Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
NICK
I wrap my hands around a ceramic mug of hot cocoa, savoring the flavor and inhaling deeply. The rich, comforting scent helps chase away the last vestiges of sleep clinging to my mind.
The Kringle house is quiet this early in the morning, but I can hear the faint sounds of movement upstairs as the rest of the family begins to stir. The world outside looks like a scene from a Christmas card, pristine and peaceful.
Rye enters the kitchen, looking uncharacteristically casual in a pair of jeans, a plain t-shirt, and some running shoes. All brand new, by the looks of them. His rust-colored hair is neatly styled as always, but there’s an air of nervous excitement about him that I’ve rarely seen before.
“Morning, Nick,” he says, his copper-colored eyes bright with anticipation. “What do you think? Do I look the part? ”
I raise an eyebrow, taking in his outfit. “The part of...?”
“A mail room worker,” Rye explains, a hint of pride in his voice. “A casual Joe. One of the regular guys. I researched what people typically wear in entry-level positions. Hazel helped me put this together from her magical purse.”
I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. It’s endearing to see my usually poised and confident cousin so excited about something as simple as a new outfit. “You look great, Rye. Very... authentic.”
Hazel appears in the doorway then, her dark auburn hair still slightly mussed from sleep. She’s wearing a pair of pajamas with a reindeer on the front. She grins at Rye. “I may not be Layla or Auntie Frost, but I can pull together an outfit,” she says with a snap of her fingers.
I laugh, raising my mug in a mock toast. “You can dress me any day, Hazel.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “You’d never give up your sweaters.”
She’s right. I’m currently wearing a lime green one with an outline of the Grinch. It’s supposed to be sarcastic. Before I can respond, Harvey and Gail sweep into the kitchen, both decked out in full Santa and Mrs. Claus regalia. Harvey’s white beard is neatly trimmed, his red suit immaculate. And his black boots shining like a new piece of coal. Gail looks every bit the perfect Mrs. Claus in her fur-lined red velvet dress, her hair pulled back in a bun. She has a wide black belt on that trims her at the waist and smells like chocolate chip cookies .
“Good morning,” Harvey chimes. “Beautiful day for a trip to the Reindeer Wrangler Ranch, isn’t it?”
Gail nods, checking her black boots to make sure they are laced correctly. “The Wranglers are hosting a day with the reindeer and need a Mr. and Mrs. Claus. It’ll give us a chance to look over the flying baby reindeer born this year and see how they respond to Santa.”
“We might stay a couple of days,” Harvey adds, helping himself to a cup of cocoa from the pan I left on the stove. “Make sure we get a good look at all the new additions.”
I nod. Inspecting the baby reindeer doesn’t usually happen until spring, but since they’re in this year of transition to retirement, things are flexible. Their friends who run the ranch retired a few years ago, though they still live thier with their five sons and all their families. Their houses line the lane into the ranch and each has a role to play in making sure the only flying reindeer herd in the world is safe and well cared for.
Oliver breezes through the kitchen, grabbing a Danish from the plate on the counter. “I’ll be in the workshop if anyone needs me.” And just like that, he’s gone again, leaving behind only the faint scent of motor oil and peppermint.
Hazel turns to me, her head tilted curiously. “What about you, Nick? What are your plans for today?”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. I spent way too much time thinking this very question through last night as I didn’t sleep. “Thought I’d wander over to the Bazaar, and look into putting together some kind of stable or barn for the reindeer to hang out in during the event. ”
A knowing smile spreads across Hazel’s face. “You’re saying help with the Bazaar, but what I’m hearing is run into Penelope .”
I take a sip of my cocoa, and she giggles. “You don’t have to admit it. But just know that not admitting it is the same thing as admitting it.” She wiggles her fingers at me as she heads back upstairs to get dressed for the day.
“Wait!” I call after her. “What are you doing?” She’s supposed to be figuring herself out. Which could mean any number of things. I should be taking a more active role in her life, but touching Penelope yesterday fried my brain and I haven’t given one second of thought to Hazel.
She stops and turns on the stairs. “I’m going Christmas shopping in the city.”
“Oh.” It sounds harmless enough. “Alone?” I ask, feeling like an overprotective uncle—which I am.
She grins. “For now. Who knows what handsome stranger I’ll happen upon.”
I’d worry about her, but she can put someone to sleep in a snap. If a guy tried anything, she’d knock him out cold. The girl can handle herself. Besides, for her to actually talk to a man who isn’t a family member, she’d have to break through her own shyness. I’m feeling just fine about her heading into Boston on her own.
I grab one of the coats we use to look like we blend in and step outside into the crisp morning air. I’m struck by a sense of lightness I haven’t felt in years.
