Poles Apart

by Ueckermann, Marion

  “My five-year-old nephew. Speaking of...” She pushed up from her seat and made her way to the desk. Lifting something, she turned and extended her hand. An envelope dangled from her fingers. “This is for you. Jonathan asked me to deliver it.”

  Standing, Niklas took the envelope with what looked like ‘Santa’ scribbled on the front. “Thank you. I will give you something to take back home to your nephew.”

  How had the conversation about Bethlehem derailed so fast? Perhaps just as well because he couldn’t stay longer. He was overheating in all this clothing, Alexis was probably feeling the cold outside in the sleigh, and he needed to arrive on Sarah’s doorstep as himself any minute to sort out her fireplace and sauna.

  But he wanted to leave the discussion open, not closed. “For what it’s worth, Sarah, I’m glad you didn’t go to Bethlehem, though I’d still like to show you the Bethlehem baby when we have more time.”

  “I know all about the Bethlehem babe, Nick. There isn’t anything more you can tell me about Him.”

  “You’re a believer?”

  “I was. I’m not sure anymore.”

  I know Your purpose, Lord. Help me show her the way back to You.

  “I’d like to help you be sure. Perhaps we could speak more about this next time?”

  “I—I don’t know. I don’t think so. The purpose for our interviews is to find out about Santa Claus for my novel, not Jesus.”

  “Sarah, didn’t you say this was a romance you were writing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t forget that the story of Jesus is the greatest love story of all.” Niklas stepped toward the door. “Mila, Risto, tulla aika mennä.”

  The dogs obeyed his command and followed.

  Sarah patted them each on the head as they passed by her. “What did you say to them?”

  “That it was time to go. Thank you, Sarah Jones from South Africa. You have my number if you need to talk more.”

  “Thank you, Santa. I will call if I get stuck.”

  Niklas pushed the door open then turned. “Santa? What happened to Nick?”

  “Um, perhaps a first name basis is a little disrespectful for someone of your stature?”

  “Ha-ha-ha, Sarah. I like you calling me Nick. Makes me feel years younger. Besides, it is my name.” He stepped outside, the dogs shadowing him.

  “So, which one is Rudolph?”

  Pivoting, Niklas watched Sarah grip the edge of the closing door. She stretched on her toes to look past him and pointed at the reindeer.

  “That one with the shiny red nose?” A laugh slid from her mouth and wafted like music into the cold night air.

  Niklas shook his head. Which one she had singled out was anyone’s guess. He smiled. “I don’t have a reindeer called Rudolph. Or Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder, or Blixem for that matter.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t?” Her voice oozed feigned shock.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “So what are your reindeer called then?”

  “I tell you what, Sarah Jones, why don’t I hang onto that information until our next meeting? I’m certain you still have many questions. And I would still like to help you remember that greatest love story of all.”

  She eyed him. “On one condition. You introduce me personally to your reindeer and take me for a sleigh ride afterward.”

  “Of course. We’ll make a date for that. Soon. Goodnight, Sarah.”

  He ambled down the stairs, tapping the envelope from Jonathan against his leg, eyes fixed on the sleigh as he uttered a last command, cautioning Alexis to stay down. “Pysyvät alhaalla.” Sarah wouldn’t know he wasn’t talking to his dogs.

  With Risto and Mila settled on the backseat of the sleigh, Niklas hopped in front and grabbed the reins. He waved at Sarah. “Hyvää yötä. Good night.”

  She returned the gesture then closed the door.

  The moment the sleigh rounded the corner of the cabin, Alexis rose from the floorboard and hurtled to the front seat, taking the reins from his clone. He slowed the reindeers’ pace while Niklas stripped off his Santa suit and shoved the outfit back into his father’s red bag.

  By the time the sleigh had circled the cabin, about to pass the front door again, Niklas had climbed the stairs to the porch, heading for Sarah’s door. All he could think about was that tiny piece of mistletoe hanging over the kitchen entrance. And the fact that both he and Sarah needed to pass through there to get to the sauna to light that fire. If they happened to be in the doorway at the same time, dare he take a chance and kiss her, blame it on tradition?

