Little Miss Santa Claws

12. Nicole

CHAPTER 12

Nicole

A s we walk the empty streets, Missy points out all the little closed shops.

The North Pole has the same storefronts you would see in a human town, but with a few unique additions: a shop that specializes in magical ornaments that glow and swirl with ethereal lights, a place that carries supplies for unconventional pets, including sweater vests for rabbits and bedazzled collars for polar bears, and a quaint bar that serves a variety of spiked cocoas. Then, there are some shops that carry the most unusual items, almost alien in appearance. I notice Missy doesn’t explain those ones. It makes sense, I suppose. Santa sort of is an alien.

The streets are barely wide enough for us to walk comfortably side-by-side, which makes all the little buildings feel like they are towering over us. It’s a comforting sensation, cozy.

“I’m sorry you can’t get the full experience of our town tonight. Everything closes for Christmas, and they won’t open again for several days,” Missy informs me, her soft hand squeezing mine as we continue down the street. We’re headed toward the workshop at the end of this lane—a two-story log building standing a head above the rest of the town.

“That’s okay,” I murmur. “I wouldn’t expect anyone to work on Christmas.”

Even though I did. Even elves take a break, and it makes me realize just how hard I’ve been pushing myself this last year, working weekends and holidays. Even when I wasn’t working, I was thinking about what I had to do. Here, they shut everything down. They stay home. They have to put the work aside. And clearly, it works for them.

The North Pole is thriving. It’s infamous.

Meanwhile, I’ve been working myself to the bone, and I’ve never felt more forgettable. I’m getting divorced. My mom and dad have given up on me. My niece only knows me through pictures. And my sister… The closest thing we have to a relationship is the picture she keeps of the two of us on her mantle.

Building the life I desire won’t mean anything unless I can share it with someone.

And who do I have?

If the entire world shut down, who would I retreat home to? I hate that an abysmal darkness swirls in my mind instead of a face.

By the time we reach the workshop, I’ve officially retreated so far into the depths of my own shortcomings that I don’t realize Missy is trying to get my attention until her hands cup my face. I blink a few times, coming back to myself.

Missy’s elegantly arched silver eyebrows are furrowed. “Are you okay?”

I exhale heavily. “Yeah, I’m just…thinking.”

“What about?”

I shrug, unable to find the words. All those feelings are brimming on the tip of my tongue, but they’re stuck. They are as thick as molasses. I think I might sooner choke on them than let them out, so instead, I take her hands and fake a smile. “Nothing important. I’m ready to see the workshop. Let’s go.”

Missy’s lips flatten into a displeased line, but she allows me to lead the way up the wooden steps to the front of the workshop. Then, she takes the lead and opens the door to usher me inside.

Pleasant warmth wraps around us as we cross the threshold.

I stop in my tracks when I realize the workshop is a hundred times larger on the inside than it looked on the outside, just like Santa’s present bag.

The floor drops down in the belly of the room, and dozens of work tables fill its spherical center. Several spiral staircases are placed around the circumference of the space, leading to the second level of the building, which seems to be a catwalk filled with bookcases, small copper machines, and twinkling lights.

Missy closes the front door and ambles to a small table at the end of the entryway, where two black mugs spew steam into the air. She picks them up and turns to me, extending one. “Here. Drink this. It’ll help you relax.”

I take the mug, eyeing it suspiciously. “Is this going to put me to sleep?”

Because I don’t want to fall sleep yet. I don’t want to leave this place—or her. I don’t want to miss out on even one second together.

She smiles. “No. Dozy cocoa is more like…” She pauses to think. “Like a multivitamin, as your kind would say, brewed with herbs found exclusively in the North Pole. It nourishes. You’ll feel better, warmer, maybe a little tipsy, considering this is your first time. It won’t knock you out, though.”

I lift the mug to my lips, blowing softly on the hot surface before taking a sip.

The cocoa coats my tongue, thick and creamy, with the faintest hint of peppermint and some other earthy herb I can’t identify. I moan. The chocolate is dark and rich and sweet without overwhelming the softer notes of flavor that blossom beneath it. A tart, fruity aftertaste tingles on the tip of my tongue.

“This is, without a doubt, the best cocoa I’ve ever had.”

Glancing up, I see that Missy is watching me, a smirk tugging at her rosy lips. She steps forward and hooks her arm in mine. “We’ve had an eternity to get it right. Our elven perfectionism serves us well.”

She leads me past the small table into the rest of the room.

My gaze is drawn to the ceiling, where hundreds of items float mid-air. Wrapping paper, tags, and shiny bows spin slowly, as if patiently waiting for a toy to be tossed toward them. Between the wrapping supplies, a sea of silver glitter twinkles above us too. That silver fills the empty space, wrapped around the railings and threaded into the carpet. The workstations are decked out in colorful Christmas decor, with tinsel and pine wreaths and ornaments in varied hues.

“We have a contest every year for the best-dressed table,” Missy informs me, having seen where my eyes drifted. She nods at one of the tables sparkling with pink and purple, a giant golden cup sitting atop it for everyone to see. “The winner gets to decorate our workshop for the next season.”

“That’s fun; though if the winning table is any indication, you’ll be washing pink glitter out of every crease of your body by this time next year,” I laugh. “Are the elves competitive?”

Missy smiles and leans into me. “ Competitive is an understatement. It can get fairly hostile around here, but I also get lots of bribes near judging time, so it’s hard to complain.”

“Santa, taking bribes?” I click my tongue. “The dark side of the North Pole is frightening.”

She sighs. “I only take the delicious ones, and I promise, they have absolutely no influence in my final decision…unless there’s hazelnut. I’m easily manipulated with a hazelnut cookie.”

“Oh, really? I’m taking note of that,” I murmur.

Missy peers at me with a coy grin. “Just so long as you don’t spread that information around. The North Pole couldn’t handle me on a hazelnut high. Disaster will ensue. Reindeer will flee. Bakers will riot. All the hazelnuts in our realm will be used up, and then we’ll be snowballed.”

I pull my arm out of hers and wrap it around her back instead, tugging her close.

“My lips are sealed, so you can save those hazelnut highs for me.” I kiss her cheek, and she hums at the affection.

We ascend the short steps on the far side of the room, and Missy goes rigid in my arms.

Her eyes take on a strange glassiness, and I follow her gaze to a dark wooden door. Colorful filigree is painted along the edges in green and red and gold.

Missy swallows hard and drops her attention to her mug, from which she then takes a long sip. What has her so worked up?

“What is it?” I ask. “What’s behind that door?”

“That’s my papa’s private workshop.” Her eyes drift back to the door as if by instinct, as if with longing.

“Can I see it?”

Missy’s head whips back toward me, and her wide eyes search my face. I smile, shrugging to let her know that it’s okay to say no. I didn’t ask for myself. I just have this feeling in my gut that she’s the one who wants to see it, that she has been telling herself no for a long while. Sometimes, it’s easier to do something scary when it’s for someone else, especially if it’s a thing we secretly desire too.

Missy composes herself and nods slowly, setting her mug down on a nearby workstation before threading her fingers through mine. “I’d love to show you.”