Being here in Founder's Grove feels right in a way I can’t quite explain. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time .
The thought of seeing Penelope again sends a thrill through me that feels like the first bite into a mint patty. The snow crunches beneath my boots, the air is sharp and clean in my lungs, and my heart feels full of possibility. Penelope did not tell me to go away yesterday—even after I said I love her.
That’s it! That’s why I’m so happy. It’s love—er, admitting that I’m in love. Probably both.
The town comes to life around me as I walk and I feel like I’m in some kind of musical, charmed moment. Shopkeepers are opening their doors, the smell of fresh bread wafts from the bakery, and cheerful “good mornings” are exchanged between neighbors. It’s a scene straight out of a movie, but it feels genuine and warm in a way that tugs at my heart.
As I approach the community center, I spot a familiar figure standing on the steps with a clipboard in hand. Penelope’s curls are pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing a puffy coat in deep forest green that brings out the flecks in her golden eyes. Her tight jeans are tucked into brown boots that come to her knees.
For a moment, I just stand there, drinking in the sight of her. I’ve been away for long enough that I worried I created her beauty in my head or built it up. I didn’t. She is stunning. Easily the most beautiful woman on the planet. I want to tell her that. I want to whisper it while massaging her scalp and breathing in the wonderful scent of bread and vanilla and sugar that clings to her skin no matter what time of day. I want to nuzzle her neck and then kiss her warm skin, and all the while, I want to whisper how much I love her, how much she means to me.
I want her to be mine, and I want to be hers.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, too focused on whatever list she’s checking on her clipboard. The morning sun catches the highlights in her hair, making it shimmer like burnished copper. She bites her lower lip in concentration, and I want to tug it loose and then claim it with my own.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and approach. “Good morning, Penelope,” I call out. My voice sounds normal, despite the twirls in my stomach.
She looks up, startled, and for a brief moment, I see a flash of... something in her eyes. Surprise? Pleasure? It’s gone too quickly for me, to be sure.
“Nick,” she says, her voice carefully neutral. “Good morning. What brings you here so early?”
I climb the last of the steps to join her, close enough now to catch the faint scent of vanilla. “I thought I’d get started on the reindeer enclosure,” I say, aiming for casual, but probably missing by a mile. “I was thinking we could set up a photo booth.” I hint at one of the many kisses we shared—this one under the mistletoe in the photo booth—to see what her reaction will be.
Not that I expect her to throw down her clipboard and jump into my arms, but it’s a nice thought.
Penelope regards me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Does she remember? Is it a good memory for her?
A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips .
YES! I silently shout. It’s the tiniest of victories, but I’ll take it.
“I’m not sure where we’ll put the reindeer . . . How are you at building things?” She asks as if she doesn’t know—like we’re strangers. It’s almost like she’s flirting with me. That, or she’s giving me a chance to start over.
Either way, I’ll take it. “I don’t mean to brag, but I can outwork an elf.” I puff up my chest." She shakes her head as if I’m ridiculous. “What did you have in mind?” I ask.
She turns, gesturing towards the open doors of the community center where three men in coats with a moving company logo on them are hauling large boxes through the door. “We need to set up some of the larger displays inside. Think you can handle it?”
“Lead the way,” I say, following her into the building.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how easily we fall into step with each other, just like we used to. It’s a small thing, but it gives me hope. I steal a glance at Penelope, wondering if she notices it, too. The way our arms occasionally brush against each other sends a jolt of electricity through my body, reminding me of all the times we’ve walked this path before. It’s amazing how such a simple act can bring back so many memories and emotions.
Inside the community center, the space has been transformed into a winter wonderland. Twinkling lights are strung across the ceiling, creating a starry canopy above. The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, mingling with the crisp smell of newly unboxed decorations. Despite the effort that’s already been put in, there’s not that much that’s different from the first year. I’m not knocking Penelope or the work she’s done. It’s just that the part of me that’s Kringle itches to make it magical.
Penelope leads me to a corner where several large boxes are stacked. “We need to assemble the Santa’s Workshop display,” she explains, gesturing to a diagram pinned to a nearby corkboard. “It’s meant to be the centerpiece of the children’s area.”
“We?” I ask in surprise.
She gulps and looks away. “It’s on my to-do list for today.”
Wow. She’s… I’m floored. She’s holding one elbow with the other hand, and I somehow know that if I make a big deal out of this, she will run. She’s putting herself out there, giving me just enough hope, and yet she’s ready to pull it all back.
I roll up my sleeves. “Alright, let’s get to work.”
For the next few hours, Penelope and I assemble the elaborate display. It’s intricate work, requiring all my concentration. Which was probably the point. She doesn’t want to talk about the past and we can’t while we’re trying to decipher Japanese instructions and quarter-sized schematics.
