Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
PENELOPE
T he assembly hall buzzes with excitement as I make my way through the throng of people, the scent of cinnamon and pine filling the air. The Christmas Bazaar is in full swing, and I can hardly believe my eyes as I take in the magical transformation of the space. Twinkling lights dance overhead, casting a warm glow on everything. The sound of children’s laughter—one of my favorite sounds—mingles with the soft strains of Christmas carols, creating a symphony of holiday cheer.
That’s it. This is what I’ve been missing all these Christmases.
It’s beautiful!
I pause for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer joy surrounding me and pulsing through me. Inside of me is a little girl who can’t wait to sit on Santa’s lap.
My gaze is drawn to a booth near the center of the hall, where a crowd has gathered. There’s a lot of chatter and people are really excited. I don’t remember this booth and so I move closer.
Hazel Kringle, her auburn hair shimmering under the fairy lights, smiles shyly as she hands out samples of her Christmas nuts. I can’t help but smile because of the effort she’s making. It seems like it’s easier for her to talk to strangers when she doesn’t have to talk about herself.
“These are incredible!” I hear someone exclaim. “What’s your secret?”
Hazel blushes. “Just a little bit of Christmas Magic,” she says softly.
I’ve tasted her nuts, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s more truth to that statement than the customers realize.
The nuts are clearly the hit of the Bazaar. They’re a new twist on an old favorite with flavors that include chili powder, banana, and toffee alongside cinnamon and apple cinnamon.
I watch as person after person tries a sample, their eyes widening in delight before they rush to buy a bag—or two, or three. Hazel glows under the praise, her usual timidity melting away as she shares her passion with others.
A sudden whistle draws my attention, and I turn to see Oliver’s train chugging along its track, circling the perimeter of the hall. Children squeal with delight as they wave from the miniature carriages, their faces alight with wonder. Oliver sits proudly on the engine, wearing a pair of striped overalls and a wide grin spread across his handsome face. He looks for all the world like a kid himself, caught up in the joy of the moment.
That’s what Christmas should be about—finding the child in all of us. Kringles seem to bring that out in people. I know I’ve felt more alive, more open to things like a little child since spending time with Nick.
As I make my way to Grandpa Henry’s booth full of cinnamon and chocolate-cinnamon rolls, I’m struck by a sense of belonging that I’ve never quite felt before. People greet me warmly as I pass, asking about Noelle (who’s currently being doted on by Mrs. Johnson at the face-painting booth) and commenting on the success of the Bazaar. It’s as if, at this moment, I’m not just Penelope the single mom or Penelope the baker’s granddaughter—I’m Penelope, a valued member of this community.
I owe that to Nick, too. He not only organized the Bazaar, but brought me in on every planning decision and meeting, gave me updates as if I were his boss, and taught me how to do this on my own. I’ve received more training from him in the last three weeks than from my manager in the last three years. I feel that much more capable of moving into the position above me when it opens up. And I believe the planning committee now sees me as a viable replacement for him.
“There you are, sweetpea,” Grandpa calls as I approach. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafts towards me, making my mouth water. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in all this holiday cheer.”
I laugh, tying on an apron and joining him behind the counter. “Sorry, Grandpa. It’s all so magical. I got a bit distracted.”
He nods, his blue eyes twinkling behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “It is something, isn’t it? That Nick Kringle sure knows how to throw a party.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, I spot Nick weaving through the crowd, stopping to chat and shake hands as he goes. He’s wearing another of his infamous Christmas sweaters, this one featuring a light-up Rudolph nose. It should look ridiculous, but somehow, on Nick, it’s charming.
Our eyes meet across the room, and the smile he gives me sends a warm flutter through my chest. I quickly look away, focusing on putting a chocolate cinnamon roll on a plate for a customer, but I can feel a blush creeping up my cheeks.
An older gentleman approaches our booth. I recognize him as Mr. Hawkins, a widower who lives down the street from us.
“Henry, Penelope,” he greets us warmly. “Your booth smells divine.”
As Grandpa boxes up some rolls for Mr. Hawkins, the older man’s gaze sweeps across the bustling Bazaar. “You know,” he says, his voice soft with emotion, “this is exactly what we needed. Last Christmas, I felt so isolated. But this year...” He pauses, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “This year, I’m actually looking forward to Christmas again. I’ve invited some of my neighbors over for Christmas soup.” He puffs out his chest as if he’s supremely proud of himself for coming up with the idea .