  As the door clicked shut, Sarah leaned against the rough wood and closed her eyes. That went a little different to what she’d expected. Fancy Santa believing in Jesus and the virgin birth. Who would have thought?

  A loud knock startled her, the sound pushing its way through the wood the exact height of her ears, resonating between her left and right eardrum. Must be the landlord. Perfect timing. Probably parked the reindeer behind her cabin, out of sight.

  She turned and cracked open the door. There he was, in all of his glorious blue-eyed splendor, sans the Santa fuzz, glasses and crimson clothing.

  I’m on to you Saint Niklas.

  The jingling bells and barking dog pulled their attention to the passing sleigh, heading away from the cabin.

  “Ha-ha-ha. Goodnight, Sarah Jones.” With a final wave, Santa and his sleigh, his reindeer and dogs, faded into the night, their sounds swallowed by the snow.

  Jaw dropping, Sarah turned her gaze from the runaway Santa, to firm-footed Niklas filling her doorway. Had she been wrong?

  Niklas pointed to where the sleigh had vanished, eyes wide. “Was that—”

  “Yes.” She released a sigh then smacked Niklas lightly on the chest. “Oh come on, you’ve surely seen Santa before, living here in Rovaniemi?”

  “Not in my front garden, riding a sleigh. Ever.”

  “Technically it’s my front garden, at least for almost three weeks.”

  He chuckled, deep and throaty. She could get accustomed to that sound.

  “You’re right. So, Sarah, what was Joulupukki doing riding across your snow at this time of night, this long before Christmas?”

  She lowered her gaze. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Turning, she invited Niklas inside. “Are you ready to teach this newbie all about fires and saunas?”

  “Juu.”

  Shooting him a stare and a frown, she replied, “Yes, me.”

  His laugh resounded again—louder, longer—filling the room almost as much as he did. “Sorry, I meant yes, not ‘you’. I’ll have to remember you don’t speak Finnish.”

  “You could teach me a few phrases while I’m here. I could perhaps weave them into my novel.”

  “I’d like that.”

  So would I. I mean, my muse would like it. Focus, Sarah. “Should we get started? I must say, I’m rather keen to try that sauna stuff again.”

  “You enjoyed it yesterday?” Niklas removed his boots and stood them neatly at the door. His jacket found its way onto a coat hook beside hers, as did his snow pants. Boy, did he look good in jeans.

  Sarah watched him closely, warmth flooding through her. She tipped her head and arched her back. Eyes closed, she stretched to the roof, circling her arms in no particular hurry down to her sides. “Oh yes. It was so relaxing.” She turned and moved toward the kitchen. Stopping in the doorway, she leaned against the wall. “I must warn you, camping was never my strong point.” Reaching up, she tapped the dangling mistletoe. It swung back and forth like a pendulum.

  Niklas crossed his arms and rested his shoulder against the wall beside the fireplace, an amused expression on his face. His gaze see-sawed between Sarah and the mistletoe she played with.

  Mistletoe! Shoot. She dropped her hand. What must he be thinking? That she was deliberately waiting there under the mistletoe for him to...

  She pushed away from the wall and hurried through the kitchen
to the sauna.

  Niklas followed.

  Inside the small, dimly lit room, she glanced up at him. “Uh, so where do I start?”

  He grinned, his blue eyes burning into her soul.

  Please, don’t do that. You’re making me...um...my muse, nervous.

  “You don’t start anywhere, Sarah Jones. Yet. Sauna is a ritual, a custom to be enjoyed and revered. First you understand what sauna is all about and then I’ll teach you about lighting that fire.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He frowned, pushing up his sleeves. Muscles rippled on his forearms, shaping the tight fitting gray sweatshirt higher up. “And why would I do that?”

  Oh, I could think of a million reasons—same ones Andrew had for leading me on, stupid fool that I was. But not this time. I’m older. Wiser.

  Instead of breathing life to her thoughts, she shrugged. Was she really wiser? Could she rightly judge a person’s character? Niklas could be the nicest man on earth, with the purest intentions—he certainly seemed that way, hadn’t given her cause to think differently—and here she went dumping him in the same class as Andrew Palmer.

  But then Andrew, too, had seemed nice.