I appreciate her thoughtfulness. She’s given us a chance to work together, like we used to, without me screwing it up by wanting to air out what happened.
Even as I’m putting part 1034-a into rod 78G, I wonder if I should tell her I’m not angry that she wished me away. I wonder if I should tell her that for the last three years, I’ve been on a wish-granting binge that didn’t bring me half as much joy as the last two hours with her. Is that too much?
Would I push her too far with that statement?
I absently reach for the impossibly small Allen wrench they included with the kit, and my hand accidentally wraps around hers. We both freeze. My breath comes in quick, short bursts, and sparks shoot up my arm.
“Sorry,” she pulls away.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I tell her, hoping she understands that I mean more than trying to grab the same tool. I’m not talking about the stupid wrench. I’m talking about the past, her wish, and everything or anything else she feels she needs to apologize for.
I gather my courage. “Penelope,” I begin. I clear my throat and try again. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about-“
Before I can finish, we’re interrupted by Noelle crashing into her legs. “Mamma!”
Penelope’s face lights up, and she leans over to hug Noelle. My heart swells. It’s so obvious to me that Penelope loves Noelle with all that she is, and I love that about her. She is an amazing mother. Is it weird that that’s one of the things that attracts me to her? I want kids—one day. I can’t imagine them with anyone else but her.
“Nick!” Noelle launches herself at me, and I catch her before she clings to me, swinging her up into my arms.
“Well, hello there, Princess Noelle,” I say, grinning at her. “What brings you here?”
Noelle giggles. “Grandpa brought me.”
Penelope and I share a look over Noelle’s head, and I’m pulled back into this family as fast as a reindeer on sugar cubes.
Henry approaches at a much slower pace. He’s limping. His hip must be bothering him. Reindeer poop. He’s one of those people that you want to be around forever, and I hate seeing his age on him.
“Hope you don’t mind the interruption,” Henry says, his voice warm. “This little one was asking about the Bazaar all morning.”
Penelope shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. “Not at all, Grandpa. We could use all the help we can get.”
As Noelle chatters away about her ideas for the Bazaar, I can’t help but marvel at how right this feels. The four of us together, laughing ... it’s like a glimpse into the past and the future that I’ve been dreaming of.
But as I catch Penelope’s eye over Noelle’s head, I see a flicker of uncertainty there. She might be warming up to me again, but we still have a long way to go. She wished me away and had her reasons for doing so. I don’t know if those reasons are still alive in her or if she’s cast them off.
For now, I push those thoughts aside and focus on being right here, right now. Noelle has several ideas for the reindeer pen, and when I look up to make sure Penelope hears one of them, she grabs both my cheeks and makes me make eye contact with her. “Are you listening?”
I laugh. “Every word. The reindeer would love an automatic carrot dispenser, but I don’t think there are enough carrots in the grocery store to fill a reindeer.” I cup one hand around my mouth and whisper, “They eat like pigs. ”
She giggles.
“Do they?” Penelope jumps in. She continues to adjust the greenery on a garland.
I’m taken aback by the force of her sincerity and search her face for a speck of sarcasm or mockery. I don’t find either.
“They do. Especially treats.”
“Who eats the most?” asks Noelle.
I look up at the ceiling as I ponder that question. “Gris.”
Noelle wrinkles her nose. “Gris?”
I laugh and tap her nose. “Yeah. He’s about this big.” I hold up my hand to indicate that he comes to my shoulder. “Which isn’t that big for a reindeer, but he has so much muscle on him that he weighs a half as much more than any of the taller reindeer.” I glance over to find Penelope listening, though she’s pretending not to. “He looks tough, but he’s a big ol’ softie on the inside.”
“Is Gris coming to the Bazaar?” Noelle asks.
“I don’t think he’d fit through the door,” I tease her.
She rolls her eyes at me, and I’m given a glimpse of the teenager she’ll be one day.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of activity. Noelle proves to be an enthusiastic, if not always helpful, assistant. Her ideas for the Bazaar range from the practical (“We should have hot chocolate!”) to the fantastical (“Can we make it snow inside, Nick? You can do that, right?”).
I do not explain to her that I cannot, but my nephew can .
I’m trying to be as open and honest with Penelope as possible and mark my words; she’s listening to every syllable that comes out of my mouth. But explaining Christmas Magic and my adopted family tree to a four-year-old would take crayons and a large poster board.
I catch Penelope watching me with Noelle more than once, an unreadable expression on her face. Each time our eyes meet, I feel a jolt of electricity run through me. There’s still so much unsaid between us, so much to work through. But for now, I’m content to be here.