8
T he Caribou's warmth enveloped Eleanor as she scrutinized the papers spread before her, lips pursed in concentration. Across the table, Vivian sipped her latte, serving as a sounding board for Eleanor's ideas.
“So, we've got confirmations from three professional couples already,” Eleanor said, tapping a nail against the list. “And sponsorship from the Snowflake Sugar Shop and Caleb's General Store. But they're also on the committee, so I expected it.”
“Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, El. The competition will be here before we know it.”
“Don't I know it? Will the people who want to participate have time to learn and practice? I bet half the people in The Caribou right now probably think the foxtrot is some kind of animal track.”
Vivian let out a snort. “Oh, El, you're so funny.”
Before Eleanor could respond, the cafe's bell chimed, and Eleanor turned towards it. Her breath caught as Christopher Kringle's imposing figure stood in the doorway, his white beard gleaming in the light, his cheeks rosy from the cold, and his smile so large, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
Why did he always have to look so jolly?
Christopher's eyes swept the cafe, landing on their table. Eleanor's stomach knotted as he approached. Why on earth was he heading towards them?
“Well, hello there, ladies. Eleanor, Caleb told me he saw you coming over here. Mind if I join you?”
Before Eleanor could protest, Vivian chirped, “Of course not. Please, sit down. I'm Vivian, by the way.”
“Yes. Of course. I remember you from Martin's wedding.” Christopher settled into the chair, his presence somehow making their cozy corner feel smaller. Eleanor busied herself shuffling papers, determined not to meet his gaze.
“Actually, Eleanor, there's a reason I was looking for you,” Christopher said, his voice as smooth as honey. “I heard about your ballroom dancing competition and want to sign up.”
Eleanor's head jerked up. “You what?”
Christopher's eyes crinkled with mirth. “Is that so hard to believe? I may be no Fred Astaire, but I can cut a rug with the best of them. I think I held my own when we danced.”
Flustered, Eleanor wiped imaginary crumbs off her lap. “Well, yes. Of course.” She became acutely aware of Vivian's poorly concealed smile.
“I... well... I suppose...” Eleanor stammered. “If you're sure you want to participate."
“Absolutely. So, where do I sign up?”
“You can sign up online or at Caleb's store.”
“Don't you have some extra copies of the signup form, El? I thought I just saw some,” Vivian said.
Eleanor shot her look. “Well, yes. I think I do.”
As she fumbled for the registration form, Vivian stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I think I'll grab another coffee. Eleanor, Christopher, can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” Christopher replied. Eleanor shook her head.
Vivian sauntered away, leaving Eleanor alone with Christopher, his jovial presence filling the space between them.
“So, Eleanor,” Christopher leaned in, “what sparked you to organize a ballroom dancing competition? I'd love to hear more about it.”
Eleanor's fingers tightened around her mug. “I'm a dancer. Or I was. It's been a long time,” she muttered, fixated on the swirling coffee. “Carl, my late husband, and I used to compete professionally. We also owned a studio in Seattle.”
“Really? That's fascinating. What was your specialty?”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Eleanor's lips. “The Viennese Waltz. Carl always said I floated across the floor like a snowflake.”
“I bet you were magnificent,” Christopher said.
“We were a good team, my husband and I,” Eleanor said, her gaze growing distant as she drifted back in time. She could almost feel the satin of her favorite gown and hear the music swelling around her. Blinking, she forced herself back to the present. “It was another life,” she said. “Before I left Seattle, before I lost Carl, before everything changed.” Eleanor cringed. She’d said too much. What was wrong with her?
Christopher's large hand covered hers, startling Eleanor. “I understand. Losing a spouse, it leaves a hole nothing can quite fill.”
Eleanor's eyes snapped to his, finding genuine empathy.
“I think that's part of the reason my family has been pushing me so hard to try new things recently. My wife has been gone for a long time, and I know it's time to retire, but the thought of doing it alone…” Christopher’s voice trailed off. “They worry, but sometimes you simply want to wallow in peace,” he finished, chuckling.
Despite herself, a smile tugged at her lips. “I’ve become quite proficient at wallowing.” Their eyes held, a silent understanding passing between them, putting her at ease, so much so that she revealed to Christopher what she'd admitted to no one, not even her best friend: "But unbeknownst to Vivian, she's inspired me to step out of my comfort zone." Suddenly, his motive for entering the dance contest dawned on her. “Your family put you up to the ballroom dance competition, didn't they?”
Christoper pulled his hand away. “Well, they suggested it, but I never do something I don't want to. And besides, it's for a good cause.”
“It certainly is,” Vivian's voice cut in.
Startled, Eleanor turned to see her friend sliding back into her seat, a mischievous grin on her face. Vivian placed a coffee in front of Eleanor and a hot chocolate in front of Christoper. “I know you both said no, but I couldn't resist.”
“Thank you,” Christopher said. “One of my favorites.”
“Yes. I thought you were a hot chocolate kind of guy. So, are you signed up yet?” Vivian asked him.
“No, not yet.”
“Well?” Vivian glared at Eleanor. “What are you waiting for? Give him the form.”
Eleanor reached into her folder, pulled out a registration form, and then passed him a pen.
Christopher donned a pair of reading glasses and quickly completed it. “I put Martin's address as my own. It's easier that way.”
“I guess it’s hard when your address is simply The North Pole,” Vivian said, and Eleanor kicked her under the table. Fortunately, Christopher laughed.
“As you can imagine, I get that a lot,” he said.
“Yes. I should think so,” Eleanor said, taking the paperwork and sliding it back into her folder. She already had several completed forms, having picked them up from Caleb's store. So why did this one feel more… significant?