  “Sauna time is not just for a quick in and out, Sarah. You need to give yourself some hours for the process.”

  Sarah’s mind drifted to earlier that morning when she’d lost herself in the steam and heat. And enjoyed it. Time had slipped by without her noticing. Or caring. These Finns were onto something. If she could bottle that experience, and sell it to the corporate world, she’d be a billionaire.

  “...getting the wood, the water, lighting the stove, tending the fire—these are all as integral to the ritual as actually taking the sauna.”

  She loved the way he said the word. Sowna. Heat rose to her cheeks, and they hadn’t even brought wood into the sauna yet, let alone lit this fire.

  Focus. Stop daydreaming. You’ve already missed some of what he’s said.

  “You need to fire the stove fast. It must be brought to maximum temperature rapidly, that’s why logs are not suitable for the oven. Start with sticks as thick as your finger.” He glanced at her hands and grinned. “Maybe as thick as my finger, rather.”

  Sarah couldn’t stop her gaze from lowering to his strong hands. Sticks? Might as well put logs on that fire.

  “Work your way up to wood an arm’s thickness. But remember—”

  “No—big—logs.” She grinned. “I get it.” Although that was about the only thing she did get. When he spoke of an arm’s thickness, was he referring to her anatomy? He must have, for if he were gauging it on himself, they’d definitely be back to using logs. And that was taboo.

  Sarah clamped the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. He’d barely instructed a minute or two, and already she was lost. She wasn’t entirely sure she could blame it on her lack of fire-making skills though. Niklas Toivonen was a distracting teacher.

  Very distracting.

  “Don’t look so worried, I will make sure I put the correct logs out each day.” He reached for her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Now, let me teach you about our sauna.”

  At the end of his explanations, the blank look on her face must have said it all. Heated rocks; the water tank; löyly—sauna steam he clarified; cleaning the ash drawer, and the grate for airflow; opening the drawer, closing the drawer; filled buckets; towels; shut windows; hydration; temperature; dry sauna; wet sauna; and a myriad of other customs and instructions. Her mind spun.

  With a light hold on her upper arms, he gazed deep into her eyes. “I’ve a better idea. If you don’t mind me coming around every night, I’ll sort out your sauna and the fireplace in the lounge. All you’ll need to do is put more wood on when needed.” A grin spread across his face, lighting his eyes. “And please, use oven gloves when you do.”

  Sarah swallowed hard. “I—I’d like that.” I mean, my muse would.

  Right... Blame it all on the Muse. How long would that creative goddess allow Sarah to make her the scapegoat?

  Chapter 8

  “Out with it, Niklas. Who is she?” Hands on her hips, and a smile on her face, Mother waited for an answer. She’d not let the subject go.

  Perhaps if he feigned ignorance. “Äiti?” He grabbed another cardamom bun from the emptying plate, stuffing the entire thing into his mouth. She wouldn’t expect him to speak with his mouth full. She’d always taught him it was bad manners to do so.

  Mother pulled the plate away. “Niklas Toivonen, don’t you Äiti me. I brought you into this world. I raised you. And I know you better than you know yourself. You have not been able to wipe that smile from your face the entire week. You’re in love. So out with it—what is her name?”

  In love? Niklas took a huge swig of coffee. He wasn’t ready to tell his parents. Äiti might be smiling now, but she’d not be thrilled once she knew the woman he was falling for lived on the other side of the world. She’d have a myriad of questions for which he had no answers. Yet. Could he and Sarah make a long distance relationship work? Would he move south? Would she move north? How long should they date before marriage? Was she even interested in him? She seemed...intrigued. And there were sparks of mutual attraction between them.

  Scrap that. There were flames.

  Getting to know Sarah the past week had been nothing short of amazing. She was funny and interesting, educated, beautiful. They’d talked until late each night, curled up on either side of the couch. The crackling fire never went out until after he’d left. The saunas were another story. The fires burned out, unused. In the mornings, he returned to light the sauna oven again. They’d talk more, drink more coffee. Too soon he had to leave and afford her time to write her novel. And he had duties to get on with—chopping wood, and listening to children’s Christmas wishes—counting the seconds until he’d see her again.

