the extreme snowball fights.
“That sounds…intense. Even for Gingerbread Grove,” she says, astonished.
“Yes, and the mayor, who was involved in planning all that, is now up on bribery charges. Something to do with the Inn that’s being renovated now. It’s such a mess.”
“Wow.”
“So, we agreed on doing the Easter Hop for the kids as part of the C.O.C.O.A. expansion and to keep up the competition with you know who, but that’s pretty much it. I think there’s an open skate tomorrow before they melt the ice at the arena.”
“Open skate?” his ears perk up. “We should go.”
“We?” I ask. While I’m excited that it possibly meant he wants to see me again, I don’t know if I want that to be while I’m on ice.
“Come on, you can’t tell me there’s an open Easter skate and not expect me to want to go. Ice is literally my life.” His eyes light up, and his smile widens. “Come on.”
“I’m really not much of a skater. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went skating. Maybe high school?”
“Then it’s perfect timing. I’m what you call a ‘ professional’ at skating. Literally.” He smirks. “Who better to show you around the ice?”
“I don’t think you realize what you’re getting yourself into. Even when I did go onto the ice, I was a wall clutcher at best.”
“Even better.” His smile widens.
“And I can’t stop.”
“That’s what the boards are for.”
“I can’t promise I won’t fall.”
“I’ll help you get back up.”
I’m running out of options. He seems pretty determined to get me onto the ice. I would be jumping at the chance to spend more time with him, but I don’t know if I could survive the embarrassment that would go along with me ice skating.
“How’s this?” he starts, lowering his voice. “You come with me skating, and I’ll…” he looks out the window for a moment. “I’ll buy you hot chocolate after.”
I raise my eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s a fair exchange.”
“Why? How fancy are these hot chocolates? I know Gingerbread Grove is trying to be a destination town, but surely they don’t make things like hot chocolate that expensive.”
“No,” I laugh. “Getting me on the ice will cost you a lot more than a hot chocolate.”
“Hmm, how about if I throw in a cookie?” When I scrunch up my face, he continues. “Brownie? Cake pop? I know, cupcake.”
I laugh. “You are really determined to get me onto the ice.”
“I’m determined to show you that being on the ice is a lot of fun.”
It’s getting really hard to keep saying no to him.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll do this if you promise to get me a hot chocolate and cupcake after.”
“Yes,” he says, pumping his fist. He reminds me of some of the boys at the Hop today after discovering the toy cars I hid in the bottom of their goodie bags after finding their eggs. “Wait, are these cupcakes Peep flavoured?”
“Is that the deal breaker? Is the deal off if it is?” I joke.
“No, I just want to prepare for a second-hand sugar rush for the second day in a row.”
“I can’t guarantee what flavours Rebecca will have tomorrow, but it’s probably safe to prepare for my sugar rush. It’ll be some form of sugar, for sure.”
“Are you sure you’re not related to Buddy? Did you walk through the Candy Cane Forest?”
“Shh,” I lean in and whisper. “You said the double c-word again.”
He rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious. I may not have lived here long, but I’ve learned it’s rule number one of being in town. Under no circumstances do you mention the town or the candy.”
“Whatever you say, Peeps.”
“Peeps?” I tilt my head to the side. “Did you just call me Peeps?”
“Would you believe me if I said it’s because you’re so sweet?” he laughs.
“No, not even a little bit.” I deadpan.
That causes him to laugh so loud people start to stare. “You know, Peeps. I think this weekend is going to be a lot of fun.”
The mischievous smile on his face tells me there might be some trouble that comes with the fun, but for once, it doesn’t matter. I’m all in when it comes to James Northman.