10
C hristopher stomped the snow off his boots as he and Nora entered Martin's cabin.
“Dad, we're home,” Nora called out.
Martin came to greet them at the door. “And how is your Aunt Jamie, Nora?”
“She's good. Her birthday party was awesome. It's too bad you couldn't make it. Oh, and the cake Rosie and Jack made was incredible.”
“Good, well, hopefully I can make it next year.”
“Yes, that would be great,” Christopher said. “Other than on Zoom calls, I can't remember when all my grandchildren were together at once.”
“We are spread all over the world,” Martin reminded him.
“Yes, yes, I know. But it's not like you're flying economy. Santa magic makes travel much easier, does it not?”
Martin rolled his eyes. “Well, come on in for a drink before you head home. I just made some tea.”
Christopher nodded and removed his boots and coat. Martin's cabin was always so cozy. He dropped onto the worn leather sofa, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep. It had been a long day.
Martin soon joined him in the family room, handing him a steaming cup of tea.
“I was at the general store today, and you should have heard Caleb. All he could do was talk about Eleanor's dance lesson. Apparently, she taught a group the waltz last night,” Martin said with a chuckle. “I never would have guessed that Eleanor would have the patience to teach, but Caleb said she was terrific.”
Christopher nodded. Eleanor had already revealed her past experience to him at The Cozy Caribou. “If I have learned anything, it's that humans are complex and multifaceted. Sadly, we often judge them too quickly.”
Nora plopped down into the armchair, and Christopher noted the devilish flicker in her eyes. “Why don't you ask for a lesson, Great-grandpa? I know you can dance, but how often do you do it? I'm sure a refresher lesson or two couldn't hurt.” She waggled her eyebrows. “A private lesson or two, that is.”
“Nora,” Martin chastised. “Be respectful.”
“I am,” Nora protested. “I'm just trying to move things along. I think Great-grandpa likes her, so why waste time?”
“Nora,” Martin repeated, and this time she held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
Christopher was grateful for his beard, as he was certain his whiskers would hide the blush on his cheeks. He thought of dancing with Eleanor, as they had at the wedding, and honestly, he quite liked the idea. Oh dear, was his blush deepening?
He placed his teacup on the coffee table and stood. “Well, thanks for tea, but I must be going.”
Martin made to stand.
“Don't get up,” Christopher said. “I'll see myself out.” Several minutes later, he stood on Martin's porch, his heart pounding with both exhilaration and nervousness, steeling himself for what he was about to do.
He called to his horses, and before he could change his mind, he was winding his way through the Mistletoe streets toward Eleanor's house. Soon, he was standing on her porch, knocking on her door.
Eleanor answered immediately, her eyes widening at the sight of him. “Christopher? What on earth are you doing here?”
He felt like a nervous teenager. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “Good evening, Eleanor. I heard you were providing dance lessons. And while I already know how to dance, I thought, maybe, you could give me a refresher lesson, privately, if possible.” He cringed inwardly at his awkwardness, imagining the look Nora would give him as he stumbled through each word.
Eleanor's brow furrowed. “I'm a little busy organizing the competition,” she said matter-of-factly.
Christopher nodded. “Of course, my apologies for disturbing you.” But then he noticed a flicker of something, he wasn't sure what, pass over Eleanor's face.
“But a little practice with a suitable partner would be good for me, too.” She gave him a small smile. “Would tomorrow at noon work for you? I know it's soon, but I have so much to do and—”
“Tomorrow at noon would work fine,” he interrupted. “I know the perfect place, quiet and out of the way. I'll pick you up then.”
Christopher turned and rushed back to his sleigh, fearing an awkward silence would fall between them if he remained on her stoop. He gave her a wave and took off into the night. He knew precisely where and what he wanted to do for tomorrow. Now, he just needed to work a little magic.
***
At noon the next day, Christopher guided his horse-drawn sleigh to a stop in front of Eleanor's house.
He saw the curtains draw back and her face peer out the window. Seconds later, she emerged from her home, her eyes fixated on the carriage. “What is with you Kringles, and your love of sleighs? I would think a 4x4 or a snowmobile would be far more practical.”
Christopher chuckled as he extended his hand to assist her into the sleigh. “All I can say is that we are traditionalists.” He climbed in after her, taking his seat at the reins. They set off, and he attempted to make small talk. “Beautiful day, isn't it?”
“Hmm,” Eleanor responded. “Where exactly are we going?”
“You'll see.”
“That sounds ominous,” Eleanor said.
Again, Christopher laughed. “Not at all. It's a place my grandson Jack told me about. It's a little out of the way but quite beautiful and secluded.”
Eleanor gave him an odd look. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? The gossip works its way through Mistletoe quite quickly.”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” Christopher said, finding her bluntness both surprising and refreshing. “Heck no. It's somewhere peaceful where we can dance to our heart's content without interruptions.”
“If you say so,” Eleanor said.
