The Post Box at the North Pole: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with in 2021!

by Jaimie Admans

‘No, I meant … alone? Do you want to walk up the rest of the way and share it?’ I incline my head towards the top of the hill. ‘It’s not right that you make it and then don’t get any.’

  His smile spreads like he knows full well it’s not about the wine but the fact I don’t want to say goodnight to him yet.

  Once we reach Candy Cane Cabin, Tav goes inside to start the fire while I take the bottle to the kitchen and pour it out into two glasses, and when I turn to look for him, logs are crackling in the hearth, but the door is open and he’s gone back out.

  I stand next to him and lean my elbows on the wooden railing surrounding the decking at the top of the steps up to the cabin and hand his glass over. His arm presses close to mine as he takes it, and we both stand there in comfortable silence, looking out across the forest, waiting for a splash of green light between the clouds. It’s so quiet that I can almost hear the sound of the Northern Lights zinging above us.

  ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

  He automatically knows what I’m talking about. I feel him look over at me, hear him sigh, and he sinks down to lean on the railing too. I’m certain he’s going to think up an excuse and run away at any moment, and I don’t think either of us realise he’s going to speak until the words spill out.

  ‘A lorry hit me. My car burst into flames, flipped over a few times, and plunged two hundred metres into a frozen lake. The last thing I remember is seeing the lorry veer towards me, although for many years, that didn’t stop the flashbacks and nightmares. So I’m not sure if they’re my actual memories or my imagination of what people told me had happened. I only remember waking up in hospital and choking on the breathing tube down my throat, and it had gone from winter to spring when in my mind, I’d been driving across that bridge the day before, not two months earlier.’

  He drops his head onto his arms and I can’t stop myself reaching out to brush his hair back where it’s flopped forward. His eyes close, but he’s so quiet that I’m convinced he’s not going to say anything else, and it surprises me when he does.

  ‘It was completely the other driver’s fault, and it made me hate people. When you survive something like that, you’re supposed to be overjoyed and thankful to have a second chance at life and embrace it with both hands, but I … I went the opposite way. I withdrew from everything. I hated everything. I was angry with the whole world. When I eventually left the hospital, I got compensation for the accident and I used it to buy a cabin out here and … never left.’

  ‘Far away from your family?’ I remember what he said about being from much further south, my fingers still brushing through his choppy hair.

  ‘I needed to be alone. I needed to recover at my own pace. I couldn’t deal with cheerful nurses telling me how well I was doing like a puppy at obedience class. I couldn’t deal with my family’s worry for me. Looking back, I realise it wasn’t the healthiest response, but it was what I needed at the time.’

  ‘Like an injured wolf going to ground to lick their wounds?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He does a soft mocking growl and it sends a tingle down my spine.

  ‘Are you okay now?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He lifts his head and smiles at me, making my hand slide out of his hair. ‘It was a long time ago now. Nothing left but lifelong aches and pains and a body with enough pins in it that I set off any metal detector that comes within a five-kilometre distance, and I have enough scars that I’m glad you’ll never see me with my clothes off.’

  What a thought. Thankfully it’s too cold to even consider removing a glove, never mind anything else.

  ‘Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was, but I felt the opposite. This thing had completely changed the course of my life. I resented normal, uninjured people. I resented people going about their daily lives when my world had stopped. I was so angry with every pain, every movement that hurt, every thing I couldn’t do. I resented my stupid broken body. I resented that I didn’t feel this amazing sense of second chance that everyone told me I should feel. I thought there was something wrong with me as a person, that my entire psyche was corrupt because I didn’t feel that. I resented the other driver because he’d been fiddling with his radio and he walked away uninjured. The assumption was that I was to blame because I was young and he was fifty-something with decades of driving experience. They put out an appeal for witnesses, and there were a lot of people on the bridge that day, and not one of them came forward for me.

