Page 53 of Holly and Ivar
A sigh.“Holly.If I’d known, I would have told you.But we lost a lot of records in the Eastern Archives fire in the 1970s.A result of too much polyester, I’m afraid.Boxes full of records were lost.We pieced together what we could, but some records were lost forever.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that when you sent me here?”
“Why would I mention it?I had no idea.I simply sent you to scout a potential workshop site,” he said gently.“That’s all.”
She pressed her lips together, exasperated.
From across the room, Ivar whispered, unable to stop himself, “So… is that really…?”
She nodded.“I’m putting you on speakerphone.Ivar Nilsen’s here, and Dad, he’s connected to all this somehow.”
The voice boomed.“So this is your park ranger.Binoculars, right?”
Ivar froze, a ladle in one hand.He pointed at Holly.“You told him?”he mouthed.
She shook her head.“Dad,” Holly said tightly, rubbing her forehead.“This isn’t helping.I need answers.”
“I understand,” Adam replied.“Have you tried contacting Henry?”
“Henry.Of course,” she sighed.
“He’s been knee-deep in research since the moment he learned of the Yule Tree.Let him know what you need.And Holly, just remember, we don’t choose where the magic leads us.We choose whether to follow it.”
She rolled her eyes.“Got one in there, huh?Love you.Bye.”
The room fell silent.Ivar realized he was still standing there like a statue, the ladle hovering midair.
Holly waved a hand in front of his face.“Sorry about my dad.”
Ivar blinked.“Sorry?For what?Santa spoke to me.”
“Okay.That’s rude.He hasn’t delivered toys in years.I’m a Santa too, remember?I don’t see you going all loopy when I talk to you.”
“Well, yes, but… I mean, no, but… I mean, you’re Holly.You don’t talk like—”
“Like what?Like this?”Her voice transformed into a perfect imitation.“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, Ivar.I hope you’ve been good this year.”
He dropped the ladle.
“Is that what you mean?”
“Yes,” he said, voice calm, but his ears turned red.“And I might have just peed myself a little.Please don’t ever do that again.”
Holly laughed, picking up the ladle and handing it to him, but not before using it to gently whack him on the shoulder.“I won’t if you change your sexist attitude.”
“Consider it changed,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen.He followed her in, liking the way her presence filled the space.His cabin had always been his retreat.Tonight, with her, it felt like home.
He ached to tell her that.To tell her how much she meant to him.To tell her that some part of him had known her long before today.Before the forest.Before the Yule Tree.But how did a man say that to a woman who’d just talked to Santa on speakerphone?Who was a Santa herself?
So instead he said, “I made roasted squash while Sa—I mean your father was on the line.”
“Thank you,” she said, then turned to him apologetically.“Pretty weird day, huh?”
He looked at her for a long moment.Then shrugged.“Honestly?Not even the weirdest one this week.”
***
Holly
