Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
NICK
T he wind howls between naked branches as I climb the 116 steps to the meeting. I should have brought a coat, but in my haste, I forgot that I needed to work on looking normal.
I have a folder full of ideas tucked tightly under my arm. With each step, the nervousness in my gut grows, twisting and turning like a reindeer pulling his first sleigh. I walk past the receptionist, who is on her phone and doesn’t look up at me. I pause outside the door to the Founder's Grove planning committee’s office, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
“You’ve got this,” I mutter under my breath, straightening my red and green plaid tie. “Just go in there and use that Kringle charm.” I wish I could harness some of Stella’s charm. Better yet, I should have had her daughter Isabella come and make the presentation. She has the ability to talk an elf out of eating candy. I’m pretty sure that one day, when Stella was in the midst of her teenage Naughty List stage, Gail wished a daughter just like her upon her head.
Before I can lose my nerve, I push open the door, blinking as my eyes adjust to the lighting. The room is like any other small conference room, with an oval table in the center surrounded by chairs. Penelope’s office is off to the right and has a connecting door.
She’s sitting in the chair nearest her office; her laptop is open on the desk, and her hands are poised to take notes. Her red hair falls in soft waves, and her golden brown eyes spark in recognition as we make eye contact. She nods in greeting and then looks pointedly at the chairs along the wall.
I take the hint and sit quickly. I’m five minutes early, but they’re ready to start.
She’s still gorgeous, by the way. Even more so than yesterday. It’s hard to take my eyes off of her, but I manage to tear them away and take in the meeting room.
Nautical decor adorns the walls, including a small iron anchor and a ship’s wheel. They start the meeting as if I’m not there. I listen in. They’re serious about sticking to the agenda and carry on in a very parliamentary style that’s impressive for a small town planning committee.
“We will now hear from Mr. Kringle.” A tall, wiry man with a shock of white hair rises to shake my extended hand, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m Jonathan Whitaker, head of the Founder's Grove planning committee. This is Linda Parker and Dr. Thomas Chang.”
He gestures to the others in turn—a plump, rosy- cheeked woman with twinkling blue eyes and a kind smile and a slight, soft-spoken man with wire-rimmed glasses and an air of quiet intelligence.
“A pleasure to meet you all,” I say, shaking each of their hands. Ms. Parker’s grip is warm and firm, while Dr. Chang’s is cool and delicate. Mr. Whitaker’s handshake is brisk and businesslike, his pale blue eyes assessing me shrewdly.
I glance at Penelope and find her watching me intently, her eyes narrowed. I flash her a grin, but she merely lifts her chin in response.
“So, Mr. Kringle,” Mr. Whitaker begins, folding his hands on the table. “Ms. Winthrop tells us you have a proposal for a community Christmas event. We’re all ears.”
I lean forward, my enthusiasm bubbling up like a wellspring. “Yes, sir. I’ve researched twelve different events.” I hand them each a copy of the table I made that outlines the pros and cons of each event. “There’s everything from a community concert to a Bazaar.”
Ms. Parker claps her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, a Bazaar! How delightful!”
Dr. Chang nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It could be a wonderful opportunity to showcase our local artisans and bring the community together.”
I stop short. I’d prepared a ten-minute presentation, going over the logistics. I’d even flown Rudy over the town at three in the morning to scout locations for each activity. After all that work, it couldn’t be this easy, could it?
I grin. “I envision a vibrant marketplace filled with handcrafted gifts, delicious food, and holiday performances. We could invite local schools to put on concerts, have a gingerbread house competition, maybe even a visit from Santa himself.”
As I speak, the committee members’ faces light up with growing excitement. Even Mr. Whitaker’s stern expression softens, a glimmer of interest sparking in his eyes.
“It sounds like a logistical nightmare,” Penelope interjects, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Permits, insurance, parking—have you thought about any of that?”
I meet her gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed by her skepticism. “I have, actually. And I’m prepared to handle all of it. This Bazaar is my top priority.”
She scowls at me. “Don’t you have a job?”
Without thinking, I blurt, “Christmas is my job.”
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“I think it’s a marvelous idea!” Ms. Parker gushes, practically bouncing in her seat. “And if Mr. Kringle is willing to head up the project, we should let him.”
Dr. Chang nods his agreement. “I concur. If Mr. Kringle is willing to take on the responsibility of organizing the event, I see no reason not to support him.”
I feel a swell of gratitude and relief as the committee members voice their approval. Only Penelope remains silent, her lips pursed, and her brow furrowed.
“I appreciate your trust in me,” I say, my voice ringing with sincerity. “I promise I won’t let you down. This Bazaar will be an event to remember, one that will fill Founder's Grove with the true spirit of Christmas.”
As the meeting wraps up and the committee members file out, Penelope hangs back, her eyes fixed on me. I can practically feel the weight of her gaze, heavy with doubt and something else I can’t quite name.
“You really think you can bring all this together in such a short amount of time?” she asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I take a step closer, my heart aching at the weariness in her tone. “I have to try. This town, these people...they deserve some joy, some hope. And if I can play even a small part in bringing that to them,” I pause and search her face, “to you...,” I venture. Suddenly, I want to see the joy of Christmas on her face, the sparkle in her eye when holiday magic happens, “then it will all be worth it.”
Ever so slowly, the corners of her mouth tug upwards in the ghost of a smile. “Well, then,” she murmurs. “I guess you’d better get to work, Mr. Kringle.” With that, she turns on her heel and strides out of the room, leaving me grinning like a fool in her wake.
I shake myself out of the stupor and tuck my papers back into my folder. Getting permission from the planning committee? Check.
Next on the list is talking to local businesses and spreading the word. I need people to fill booths. I also need to forget about Penelope and sharing a mug of hot cocoa in front of a roaring fire. I’m not sure where that idea came from, but it’s not part of the plan.