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Tinsel in a Twist

By Laurie Germaine

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Riding sidesaddle behind Niklas Kringle, one arm hooked around his torso, I nudge the blindfold covering my eyes. How is Eggnog’s gait so even? Were it not for the fact both reindeer and Kringle fear flying (an inconvenient phobia for one destined to become Santa Claus), I’d bet a stocking’s worth of gumdrops the reindeer carries us across air, not ground.

Niklas shifts and grabs my mittened hand. “No peeking.”

“You sure we’re not airborne?”

He chokes on a laugh.

The frigid-yet-bearable temperature of Flitterndorf’s November arctic air drops like Santa down a chimney, signaling we’ve passed beyond Christmas HQ’s borders. The wind slices through my leggings, and I tighten my hold about Niklas. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he says, a smile in his tone.

I chew the inside of my cheek. “Will we be gone long? I’d hoped to squeeze in one last training session with the reindeer before leaving for Germany.”

Niklas’s body tenses as usual at the mention of our trip, but his tone is gentle when he asks, “Didn’t Jangles suggest that extra rest—not an extra lesson—would improve the Third String’s listless behavior?”

Yeees. And since Jangles is my boss, I’d do well to obey him. Except, I’ll be in Germany with Niklas and his parents for the next three weeks. By the time I come back, the Third String will have gotten rusty on their progress with the Peppermint Twist. In getting rusty, they might not have the Twist nailed down for the Mastery Tournament in mid-January. And if they—we—aren’t ready for the tournament, Meister K might promote another elf instead of me when Jangles advances to the Major Flight Team. And if I don’t become the Minor Flight Team leader, how will I stop the whispers behind my back?

Whispers that have grown louder these past few weeks.

I rest my forehead against Niklas’s back. Calm down, Tinsel. You’ll figure it out. “You know,” I say aloud to silence the advancing doubts, “the Third String would make twice the progress in half the time if you flew with us.”

“You’re teaching them the Peppermint Twist before they’ve mastered the easier moves,” Niklas replies. “Nothing about that will go fast.”

“They know the Twist individually.” It’s when I string seven hotheaded reindeer together that things get … complicated.

“Even the Second String hasn’t perfected the Twist.”

“That’s because your father’s team isn’t as gifted as yours.”

Niklas chuckles. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“It’s more than the move itself, though.” I prod his coat-clad shoulder with my chin. “Only the two closest reindeer can hear my commands when we’re flying, and they take too long informing the others before the commands get executed. So, when something unexpected happens, it ends in a mess.” Like last week, when I broke three leather traces in one flight. “If you came with me, you could use your Santa powers of telepathy to show them what to do. Kein Problem.”

“No problem? Big problem—I don’t fly.”

“Yet.”

Niklas stiffens again. “I hope that’s confidence in my abilities and not a reminder of our frostbitten flights to Germany.”

I suppress a grin. “Yes. That’s it. Absolutely.”

“Cheeky elf. Thank Christmas I’ll be too sedated to remember flying.”

Though I can’t see, I know Niklas well enough to guess that his jaw muscles pop. “You don’t have to attend the Initiation Ceremony.”

“It’s tradition. And Great-Onkel Stoffel is a stickler for tradition.”

An ancient edict we memorized as students at Flitterndorf School of Talents pops into my mind: Every firstborn Kringle, on the eve of St. Nicholas Day in his twentieth year, must present himself before the representatives at Weihnachts Manor and pledge allegiance to Christmas.

“Think of where you and I would be,” I say, “or rather, where we wouldn’t be, had you stuck with tradition and followed the edict prohibiting romance between Kringles and elves.”

“Now that was a tradition worthy of purging.” Niklas shifts as I sense Eggnog slow to a stop. “We’re here.” His body disappears, taking the heat with him. I shiver and adjust the newsboy cap over my elfin ears, yelping when Eggnog tilts forward, then backward. The ground materializes beneath my feet, and Niklas helps me dismount.

I smooth a hand over my dirndl skirts, ensuring they lay properly. “How fast did you travel this time, Eggy?”

“’Twasn’t fast at all,” the flying-averse reindeer answers. “Lots o’ twists ’n turns slowin’ me, so maybe a hundred forty miles an hour?”

“Give him a straight, clear shot like the Third String has above the trees,” Niklas says, “and he’ll leave them in the snowdust.”

I smile. “Well, we know which one of them is your favorite.”

Niklas laughs and kisses my nose. “You ready?”

“Yes, please.” I reach for the blindfold, but he intercepts my hands with his own.

“No, are you ready to follow me?” He gently tugs me forward.

I slide my booted feet along a flat surface in my coal-black world. “What if you lead me into a tree or something?”

He laughs again. “Would I do that to you?”

I take a few more cautious steps. “Once upon a time.” When he used to mask his feelings behind mockery and pranks.

“Have I not redeemed myself in the past two years?”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Almost.”

