Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
NICK
T he aroma of simmering seafood and freshly baked bread mingles in the air. I sit at a corner table with Penelope and Noelle, my leg bouncing nervously under the checkered tablecloth.
I made my intentions clear and Penelope didn’t run away. Although she looked as shocked as the open-mouthed bass hanging on the wall over our table.
Maybe I’ve gone overboard with the baby food and high chair, but I can’t help it. In the Kringle house, we take care of each other. No one goes without, and everyone feels special. It’s just how we do things.
I almost brought a gift for Penelope, too. But I held back, not wanting to push too fast. Mothers will take things for their kids long before they’ll accept something for themselves. They’re amazing like that. And Penelope? She’s one of the most amazing women I’ve ever known.
She’s also one of the toughest .
I’ve seen her battle wounds in the careful way she holds herself apart from others. Mrs. Thompson filled in some of the blanks, enough for me to know I need to tread lightly with Penelope.
“So, Nick Kringle. Where did you grow up?” Penelope asks.
I take a sip of my water, buying myself a moment. My story is a lot for people to take in. “A little bit of everywhere, actually,” I say finally.
Penelope cocks her head, an encouraging look on her face. “That sounds interesting. Care to elaborate?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This isn’t a story I tell often, but something about Penelope makes me want to open up. Maybe because I know she’s been through her own tragedies. “My parents died when I was ten,” I begin, keeping my voice level. “After that, I bounced around in foster homes for a while. I wasn’t ever a troubled kid, thankfully. My older brother Gabe was usually there, and as soon as he turned 18, he moved us both out and got a job as a security guard.”
Penelope’s expression softens, compassion replacing the wariness in her eyes. “Nick, I’m so sorry. That must have been incredibly difficult.”
I shrug, offering a small smile. “It was tough, but we made it through. Gabe’s my hero, really. He met his wife, Robyn, years ago on a reality TV dating show, if you can believe it. They’re happily married now with four kids of their own.”
“Wow,” Penelope says, sounding genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a journey. Are they coming to the Bazaar? ”
“I’ve invited them, but this is their busy time of year,” I explain. “My niece Hazel will be there, though. She’s really shy, almost to the point that she doesn’t want to come. But I think it’ll be good for her.”
Penelope nods, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s nice that you’re looking out for her.” She pauses, then asks, “Do you have any other siblings?”
I shake my head. “Just Gabe. What about you?”
“No, it was just me and my mom for a long time,” Penelope says, her voice taking on a wistful quality. “We were two peas in a pod, especially after my dad left when I was thirteen.”
I can see the old pain in her eyes, and I resist the urge to reach out and take her hand. Instead, I focus on keeping Noelle from toppling her sippy cup. “That must have been hard,” I say softly.
Penelope nods, absently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “It was. But we managed. At least, until...” She trails off, glancing at Noelle.
“Until Noelle came along?” I guess gently.
She sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Yeah. Mom... she said she’d already raised one kid and didn’t want to do another one. She took a job out West, and I haven’t seen her since. She rarely calls.”
My heart aches for her, imagining how scared and alone she must have felt. “Penelope, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
She gives me a wan smile. “It’s okay. My grandpa—my dad’s father, ironically—he took us in. Saved me from who knows what. I want better for Noelle, you know? I want her to always feel secure.”
“Hey,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “You have a great job, and you’re doing good things. Noelle is lucky to have you.”
Penelope shakes her head, a hint of doubt creeping into her voice. “Sometimes I wonder. But at least my daughter knows she is loved.”
“At least?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. “Penelope, that’s not just the least—that’s the most important thing you can give her. More important than the clothes she wears or where she lives. Love is the strongest power on earth, and having a strong foundation of love will give her the confidence to face the world.”
Penelope stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face. “I don’t know where you came from, Nick Kringle. Do they make more men like you there?”
I duck my head. “Trust me, I’m the least among the Kringles.”
“Free refills!” chirps our server as she sets new bowls before us.
The rich, creamy aroma of clam chowder fills the air, momentarily distracting us both. We dig in, the conversation lulling as we enjoy a second round of chowder. The bowls aren’t that big, so I don’t feel bad about eating another one.
I notice Noelle’s head starting to droop. “Look at this little one,” I say softly. “She’s falling asleep in her chair.”
Penelope glances at her daughter, a tender smile softening her features. I think, when she looks at her baby, she’s the most beautiful. “We’d better get her to bed,” she says, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
As if on cue, the waitress appears with our check. I quickly snag it before Penelope can reach for it. “My treat,” I insist.
We gather our things, Penelope carefully lifting a now-sleeping Noelle from the high chair. I hold the door open for them as we step out into the cool evening air. The breeze carries the salty scent of the nearby ocean.
I walk them the half block to the bakery, and we pause, neither quite ready to say goodbye. “Thank you for tonight, Nick,” she says softly. “It was... unexpected, in the best way.”
Impulsively, I step forward and wrap them both in a gentle hug. Penelope stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the embrace. I breathe in the soft floral and vanilla scent of her perfume, committing this moment to memory.
“You’re so warm,” she murmurs.
I chuckle. I didn’t think about being a Kringle or the fact that we don’t get cold until she noticed it.
“Goodnight, Penelope,” I murmur as I step back. “Goodnight, Noelle. Sweet dreams, little one.”
As I watch them slip inside, a worry wiggles its way into my thoughts. I didn’t think about being Kringle. I forgot about my goals; I forgot about becoming more than I’ve ever been. I forgot about Christmas Magic.
What kind of a Christmas ambassador am I?
I’d like to believe that Christmas Magic didn’t note my slip-up, but that’s like hoping Santa didn’t see me break my bat on Johnny’s bed, put a frog in my sister’s bed, or make Tommy eat a bug.
It knows.
Cinnamon sticks!