Finally, they pulled up to the clearing, and Christopher heard Eleanor gasp. As a Santa, he was accustomed to gift-giving and providing joy in the Christmas season, but it was, in many ways, an anonymous gift, and, more often than not, he never witnessed gratitude directly.
But here he was, bringing a small pleasure to a person he knew and who he'd like to believe was becoming a friend. Hearing that little catch in Eleanor's breath as they reached their destination was incredibly rewarding.
“I've lived in Mistletoe most of my life,” Eleanor said, her eyes taking in the clearing, the treeline, the crisp blue sky. “How have I never stumbled upon this place before?”
Christopher chuckled softly. “Sometimes the most magic is hidden in plain sight,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We just need the right moment to discover it.”
Eleanor turned to him. “Well then, we better not waste it. Let's get dancing.”
They walked down to a frozen lake. “It's not slippery?” Eleanor asked.
“I should think not. Black ice is the slipperiest and best for skating. There is too much wind at this lake to make black ice, and with the recent snow, the surface is rough.”
“You're quite the expert.”
“Well, part of it comes with experience; the other comes with Google.”
That caused Eleanor to smile.
“Shall we?” Christopher asked, offering his hand. “We could start with a waltz. I don't have music, but perhaps you could count the beats?”
Eleanor nodded, slipping her hand into his. They began to dance, and as Christopher heard Eleanor count 1,2, 3–1,2,3, he would have sworn that music emanated from the very trees themselves.
Slowly, Eleanor's rigid posture softened. Christopher marveled at the grace in her movements, the way her feet seemed to float across the lake. As they twirled and swayed, he found himself lost in her eyes, seeing past her stern exterior to the passionate dancer within.
“I’m relieved that my memory of you as a dance partner didn’t fail me. You’re not half bad,” Eleanor admitted, a rare smile tugging at her lips.
Christopher chuckled, allowing a bit more energy and flair to enter his steps.
As they danced across the ice in perfect sync, Christopher sensed a deepening connection between them. Their movements flowed seamlessly, matching the splendor of the crisp winter day. The rhythmic crunch of their steps on the ice and the warmth of the sun on their faces created a shared moment of pure joy. Christopher relished this growing bond, silently hoping Eleanor felt it, too.
They whirled through a tango and a foxtrot, and as they were finishing a rhumba, Christopher noticed that Eleanor's eyes glistened with unshed tears before a single droplet escaped, trailing down her cheek.
“Eleanor?” he prompted, slowing their movement. “What's wrong?”
Eleanor's breath hitched, her controlled demeanor crumbling. “I haven't danced like this since Carl’s death. I’m sorry.”
Christopher's heart ached at the pain in her voice. “What happened?”
She looked away, but he lifted her chin and stared imploringly into her eyes. “Hey, you can tell me. Or not. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
The silence stretched out like a long winter night, and Christopher ached to comfort her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, content to provide her with nothing more than a shoulder to cry on. But then she spoke.
“We were competing and had won our competition. Carl was laughing, telling me how beautiful I looked, and then he collapsed. Right there on the dance floor.” Her voice broke. “Brain aneurysm. He was gone before the ambulance arrived.”
“Oh, Eleanor,” he whispered, his own memories of loss rising to the surface. “I'm so sorry. While everyone's experience of loss is unique, I understand that pain, that emptiness.”
“It was so long ago, and yet…how do you do it? How do you move on?” she asked, her voice muffled against his parka.
“I wish I knew,” Christopher said, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “I think that we always carry our lost loves with us. They're a part of us. But I'm also beginning to discover that we need to find happiness in the memories, and not only pain.”
“I hope you're right,” Eleanor said. “The night he died, I vowed never to dance again. I sold our dance studio, moved back to Mistletoe, and lost contact with all my friends in the dance world. And I never danced until you asked me at Martin's wedding. That one dance began to rekindle a part of me I'd buried along with Carl. I want to remember Carl and me dancing with fondness, and I know Carl would want me to dance. He'd be heartbroken at the angry and bitter woman I've become. So I'm trying. For him. For me. But it's hard. Change is hard.”
“Oh, Elenor,” he whispered, gently kissing the top of her head.
They stood there, holding each other, sharing a moment of vulnerability and understanding that transcended words.
After a while, Eleanor shivered, so Christopher pulled back. “Come on,” he said. “Let's go warm up.”
He led Eleanor back to the sleigh, producing a thermos from beneath the seat. “Hot chocolate,” he explained, pouring two steaming cups.
“Thank you for today,” Eleanor said. “And I'm sorry for my behavior. I don't normally reveal my feelings like that. I’m terribly embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” he insisted. “ I'm glad I was here for you. I'd like to think we're becoming friends.”
“Me too,” Eleanor said, and they clinked their mugs together.
As they sat side by side, sipping their cocoa, Christopher hesitated momentarily before slowly slipping his free hand into Eleanor's. To his surprise and delight, she didn't pull away.