  ‘The police eventually proved it through the skid marks and the damage to the road barrier and the vehicles … but it showed me that you can’t rely on anyone. People are inherently selfish. They only care about themselves. The driver never admitted fault. He got a couple of years for negligent driving, but I still couldn’t walk by the time he got out of prison.’

  The hand that’s next to his has gradually crept over his arm until his fingers squeeze mine and I realise I’ve got a death grip on his hand.

  ‘I’m in touch with my family again now, but I never even told them where I went. I just disappeared. I wanted to get back on my feet myself. I didn’t want to be an imposition on anyone else’s life. I didn’t want them to pity me or have to worry about the helplessly pathetic invalid I’d become. It had ruined my life; I didn’t want it to impact on my family’s too. It took most of my twenties to get back to where I am now, physically. And to stop hating people. I like to think I’m a well-adjusted fellow human now, but it took a few years.’

  I put my glass down on the wooden railing and slide my other hand over his, holding it between both of mine, hoping he can tell how hard I’m squeezing it through the gloves.

  ‘Can I say something?’ He opens his arms, silently asking if he can hug me. I nod, and he bends down and pulls me tight against him, his head dropping until he can speak the words into my shoulder. ‘I’ve never, ever, ever told anyone that before. And never ever thought I would, either. And if anyone asks, I’m drunk.’

  I shift enough in his embrace to look at the full glass on the railing. ‘You’ve had, like, two sips!’

  ‘I know, but I don’t share stuff like this, so if anyone asks, I must be drunk.’

  The thought of Tav being this open with me makes a fizzle run through my entire body, and even though I’m fairly sure it’s impossible to hold him any tighter, it doesn’t stop me trying.

  ‘Okay, it’s got to the point where I need to tell you something, and it’s going to change things, and I can’t do it sober.’ He releases me, picks up his glass and knocks the drink back in one. He inclines his head towards the cabin door. ‘Can I come inside?’

  It’s toasty in the cabin and I go over to pour us another drink each and shrug off my coat and gloves, and when I turn back from the kitchen area, Tav’s done the same and is sitting on the cream faux-fur rug by the fire, his back against the wall beside the fireplace.

  I hand over his glass and he puts it on the stone bricks of the hearth and pats the space between his legs. It could probably be misinterpreted, but it just seems like he wants a bit of human comfort, and I can’t bear the idea of not sitting as close to him as physically possible.

  His arms are around his knees and I sit down so my back is against his chest, and his arms close loosely around me too. ‘Okay. When I first came here, I was alone. I was in constant agony. I could barely move, casts and splints and wounds that wouldn’t heal, and I hated the whole world and everything in it – we’ve established that, right?’

  I nod. It sounds horrific, but I can’t help the smile at his self-deprecating way of talking, and I wriggle back until he curls further around me.

  ‘What I learnt about myself was that there was one thing I didn’t hate, and that was Christmas. That first year, it brought me comfort. I was a mess. The strongest painkillers didn’t touch the pain. I drank myself into oblivion every night because it was the only way to get any sleep, and that was plagued by nightmares, and every waking moment was agony, but I somehow managed to lose myself in those soppy ma
de-for-TV Christmas movies. They were a ridiculous escape. For two hours, I could forget everything and believe in happy endings and festive magic.

  ‘And the following year, I decorated the cabin, more as a challenge than anything else. I had to train myself to walk again, and by that point, I could stand up for a few minutes at a time and I could walk a few steps but I never knew when my legs were going to give out, so I reasoned with myself that even if I did one thing a day, one staple in a set of lights around the roof, one string of tinsel somewhere, I was getting somewhere. And seeing it come alight in front of me made me smile for the first time in forever. And then the year after that, a little girl from the village came up the path and I froze because I hated people coming near the cabin.’

  I’m sitting against him with my head leaning back on his shoulder. It’s impossible to imagine him struggling so much when he’s so strong and capable now.