  But Niklas sensed she carried deep pain, hidden well behind her charm and wit. Many times the past week he’d resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her, stand beneath that mistletoe, and kiss her hurt away.

  Smitten, that’s what he was. And perhaps his mother was right about falling in love. He had to find answers to the questions Äiti would raise. Personally, he didn’t care which side of the planet they lived, as long as she was by his side. Now that Sarah Jones had walked into his life and turned his world upside down, he could not lose her.

  Mother stared across the kitchen table at Father. “Speak to your son, Claus. He needs to tell. We’ve waited too long for this day, now he wants to keep it a secret? We must meet this young woman.”

  She turned back to Niklas. “Son, why not bring her for Christmas Eve dinner? And your birthday lunch on Christmas day.”

  Niklas shook his head and smiled. “Äiti, I never said there was someone.”

  Father sighed, deep. “Maaria, leave the boy alone.” He brushed away the crumbs dotting the crimson fabric that covered his rounded belly. “If Niklas has met a girl and he’s in love, he’ll tell us when he’s ready. Won’t you?” Father winked as he held Niklas’s gaze.

  “Juu, Isä. You know I will.”

  “See.” He shot Mother a told-you-so look.

  She glared back then began to clear away the dirty dishes. Noisily. “Humph.”

  Niklas leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his intertwined hands. “So, Isä, are you excited to be going back to work?”

  Father nodded, looking healthier than he had in a while. Finally, Niklas would have spare time in the scant daylight to show Sarah the fun side of Lapland. Maybe he could convince her to jump into the avanto. He smiled. If he managed that, he could manage anything. Even convincing her to marry him.

  Mother wagged her finger. “You make sure you keep warm today, Claus. Keep your scarf and gloves on.”

  “Yes, Maaria.” Father rose from the table. “I must finish getting ready for work. I need to go in earlier to catch up on what’s happening in the world. It is, after all, nearly Christmas.” Bending o
ver, he clamped Niklas’s hand with his own. “Thank you for standing in for me these past ten days, Son. The world, and I, owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “It was nothing, Isä. I enjoyed it.”

  Father tipped his gray head in acknowledgement and leaned closer to Niklas. He lowered his voice. “For my part, Niklas, I don’t care which pole on this earth you live close to, as long as you are happy. But, I do hope it’s north, because you make a fine Santa, and nothing would make me more proud than to have you fill my shoes one day.”

  “Isä? How did you...?”

  Father smiled. “Korvatunturi.”

  Of course. All the secrets of Christmas. Including his. If Santa could hear the wishes of children from all across the world, he’d surely hear those of his own son even better.

  Perhaps he should take Sarah to Korvantunturi. Then she could know the secrets he’d been keeping from her, secrets that would be revealed should he bring her home for Christmas Eve dinner.

  He was the son of Santa Claus.

  Sarah seemed to have abandoned her obsession with his alter ego though. She’d made no contact with ‘Saint Nick’ since he’d managed to mislead her into believing that Santa and he were two different people. But, he had to tell her. How could he go through life with her living any kind of lie? If the truth came out later, she’d feel betrayed.

  Problem was, Santa never revealed to the world who he really was. Niklas was not exempt from this rule. He, too, had taken an oath never to tell anyone.

  A smile wafted onto Sarah’s lips as she stepped inside the sauna. A productive and interesting week, that’s what it had been. Niklas and her getting to know each other. Her manuscript finally taking shape. What would the new week have to offer? For one, it would bring Christmas in two days’ time. She should get a gift for Niklas. Her muse really liked him. Maybe she could cook him dinner on Christmas Eve. But what? A roast turkey would be too big for two. Perhaps a tasty baked salmon.

  Sarah plunged the ladle into the bucket of water Niklas had filled early that morning. What if he had family close by? Wouldn’t he want to go there instead? She hoped not. Christmas alone seemed far less attractive than it had the day she booked her ticket to Lapland. In all their hours of talking, Niklas hadn’t really said much about his own family. Come to think of it, he’d shied away from the subject, moving their conversations back to her and her writing career. Then again, there were people she preferred to avoid talking about, too.