“Watch your footing—you’re about to climb three steps.”

His grip tightens, and I ascend one step at a time. Bells chime above, and warm air brushes my cheeks. Niklas leads me onward. A rich coffee aroma twirls about, and I inhale on a greedy breath. “Waaiiit. Are we …?”

Niklas removes my blindfold. “Now you can look.”

I blink several times in the soft lighting. Around the room, comfy armchairs have been arranged into small groupings, and loaded bookshelves create alcoves for tables that seat up to four people. A coffee machine percolates behind an ordering counter.

“You brought me to the Huggamugg Café.” I clasp my hands, then frown. “Where is everyone?” Ever since Gina Donati, my best friend, took over management eighteen months ago, this place bustles morning and afternoon despite Waldheim’s meager population. Saturdays are no different, yet the café stands empty.

In the dining area, white fairy lights dangle above two striped armchairs angled toward each other. Over one drapes a masculine, calf-length coat trimmed in ivory faux fur, its green velvet embellished with intricate embroidery. Over the other chair drapes a glorified dirndl boasting three layers of ankle-length skirts, the top skirt matching the coat in fabric and trim.

Moving closer, I tug off my mittens and run a hand along the skirt. “It’s beautiful.” Bright red embroidered rosemaling motifs sweep up both sides of the top skirt, starting broad at the bottom hem and tapering to points at the waist. The measurements that Madam Marie, Niklas’s mother, had taken a few months ago flood my memory, and my stomach flips. “Are these for the Initiation Ceremony?”

“Mmm-hmm. One for you, and one for me.”

I toss Niklas a glance. “Which one’s mine?”

He winks, removing his beanie and shaking out his pale blond locks.

“I’ve never owned anything so elegant.” I trace a swirl of embroidery on his coat. “And you’ve never worn green before.” The color of my elf clan.

“Turn it over.”

Taking it by the shoulders, I carefully lift the coat. Bright red rosemaling sweeps up the back. “It has the same design as the dress.”

“Yep.”

My heart thumps as I replace the coat on the chair. “Is that significant?”

“It is.”

An empty coffee shop. Romantic lighting. Special outfits. Niklas is up to something. Am I ready for it to be the something?

Strike that. I am. But what about the other Christmas elves?

“Tinsel.” Niklas’s low timbre compels me to turn around. He lowers to one knee, and my breath hitches as he takes my left hand. “I know that growing up, my actions didn’t always reflect my emotions, but ever since you swiped my cheek with that loaded paintbrush, I’ve pretty much been a goner.”

A laugh bubbles up at the memory of my seven-year-old self. “You said my painting of a reindeer resembled a warped Christmas tree.”

“It was constructive criticism.”

“You killed my inner artist.”

“And paved the way for your future job working with my reindeer.” The emerald flecks in his eyes sparkle beneath the hair flopped over his forehead. He raises his hand. A ring glints between thumb and forefinger, its multiple diamonds forming a snowflake pattern. “Tinsel Kuchler, I love you. You bring out the best in me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Yes! I open my mouth, but unbidden anxiety swirls in my belly, and out pops, “What will the elves think?”

A line appears between Niklas’s brows. “That’s your answer?”

“No. I mean—” I clasp his hand between both of mine. “I’m sorry. This morning I overheard some of them talking about me, dissing my clan, and—”

“So they’ve been a little off lately. We don’t need their approval to get married.”

“Niklas, if they don’t approve of me now, as a Minor Flight Team member, how will they approve of me as the team leader when I get promoted?” I stare at our hands, the ring glowing with possibilities. “And if they can’t do that, they’ll never approve of me as a different kind of leader.”

“What if you’re not promoted?”

My jaw slackens.

Niklas pushes to his feet and cups my elbows. “My point is, we can’t wait for the perfect timing. ‘Perfect’ will never come. If the elves can’t see how amazing you are by now, that’s their problem.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Don’t let something like a few elves—”

“A couple thousand elves.”

“—keep you from becoming Mrs. Tinsel Kringle.”

The name triggers a grin. “Okay, yeah, I kinda like the sound of that.”

“Just ‘kinda’?” His hands slide along my waist, his clove scent wrapping me in a hug. “Am I still having to redeem myself here?”

I clutch the lapels of his coat. “You’ve come far in the last few minutes.”

Eyes darkening, Niklas claims my mouth in a slow, sultry kiss. Heat travels from my pointed ears to my toes. Two years and I still melt like a slushy snow maiden.

“I love you,” he whispers against my lips.

“I love you, too.”

“Then marry me.” Niklas lifts the ring between us. “Reject the doubts and choose me instead.” His dimples emerge in a mischievous smile. “I bet I’ll keep you warmer at night than they will.”

A laugh escapes. “You know I can’t resist your Kringle charm.” And never let it be said this elf chose fear over love. “Yes, Niklas, I’ll marry you.”

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