  ‘I never went out. I had everything delivered and answered the door like a crazy pair of eyes looking through the letterbox and telling the delivery guys to leave it outside and go away. I never let anyone see me because I was such a wreck. And this little girl simply put a Christmas card and a candy cane through my letterbox and left, and when I opened it, there was a crayon drawing of a reindeer, and it read, “To the lonely man in the woods, thank you for bringing us joy every time we see your house. We hope happiness finds you this Christmas.” It was signed by a few kids from the village. I didn’t think anyone even knew I was living there. It was like a dam burst inside me. It touched a part of me that I thought had died in the accident. I sat on the doormat in floods of tears. I’d never cried, I’d never felt any emotion other than anger and frustration since the accident, and that moment … I changed. I realised there was still good in the world and being angry was taking away the life I had left.

  ‘Things got better from there on. I don’t know if it was psychosomatic or the shift in my attitude or what, but I got stronger. I walked further. Lifted heavier things. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t run outside and embrace life again, but I started talking to my family on the phone, drank less, started walking outside, even answered the door to a food delivery once. Another year went by, and then the most Christmassy thing you can imagine happened to me on Christmas Eve.’

  His arms are draped around me so his hands are in front of us, and if he’s noticed the vice-like grip I’ve got on them, he doesn’t say anything. And if he wanted to be drunk for this, I haven’t let go of his hands long enough for him to pick up the glass yet.

  ‘I was walking in the woods and I found an injured reindeer calf. Her foot had been caught in some kind of a trap and been pulled free, but the wound was horrific. And it was like meeting a kindred soul. She didn’t run away from me – it was like she could sense I knew a bit about injuries. She let me pick her up and take her home. And she came to live with me, and she recovered, and she changed my life. I called her Dancer because if you find a reindeer on Christmas Eve, you have to name her after one of Santa’s reindeer, and because dancing seemed like something I’d never be able to do again at the time. She became my confidante, my only friend, and also my mode of transportation. I couldn’t drive – physically or emotionally, but you can get anywhere you need to go around here by sleigh.’

  So much suddenly makes sense. Why he’s so fiercely independent and averse to accepting help. Why he doesn’t drive. Even why my father has such a strong connection with him.

  ‘I built a sleigh out of pallet wood from old deliveries, trained her to pull it, and I started pushing myself to go out, to go further, to venture into the nearest village, and people were so kind to me. I thought they’d run away like I was some kind of monster, but they treated me normally. They loved Dancer, everyone asked about her. Word started getting around that I was good with reindeer and someone found an abandoned one and sent her to me, and then someone had an old one they couldn’t bear to have put down, and I ended up as this cabin in the woods with reindeer all around me, and it brought so much joy back into my life. I got stronger through helping them get stronger, I met new people, children came to visit my reindeer, I put up more Christmas lights and people were wowed when they looked at my cabin, and I started thinking about what I could do to give something back.’

  I can’t stop thinking about how looks can be deceiving. Who would ever look at this huge, hulking, strong guy, and imagine he’d been through something like that in his life? I make sure one hand stays clasped around both of his, but I let the other one slide up behind me, stroking through the long hair at the back of his head, my nails brushing the scars at the nape of his neck.

  He lets out a long breath and his body gets heavier with relaxation, and inside I do a little victorious dance. Getting Tav to relax is no easy task.

  ‘This is the part you’re not going to like, Sash,’ he murmurs, sounding blissful and dreamily far away.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I bought the forest around the cabin.’ He pauses, like he’s waiting for me to understand.

  To be honest, I’m so relaxed sitting with him that I can barely focus on what he’s saying.

  ‘I wanted to share Christmas magic. I started building one plank at a time. It was my recovery project. I named the first one after the candy cane that little girl put through my door all those years before …’

  ‘This place?’ It suddenly hits me and I understand all at once. ‘You built this place?’

  He nods, his head so close to mine that I only feel it.

  ‘That means … you owned this place. You’re the old owner? You sold it to my dad?’

