Page 21 of Moonlight Over Mistletoe
He hugged his family members and then walked towards Eleanor, who stood. “Happy Thanksgiving, Christopher,” she said. Surely, her voice didn't waiver. Did it?
“And to you, I'm happy to see you here.” Then he moved forward and brushed her cheek with the lightest of kisses. Yet it had her heart racing and her cheeks flushing.
The Kringle family’s banter was light and included the kind of gentle teasing that happens within close-knit families. The conversation included Eleanor. She was asked about Mistletoe in the old days, what it was like before she left for Seattle, and how she found it when she returned. The longer she was there, the more relaxed she became and the more she shared about her past.
When Martin announced that dinner was ready, fate or perhaps a conspiratorial Sadie seated her and Christopher together, their elbows brushing as they settled at the elaborately set table.
“Tell me, Eleanor, do you still follow the ballroom competition circuit?” Martin inquired, his interest genuine as he carved into the turkey.
“Only casually,” Eleanor said. “But this ballroom dance competition has rekindled my interest.”
“I'm happy to hear it,” Christopher said. “There's something almost magical about dance, isn't there?”
“Indeed, there is,” Eleanor agreed, "When dancers master the precision of each step, they lay the groundwork for artistry. A couple moving with both technical skill and chemistry can cast a spell on their audience."
As plates were cleared and laughter echoed around them, Eleanor realized the evening had brought forth an unexpected harmony between her old life and the potential for new beginnings. And much of it was thanks to the man beside her, whose very essence whispered promises of enchantment in the most ordinary moments.
***
The clink of cutlery had given way to the shuffle of feet as the group migrated from the dining room to the coziness of the living room, where the fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Martin rummaged through a wooden chest and pulled out an assortment of board games.
“Let's play charades,” he declared, and the suggestion was met with an enthusiastic chorus of approval.
Except for Eleanor. “I don't think so,” she said. “You all play. I can be the timer.”
“Nonsense,” said Christopher. “My guess is that you have quite the competitive streak. So how about it? We'll be partners but prepare yourself. I take my charades very seriously.”
“Very well then. And you're right, I don't like to lose,” Eleanor said, her mouth tilting upwards in a smile, her hesitation vanishing.
With each round, Eleanor became more engaged, her stern facade melting away in the embrace of companionship. Christopher was an exuberant performer, gesturing wildly, his eyes sparkling. Eleanor laughed openly like a schoolgirl with each silly guess and triumphant point scored.
“An ice-skating Santa?” she gasped between laughs when Christopher mimed a wobbly pirouette, nearly toppling over in his zeal. But as she called out her answer, she noticed a tenseness in the room. Did she say something wrong?
“Close. A reindeer learning to ice skate,” Christopher corrected, and the room erupted with laughter, much to Eleanor's relief. She must have imagined it. Maybe she’d had too much mulled wine.
The jovial nature of the entire Kringle family was infectious, and she was grateful for the chance to see a side of life she'd long neglected—one that included the simple pleasure of shared amusement.
The evening grew late. Rosie and Jack donned their coats and bid their goodbyes. Wind howled against the windows, and Eleanor dreaded driving home.
“Let me take you,” Christopher offered as if reading her mind. He stood beside her, so much like Santa Claus in his red sweater. “Sadie or Martin can drop your car off in the morning.”
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Eleanor accepted.
They stepped outside, and Christopher whistled for his horse-drawn sleigh.
“You're kidding, right? We'll be blown over the side. Surely my car is better than that.”
“Nonsense. See the tall sides on this one? This is my foul-weather sleigh. We'll be fine.”
Eleanor climbed into the sleigh, surprised that Christopher was right. They were very much protected from the wind. It was as if they were in some kind of bubble.
“That was a delightful evening,” Eleanor said as they pulled away from Martin's cabin. “I haven't played games like that in a long time.”
“It was fun, wasn't it?” Christopher said, the wind in the trees providing a backdrop to their conversation. “We will have to do it again sometime. I'm not a bad cook myself.”
“Is that so?” Eleanor mused, and then a thought struck her. “You know, I have no idea where you live. Until recently, you've barely been in town. Are you in another town close by or a recluse mountain man who has finally decided to spend more time in civilization?”
She’d expected him to laugh. Instead, he tensed slightly. How odd.
