Page 25 of Moonlight Over Mistletoe
“Morning, Dad,” Shelly's cheerful voice rang out. “How are you doing today?”
Christopher turned, smiling at the sight of his daughter. “Good morning, sweetheart. I'm fine, thank you. Care for some tea? It's your favorite.”
Shelly nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “That sounds lovely. So, how did it go last night? Did you win?”
Christopher’s cheeks flushed, and he busied himself with arranging teacups on saucers. “Oh, well, no. As Eleanor organized the event, she couldn't compete, but that didn't stop us from doing our best. Your old man's still got some moves.”
“I bet,” Shelly said. “But I thought you said the partners were random.”
He chuckled. “Eleanor's friend Vivian was in charge of the teams, so I think there might have been a wee bit of matchmaking.” He paused, his gaze fixed on the teapot, steam curling lazily from its spout. His hands gripped the edge of the table. “I think I need to tell you something.” He turned to face her. “I've developed strong feelings for Eleanor. And I'm not quite sure what to do about it.”
The admission hung between them, as weighty to Christopher as the secret of his true identity. Christopher's heart raced, torn between the thrill of new romance and the fear of potential heartbreak. Given who he was, how could he possibly navigate this delicate situation with Eleanor?
Shelly reached out, taking her father's hand and guiding him to the kitchen table. “Come on, Dad. Let's sit and talk about this.”
Christopher settled into a chair opposite his daughter, seeming almost small as he hunched forward. His fingers found a teaspoon, twirling it nervously between his thumb and forefinger. “It's been so long since your mother passed,” he began, his voice low. “I never thought I'd feel this way again. But Eleanor, she's brought light and energy back into my life.”
Shelly nodded encouragingly, her eyes fixed on her father's face.
“When we danced together,” Christopher said, a hint of his usual jovial tone creeping back in, “it was like the world faded away.” He laughed gently, and then his expression grew serious again. “But I'm scared, Shelly. Scared of getting hurt, of hurting her. And then there's the matter of the family business.”
Christopher's voice trembled slightly as he spoke again. “I want to be honest with her, to build something real. But how can I do that when such a big part of my life has to remain hidden? And what if she rejects me once she knows the truth? I took that chance before, and it worked out. Can I be that lucky twice?”
Shelly reached across the table, placing her hand comfortingly over his. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “I know it's scary, but you can't let fear hold you back from happiness. You have so much love to give, and Eleanor would be lucky to receive it.”
“What about the consequences? The risks?”
“There are always risks in love,” Shelly said. “But you've spent your whole life bringing joy to others. Don't you think it's time you allowed yourself some of that joy, too? Follow your heart. It's never led you wrong before.”
The kitchen fell silent. His mind whirled with conflicting thoughts, each one vying for dominance. The fun Eleanor brought him. The gravity of his secret. The fear of rejection.
Shelly's voice broke through his reverie. “Dad, listen. I can't tell you what to do. You're the only one who can make this decision. So, trust your instincts. They've guided you through countless Christmases, haven't they?”
Christopher picked up the teapot and poured each a cup. “You're right, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And I can't thank you enough for your support. It means the world to me.” He paused, absently stroking his beard. “I think it's time I made a choice. For better or worse.”
Shelly squeezed his hand, offering an encouraging smile. “Whatever you decide, I'm here for you.”
Christopher nodded, then turned his gaze to the window. The snowfall had intensified, blanketing the trees outside in a stunning white glow. He stared into the distance, his mind made up but his heart heavy. The magic of Christmas, the delight he brought to children around the world, the responsibility to his family and their legacy, that was what mattered.
And yet, as he pictured Eleanor's face, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for his chosen path.
The secret of Santa Claus would remain just that—a secret.
20
My dearest Eleanor,
I'm afraid I must be brief. The demands of my work have grown tremendously, and I find myself unable to give you the time and attention you deserve. It pains me deeply, but I must focus solely on the business for the foreseeable future. A relationship is not something I can pursue at the moment, as much as it grieves me to say it. I hope you can understand. You are an extraordinary woman, and I wish the circumstances were different.
Regretfully yours,
Christopher
TheletterslippedfromEleanor's numb fingers, fluttering to the floor. She stared at it blankly, unable to comprehend the words that had shattered her world. Hot tears pricked her eyes.
“He can't be serious.” Eleanor's voice waivered as she snatched up her phone, fingers flying as she typed out a message.
I don't understand. Can we please talk?