  He nods again. ‘I know you think the old owner was trying to take advantage of him, but it wasn’t like that. We’d been friends since he started playing Santa, and when he arrived last year, I told him it would be the end, and he asked if he could buy me out.’ He’s suddenly not relaxed at all, rushing to get the words out, stumbling over them in his haste. ‘I hadn’t been intending to sell, I was going to let it fade out of existence, because the budget was gone and the list of required repairs was getting longer, but he wanted to take it on. He had all these plans for it, and I felt he would breathe new life into it.’

  ‘He’s nearly eighty years old!’

  ‘Yeah, but he loved the place as much as I do. He lit up when he saw it. Like you do. Full of childhood wonder. That’s what was important to me.’ He sighs and his head drops against the back of my shoulder. ‘I know I should have told you earlier, and even though I’m so comfortable that I don’t think I could move if I tried, you can throw me out. I’ll go if you want me to.’

  I let my hand fall away from his hair and trail back down his arm until both of mine are wound around his hands again. I should probably be angry, but it doesn’t come as much of a surprise really. I knew Tav was heavily involved in this place and has always seemed like much more than an employee, and the fact that he’s just opened up the way he has makes me want to do nothing but hold on to him as tightly as possible.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I murmur, and his arms tighten around me. I’d thought badly of the old owner, but knowing it’s Tav does change things, because he isn’t the sort of guy who’d take advantage of an old man, and I know how persuasive my dad can be when he wants something.

  I let my head rest back against his shoulder, and feel his breath against my neck as he exhales and relaxes again, and I wish I had the courage to tilt my head and kiss his jaw.

  ‘Are you really okay now?’

  He lets out a laugh of relief when he realises I’m not going to throw him out. ‘I’m fine. It’s eighteen years past. I keep active. I build muscle strength. I know you’ve noticed my displays of dexterity – that was a way of recovering, of teaching my body to work in sync again. You’d never know anything had happened now, apart from the scars.’

  My hand drifts up to graze over the nape of his neck again, and his whole body goes boneless around me and his arms pull me even tighter against him, and I lose track of time a
s we sit there, wrapped around each other, surrounded by the warm glow of the fire and his cologne, almond, cinnamon, and something earthy like tea, and it’s the most contented I’ve ever felt.

  ‘I should go.’ It feels like hours later when Tav eventually disentangles our bodies and pushes himself up to his feet. He bends down to pick up the now stone-cold drink and downs it in one.

  ‘Stay?’

  ‘It doesn’t work that quickly, you know.’

  I laugh. ‘I know. Besides, that’s two glasses. It’d take about six bottles to bring down a guy your size. I just meant … I don’t know. Stirring up memories and stuff like that. Stay, Tav. Please.’

  He meets my eyes and a smile hints at his mouth. ‘I’d like that.’

  It’s soft and vulnerable and makes me wish there was a sprig of mistletoe nearby so I’d have an excuse to kiss him.

  He’s quiet as we get ready for bed, skirting around each other in the small cabin. There’s something comforting about his presence, but by the time I’m lying in bed, I’m really missing the closeness of earlier. ‘Tav?’

  ‘I could’ve been asleep, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But you weren’t.’

  We lie there in the darkness just listening to each other breathe.

  I close my eyes and say the words into the room, like if I can’t see them coming out, they won’t be so forward. ‘When I wanted you to stay, I didn’t want you to stay on the sofa.’

  He lets out a burst of laughter. ‘When I agreed to stay, I didn’t want to stay on the sofa.’

  ‘Will you come over here?’

  ‘You know I shouldn’t, right?’ He says, despite the fact he’s vaulted off the sofa before I’ve finished the sentence.

  ‘Oh, come on. It’s cold. We need to huddle for warmth. You’re providing a service to a guest.’

  The bed dips under his weight as he sits beside me, and I turn onto my side to give him space.

  He runs a finger from the base of my back up to my neck though the duvet, and without a word, he lies down beside me. He’s on top of the duvet and I’m underneath it, and it’s thick enough to feel like there’s a few feet between us.