Page 13 of Holly and Ivar
Moments later, Ivar returned.A suitcase in each hand, and something tucked under an arm.He placed the suitcases on the floor, then reached for the remaining item.It was long and oddly wrapped.The end of a wooden handle peeked through the fabric.
Holly’s watch began to beep.
“I’ll take that,” she said, reaching for the broomstick.Their fingers brushed as she took it, and in that brief moment of contact, the broom seemed to vibrate ever so slightly between them.A subtle tremor traveled up her arm like a current.
A warmth spread through her fingers where their hands had touched, despite the chill clinging to his skin from the outdoors.Ivar’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, his expression shifted from guarded to startled.
Had he felt it too?The strange pulse of...something...that had passed between them?
She pulled the broom away, pulse racing, watch beeping.
Ivar cleared his throat.“You’re traveling with a broom?”
Holly swallowed, trying to ignore the lingering warmth in her fingertips.“It’s for sweeping up bad first impressions.”
***
When Holly opened the door to her room, she could have been stepping into her grandfather’s house.A four-poster bed stood draped in a patchwork quilt of deep reds and forest greens.A small stone fireplace waited with kindling stacked beside it, and on the mantel sat a mug, a packet of peppermint cocoa mix, and a sprig of holly.
It was cozy.
Too cozy, maybe.
Holly set her purse on the dresser and turned her attention to the broom, leaning it against the wall, and staring at it as if it might start explaining itself.
“What are you doing here?”she asked under her breath.“I left you in the closet.”
The broom, unsurprisingly, said nothing.
She crossed her arms.“Don’t look at me like that.I didn’t pack you.”
The broom remained stoic, wooden, unbothered.“Rita would say this is a metaphor,” she muttered.“Reconnecting with my past, or something hokey like that.”
The corner of the bed sank as she perched on the edge, staring at the broom.It was then she recalled the rest of the scene from her farewell banquet in Italy.La Befana had approached her and held out the broom.When Holly grasped the handle, La Befana laid her hands over hers, moving closer, her voice low.“Our brooms are carved from the Tree of the Ancients.Passed from mother to daughter, never beyond the family line.But this one… it wants you.Don’t ask why.Not yet.When the time comes, it will guide you to the truth your heart has forgotten.”
Holly dismissed the memory with a shake of her head.The broom was a means of transportation.A way to get the job done.
And yet, the broom was in the room with her.She was talking to it, and even stranger, the broom wanted to be there.
Holly huffed out a laugh and stood, unzipping her suitcase.“Fine.Whatever.But if you open the mini-bar, you’re kindling.”
CHRISTMAS EVE COUNTDOWN
DAYS
8
fir better or worse
Ivar
Kisseswereaniceway to wake up.Dog kisses?Not so much.
Ivar opened his eyes to find Al’s enormous amber ones staring back at him from inches away, tail thumping with impatience.
“Morning to you too,” he muttered.
Al gave a short, huffy bark, meaning, let’s go then.