I’m proud of him. He’s taking what he’s feeling and sharing it with his neighbors. That’s wonderful. A lump forms in my throat. “I’m so glad, Mr. Hawkins,” I manage to say.
He nods, patting my hand. “Indeed it is, my dear. “
As Mr. Hawkins moves on, more customers approach, many of them familiar faces from around town.
“So, Penelope,” Mrs. Baker says as I box up a dozen of her favorite snickerdoodles, “You and Nick Kringle seem awfully cozy. Anything you’d like to share?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can’t suppress the smile that spreads across my face. “I suppose you could say we’re together.” What a wonderful word: together. It means not being alone, connected to someone, mixing together—all good things.
Mrs. Baker claps her hands. “You two make such a lovely couple. And he’s so good with little Noelle.”
As if on cue, I feel a gentle hand on my back and turn to see Nick standing beside me, his green eyes warm as they meet mine.
“Speak of the devil,” Grandpa chuckles. “They were just talking about you.”
Nick grins, leaning in to place a soft kiss on my cheek. “All good things, I hope?”
The simple gesture sends a thrill through me. He’s so open about his feelings, even in front of the dozens of customers in line. “Of course,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We were just talking about how much everyone is enjoying the Bazaar.”
Nick’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “I’m glad to hear it. Can I steal Penelope away for a few minutes, Henry?”
Grandpa waves us off, his expression one of pure joy. “Go on, you two. I can manage here.”
Nick leads me away from the booth, weaving through the crowd with his hand gently guiding me at the small of my back, and I’m struck by how natural it feels. We’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks.
We end up in a quieter corner of the hall, near a beautiful display of poinsettias. Nick turns to face me, taking both of my hands in his. The warmth of his touch sends a tingle up my arms.
“Penelope,” he says, his voice soft but serious. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
I feel a flutter of nervousness in my stomach. “Oh? What is it?”
He takes a deep breath, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on the backs of my hands. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but these past few weeks... they’ve been the happiest I can remember in a long time. I want us to be together, officially.”
My heart swells at his words, but there’s still a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. “Nick, I feel the same way, but I always had the impression that you’d be leaving after the Bazaar. Going back to your family.” After meeting them, I can see why he wants to be with them and I didn’t want to keep him away from them.
Nick shakes his head. “I don’t have to leave. I could stay here, in Founder's Grove. ”
“But what about your family?” I ask, hardly daring to hope. “Won’t you miss them?”
Nick’s smile widens. “I can always visit. Travel isn’t really an issue.”
I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by the emotions swirling inside me. I couldn’t leave Grandpa alone. He needs me and Noelle as much as we’ve needed him. “Are you sure? This is a big decision.”
He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Penelope, you and Noelle... you’ve become my home. Please let me stay.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, joy spilling over. “I’d like that very much.”
I suddenly notice a sprig of mistletoe hanging above us. Nick follows my gaze, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Did you bring me back here on purpose?” I tease as I swat at him.
He shrugs, as if he’ll never tell me. “Far be it from me to ignore a Christmas tradition.”
As our lips meet in a sweet, tender kiss, I hear the electronic click of a camera shutter. We break apart to see Mrs. Johnson standing nearby, her phone in hand and a gleeful expression on her face.
“Sorry, dears,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “But it was just too perfect a moment not to capture.”
As Nick and I laugh, I’m filled with a sense of pure happiness. The Bazaar continues around us, full of light and laughter and the spirit of Christmas. And here, in this moment, with Nick and the promise of a future together, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be .
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of joy and laughter. Nick and I make our rounds through the Bazaar, hand in hand, stopping to chat with friends and neighbors.
We pause at Oliver’s train ride, where Noelle is gleefully waving from one of the cars, her blonde curls bouncing with each chug of the engine. Oliver gives us a knowing wink as he drives past, and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that my daughter is accepted and cared for by Nick’s family.
“She fits right in, doesn’t she?” Nick murmurs, his arm around my waist.
I nod, leaning into him. I’m at a loss for words. Noelle and Grandpa are my world, and whatever I step into will affect them, too. With Nick and his family, it’s all so easy because there’s so much love there.
A nagging doubt creeps up that it was easy with my ex at first, too. That his true colors didn’t come out until after I’d brought him into my heart and home. The thin gold band he’d put on my finger seemed like insurance against the heartache he eventually unleashed upon me.
I push those thoughts away. Nick doesn’t have a dark side. He isn’t hiding things from me. He’s been nothing but honest this whole time. I can trust him.
Even if I can’t trust myself.