Page 39 of Holly and Ivar
Holly winced.“Ouch.”
“I lost everything,” he said.Then, with a small shrug: “But I was where I belonged.Want to know what’s even stranger?”He leaned forward, and she did too.
“A cardinal dropped a pine branch on my windshield a few weeks ago.”
Her eyes widened.“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.And then you show up and we find the tree."
For a moment, neither spoke.Their eyes held over the candle flickering between them.
“Do you think—” Holly began, but then Tess returned with their drinks.
“Here you go.One stout.One winter cider.The stew’ll be out in five.”
“To surviving broom travel,” Ivar said, raising his glass, as Tess walked away.
“And to not vomiting on your copilot,” Holly added, clinking gently.
***
The bell over the bar rang three times.
“All right, folks,” called George Keating, the town’s unofficial trivia master, from behind the microphone.“Teams of two to four!”
A cheer rose from the crowd.Emmawaved from the next booth over.“Ivar, I can’t believe you’re here.You’re joining, right?You too, Holly!Newcomers always bring luck.”
“Oh, come on, Emma,” Ivar groaned good-naturedly.“You know I’m not up for this.”
“That’s why you need me,” Emma teased.“Our team’s calledThe Maple Mug Misfits!”
Liv appeared then, wearing a smile and sliding into Emma’s booth.A mug of cider awaited her.“Join us, Ivar.That way if we lose, I can blame you.”
“You always do,” Ivar said.
Holly looked between them, amused.“You people take this seriously.”
Tess passed by, dropping off their bowls of stew.“Oh, honey,” she said, grinning.“In Winterwood, trivia night is blood sport.”
“In honor of the upcoming Winterwood Christmas Carnival,” George called out, “tonight’s theme isHoliday History and Folklore!”
Ivar shot Holly a conspiratorial smile.“Actually, Emma.I think we’ll join you after all.”
The next hour flew by in a whirl of laughter, music, and shouted answers.
Holly found herself leaning over the table, arguing about whether Dasher or Dancer was older (George ruled for Dancer, and although he was wrong, Holly let it go).She knew more than she thought, considering she’d never given much attention to tradition or folklore.Of course, she didn’t know much about the local traditions, but she found herself listening with genuine interest to the stories and the gentle nostalgia threaded through every laugh and memory shared around the table.
Between rounds, she and Ivar exchanged grins over their mugs.Each time he laughed, it reverberated inside her, thawing something that had been frozen far too long.
There was a spark woven through their connection.She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she wanted to stay in it, to enjoy being seen and understood.To have fun.
By the final question, everyone was leaning forward.It was a close race, and this question was worth extra points.“What traditional holiday figure rides a broomstick on the eve of Epiphany?”George read aloud.
The bar went quiet.Holly froze, her pulse quickening.
Then Ivar’s slow, wicked grin spread across his face.“I got this.”
He stood, and while his voice boomed across the room, his eyes never left hers.“La Befana.”
