Page 9 of Moonlight Over Mistletoe
As the meeting progressed, Eleanor became fully immersed in the planning process, her usual negativity temporarily forgotten in the face of her rekindled enthusiasm for dance.
Near the end of their allotted hour, Gloria tapped her pen against her notepad, her eyes bright. “I think I've found the perfect date. How does the weekend after Thanksgiving sound to everyone?”
A chorus of agreement rippled through the room. Sadie clapped her hands together, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh, that's great! It's our busiest time of year. There will be so many tourists here. We need to think of ways to get them involved. What about fan favorites? And we should have it in the town square. That way, everyone can watch. I know it will be cold, but we'll put up a large tent with heaters. I'm sure the staff at Martin's workshop can help us.”
Eleanor scowled. “That's all well and good, and I like your venue suggestion, but the date Gloria is proposing is only six weeks away,” she said. “It's an awfully tight timeline.”
Bert furiously wrote notes on his handout, his usually cautious demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic optimism. “But think of the potential. We could kickstart the holiday season with a bang. And let's be frank about this, people make a lot of donations during this time of year. We can't waste the opportunity.”
Caleb nodded vigorously. “I agree. It's ambitious, but I believe we can pull it off.”
Eleanor pressed her lips into a thin line, weighing their enthusiasm against her natural inclination towards pessimism, or in this case, reality. After a moment, she let out a resigned sigh. “Very well. If you're all committed to making this work, I suppose I can't object.”
“Excellent!” Gloria exclaimed, already scribbling furiously in her notepad. “Now, expect an email from me later in the week with a list of actionable items.”
The committee members agreed and packed up their items, ready to leave. Eleanor stood, gathering her papers. The nervous energy accompanying her into the meeting had transformed into determination. As she made her way to the door, she couldn't help but feel exhilarated.
The crisp Alaskan night greeted her with moonlight shining over the town square. It was beautiful and graceful. “That's it”, she said aloud. “Moonlight Over Mistletoe.” It was the perfect name for the ballroom dance competition. She'd email the committee as soon as she returned home.
She practically skipped down the street. It had been a long time since she’d felt a sense of purpose and a connection to the passion that had once defined her life.
8
TheCaribou'swarmthenvelopedEleanor 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.”
