Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
PENELOPE
I drag myself up the stairs to our apartment over the bakery.
The Bazaar was a huge success. The best one we’ve ever had, according to every single person I talked to. I couldn’t be more pleased with my professional accomplishments today. And I will celebrate them as soon as I get some sleep.
However, after seeing a flying reindeer and telling Nick that I love him, sleep will be hard to come by. I’m so happy I think I could fly.
It’s not really about the reindeer, although that was incredible.
It’s Nick.
It’s loving him. Allowing myself to love him. Knowing he loves me, too. It’s all this happy, safe, magical thing that I never want to let go of.
The familiar creak of the stairs leading up to our apartment above the bakery feels like a grounding rhythm after the surreal evening I’ve just experienced. Light seeps out from under the door. A quick glance at my phone confirms it’s well past midnight.
I hurry to find my key. Grandpa should be in bed by now.
I step inside to find Grandpa in his favorite rocking chair, a well-worn book resting in his lap. The kitchen is clean. The place in order. Noelle’s light is off, and I’m sure she’s sleeping. I let the stress fall off my shoulders.
“Did you have a good time?” Grandpa asks. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Dicken’s A Christmas Carol is open on his lap. He likes to read it every December and says it reminds him of what’s important this time of year. I can’t imagine that he struggles with any sort of miserly ways; he’s the most giving man I know.
“It was almost perfect.” I take off my coat and hang it on the rack by the door. I spend a few minutes unpacking my day, putting things where they go and then move to sit in the chair near him.
“Almost?”
“Nothing can ever be perfect-perfect, can it?” I think of the cotton candy vendor running out of peppermint-flavored sugar and the one tree that only was only lit on the very top, the other strands refusing to glow. Somehow, it made the whole event feel that much more charming. Or maybe that’s just how I saw things because I feel charmed—by Nick.
Grandpa stares thoughtfully into the distance, his book forgotten in his lap. The sight of him, looking suddenly old and fragile in the soft lamplight, makes my heart clench. He is getting older. His steps are slower and his skin papery. I can’t pinpoint a moment when those changes happened. It’s like they snuck up on me and acted like they were there all along.
“Grandpa?” I ask softly.
He startles slightly at my voice, then smiles, patting my hand. His skin feels warm against mine. “I’ve been thinking, sweetpea,” he says slowly, his voice carrying a weight that immediately puts me on edge. “I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m slowing down, and with you and Nick reconnecting, well, I’ve been considering moving to a retirement place.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. The idea of Grandpa not being here, not being a daily part of our lives, is inconceivable. He’s been my rock, my constant, ever since my mother left. The thought of losing him, even to a retirement home, sends a spike of fear through me.
“Grandpa, no,” I say firmly, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice. “You don’t have to move anywhere. This is your home.” Much more than it is mine. He’s lived here for fifty-plus years. I only moved in about five years ago.
He smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a resignation there that breaks my heart. “I know, sweetpea. But things are changing. You’re building a new life; the bakery is going under. I don’t have it in me to give it a good revival.”
I slide off the arm of the chair and kneel in front of him, taking his thick hands in mine. They’re the hands that taught me to knead dough, that wiped away my tears after Noelle’s father left, and that have been there to support and guide me. I can’t imagine my life without them.
“Listen to me,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “We need you, Grandpa. I need you.”
His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he squeezes my hands. “Penelope,” he says softly, his voice filled with a mix of love and pride that makes my own eyes water. “You’ve grown into such a wonderful woman. You’re stronger than you think you are.”
What am I supposed to say to that? I will not whine and complain that I’m a weakling. That’s an argument I can’t make, and he knows it.
I push up and take a seat on the chair. “You’ve made up your mind, then?” I think about his efforts at the bakery and how much he’s slowed down. Maybe Noelle and I wear him out, too. Noelle wears me out at times, and I’m not an old man. Maybe he wants to take a break from us. Not in a bad way, not like he doesn’t want us around, but he might be tired. He looks tired.
We sit in silence for a while, the ticking of the old clock on the mantel the only sound in the room. My mind wanders back to the events of the evening, to Nick and the magical world he’s introducing us to. And suddenly, I’m hit with a realization that both terrifies and exhilarates me.
“Grandpa,” I say softly, breaking the silence. “There’s something I need to tell you. About Nick. ”
He looks at me, curiosity mixing with the ever-present warmth in his eyes. “What is it, sweetpea?”
I take a deep breath, wondering how on earth I’m going to explain this. “Nick is... well, he’s special. More special than I ever imagined.” I pause, gathering my courage. “Grandpa, Nick is Santa Claus’s adopted son.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, to my surprise, Grandpa chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “I may be old, but I’m not senile yet.”
“No, Grandpa, I’m serious,” I insist, feeling a bit desperate. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. The reindeer, the magic... it’s all real. I’ve seen it.”
Grandpa’s smile fades as he studies my face, seeing the earnestness in my eyes. “You really believe this, don’t you?” he asks softly.
I nod, feeling tears prick at my eyes.
He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. “Penelope, my dear, I’ve lived a long life. I’ve seen a lot of things, some that I could explain and some that I couldn’t. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the world is full of more wonder than we can possibly imagine.”
I look up at him, hope blooming in my chest. “You believe me?”
He smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes. “I believe that you believe, sweetpea. And that’s enough for me. Now, tell me everything.”
And so I do. I tell him about the wish coin and wishing him away last time, about seeing Rudy fly, about the magic that seems to permeate every aspect of Nick’s life. I tell him about my fears and doubts, about the way my heart soars when I’m with Nick, and about the terror I feel at the thought of such a massive change in our lives.
Grandpa listens patiently, his eyes never leaving my face. When I finally fall silent, emotionally exhausted, he squeezes my hands gently.
“Penelope,” he says, his voice filled with warmth, “do you remember how I met your grandmother?”
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips despite my emotional turmoil. It’s one of my favorite stories.
“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I was just a gangly boy who could barely string two words together around her. But I knew, deep in my heart, that she was special. That she was worth facing my fears for.” He pauses, his eyes distant with memory. “Love, real love, is always a little bit magical, Penelope. It changes us, challenges us, makes us see the world in a whole new way.”
His words wash over me, soothing some of the turmoil in my heart. “But what if I’m not enough?” I whisper, giving voice to my deepest fear. “What if I can’t handle being part of that world?”
Grandpa cups my cheek with his hand, “Oh, my dear,” he says softly, “don’t you see? You’re already part of that world. You’ve brought magic into so many lives with your kindness, your strength, your love.”
Tears spill down my cheeks at his words, and I lean into his touch. “I’m scared, Grandpa,” I admit. “Everything’s changing so fast.”
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Change is always scary, sweetpea. But it’s also an opportunity. You won’t be facing it alone.”
“I love you, Grandpa,” I say, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.
“I love you too, sweetpea,” he murmurs, his hand patting my back gently. “Now, off to bed with you. Sounds like you’ve had quite the evening.”
“Goodnight, Grandpa,” I say softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead.
“Goodnight, sweetpea. Sweet dreams.”
I go to my bedroom, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. I close my eyes, letting the familiar sounds of the apartment wash over me: the gentle creak of Grandpa’s rocking chair, the soft whistle of Noelle’s breathing from the next room, the distant hum of the refrigerator—all these sounds of home, family, and love. I don’t know what the North Pole sounds like or even where we’ll live. I like knowing things. Grandpa’s right; this is an opportunity. I have to keep telling myself that.