Page 29 of Moonlight Over Mistletoe
“Fine. Let’s talk.”
Watching the relief wash over him, Eleanor allowed him to guide her away from the cacophony of music and chattering guests, emerging onto the deck where they were alone save for the rhythmic lapping of waves against the ship's hull. The moon draped its silver glow over the water, casting a spell over the night, and the stars seemed to twinkle in complicity with Christopher's unexpected arrival.
Eleanor shook her head. It wasn’t fair that the setting was so romantic.
Christopher took her hand, his touch firm but she could sense a slight tremor.He's nervous, she thought.
“I've behaved very badly, and I'm sorry. My feelings for you were growing strong, and, well, I panicked. I used work as an excuse to keep my distance,” he said. “I was afraid of taking a chance, of getting hurt. The closer people get, the more there is to lose.” His voice held an undertone of vulnerability that tugged at something deep within her. “And I'm more than sorry for avoiding you. I acted like a teenager, but that's because I feel like one when I'm around you. It wasn’t my finest moment.”
“Go on,” she prompted.
Christopher hesitated as if weighing each word before it passed his lips. “My work... it's not the kind you retire from easily,” he said, a wistful note threading through his admittance. “There's a reason why I'm always so busy during the holiday season. It's because I'm hiding a big secret.”
Eleanor's heart dropped. How often did secrets—big secrets—turn out to be good?
“I think we better go sit down,” Christopher said, motioning to some deck chairs.
“No. I would like to know now,” Eleanor insisted. “I'm not moving until you tell me.”
Christopher nodded. “Magic, Eleanor. Do you believe in magic?”
“Magic?” Eleanor scoffed, folding her arms defensively. “Don't be ridiculous, Christopher. Magic is for children's tales.” She felt a fortress forming around her heart, protecting her from the ridiculousness of this man. How had she been so wrong about him? “Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish to return to the dance.”
“Eleanor, please, wait. Let me prove it to you.”
She turned to walk away, but suddenly it was snowing. Snowflakes—impossibly present in the Caribbean—fluttered down, melting as they touched her skin. Maybe it wasn't snow. Maybe it was ash from a fire… or… or something, except it was cold on her skin.
“What is this?” she asked. “Some kind of elaborate joke?”
“It's magic. Santa magic.”
Eleanor turned back towards him. Her eyes narrowed, the gears of her mind grinding against the absurdity of Christopher's claim. She poked him in the ribs. “What are you saying, that you're Santa Claus? That Santa's real? You're delusional, believing that you've become the fictional character of your name. Christopher Kringle. Goodness. What were your parents thinking? I'd almost feel sorry for you if this wasn't so hurtful. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Eleanor, please. I know this is a lot to digest but think about it. Really think with an open mind. How do you think it's snowing right now? How do you think I created that dome over the town square or found that beautiful spot in the woods for dancing? How do you think I show up in Mistletoe all the time in a sleigh when I don't live there?” He paused briefly and wiped his hand over his face. “What about Martin's toy factory? How does he always have the supplies he needs? Deliveries are infrequent. Where does he sell them?”
Eleanor decided she needed to sit down after all. She walked over to a deck chair and rested her head in her hands. She had wondered about all the things he'd mentioned. Some certainly defied logic. But no, magic couldn't be real.
Could it?
She turned her face towards Christopher, who now sat across from her. “This can't be real,” she said to him, her voice barely audible.
Christopher simply smiled. “I know how it sounds, but if you could allow yourself to believe.”
“If you're Santa Claus, what are you doing on a cruise on Christmas Eve? Shouldn't this be your big night?”
“That's where the truth differs from the legend. You see, I'm not the only one. It's a family business,” he said simply. “And I've retired.”
Eleanor said nothing, instead rubbing her temples.
“There are many of us. Think of it as a business. I am the CEO. My two children, Adam and Shelly, are the VPs, and 8 of my grandkids are regional managers, spread out worldwide. We carry on the tradition, spreading joy and magic across the world.” His white beard shimmered in the moonlight, lending him an otherworldly aura.
“No. This isn't real,” she said. “Maybe I'm having a stroke.”
“You're not having a stroke,” Christopher insisted. Before she could protest further, the air around them began to shift. The night sky sparkled with glimmering lights that danced like fireflies. It was as if the stars themselves were surrounding them. Then, in a swoosh, they formed a heart in the sky before turning into fireworks.
It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Could she allow herself to awaken to the possibility of the impossible?
“Look around you, Eleanor,” Christopher urged. “This is Santa magic. Everyone in my family shares this gift.”
