Tonight, she’d ask him—about his family, about dinner. And perhaps, if she got really bold, she’d steer him toward that blasted mistletoe. Every night it became harder for them both to ignore the elephant in the room.
She could always chalk the event up to research. Isn’t that what she’d been accused of before?
The sauna rocks hissed the moment she tipped the ladle, its contents splashing against the heated surface, sending a cloud of löyly to the roof. Perspiration oozed from her skin as the invisible steam descended. Löyly. What a great word. Sounded far more fun than ‘sauna steam’. She’d definitely write it into her story.
Prostrating on the wooden bench, Sarah closed her eyes and pointed her toes. If she stretched just a little, she could touch the wall while her head butted against the other side. This bench was just her size.
She released a contented sigh. Even though she spent quite some time in the sauna each morning, she’d still managed to whack out twenty-five thousand words this week. And loved every one of them. Of course, she could’ve been much farther along in her writing, but she wouldn’t have given up a single moment with Niklas to spend it in front of her laptop.
She liked him. Really liked him. It had been so long since she’d felt this way—about anyone. Even Andrew in the infancy of their romance.
Maybe she should move that piece of mistletoe and place it above the couch.
Breathing in deep, Sarah savored the haunting but pleasant smell of frankincense. Spicy. Woody. A gift on Tuesday night from Niklas, as were the other seven essential oils he’d bought to enhance her sauna experience. She’d loved every one so far. The sharp freshness of lemon oil. Ylang-ylang’s exotic and sweet smell. A bouquet of fresh aromas in the rose oil. The woodiness of sandalwood. Myrrh’s warm mustiness. And her favorite—lavender, with its light freshness. She would definitely use that one up faster.
“Where’s the gold?” she’d joked when she had unpacked the gift, setting the frankincense and myrrh bottles side by side.
“It’s coming.” Niklas had looked far too serious for one pulling her leg.
“Right...” Andrew had said that, too.
Sarah used a different oil every morning the past week. Just a few drops in the water tank. Tomorrow she’d try the last fragrance, the one that seemed at odds with the rest. According to the leaflets inside each individual packaging, the essential oils all blended well with one or more of those she had. Except this last one. It made no mention of the others Niklas had bought.
Another anomaly was that all of the oils, barring this one, were good for the heart and mind amongst other things like improving concentration, calming, reducing confusion and tension, combating stress, creating inner peace, increasing one’s spiritual self—so they claimed—and fighting depression, grief, anger and fear. But this final oil, with its warm, sweet smell, was one that helped wounds heal.
Hyssop.
What she wouldn’t give to feel whole again.
Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Psalm 51—David’s prayer for mercy after committing adultery with Bathsheba. She’d loved that Psalm.
Had Andrew ever prayed this prayer? Begged for God’s mercy and compassion? If not, he was a bigger deceiver than she knew him to be. If he hadn’t, how did he live with himself, his new wife, and his church after what he’d done to her?
She pushed away the dreadful memories, seeking the calm and inner peace the aromatic oil promised. Unlike her saunas this week, today it didn’t work. Bitterness tainted the fragrance. Andrew Palmer did not deserve grace—not God’s, not hers. She couldn’t escape how she felt. He’d stolen more than just her innocence. He’d crushed her very soul.
What was wrong with her, allowing a passing thought of Andrew to taint her day? Getting no relaxation in the sauna after her mind had wandered to places she usually tried not to go, Sarah gave up on the heat and steam.
She tried her hand at writing, get those words down for the day and free herself up for Niklas’s visit tonight. Even that was a disaster as she gazed blankly at her laptop screen. Few words came. And those that did were no good.
A gray cloud of gloom shadowed her.
Chocolate. That’s what she needed. The endorphins would kick-start her out of spiraling into this black hole. She wasn’t due for a writing reward—the next milestone still several thousand words away—but desperate times called for desperate measures. She scurried out from behind her laptop and headed toward the kitchen.
Cupboard doors open, her head buried deep inside the opening, Sarah scanned the empty shelves. “Chocolate, chocolate... Where are the chocolates?”
She checked the fridge. Nothing there either. In fact, it was almost as bare as the grocery cupboard shelves.
After sharing a slab nightly with Niklas—seemed he liked chocolate as much as she did—Sarah hadn’t realized last night’s was the last. As for the groceries, she’d only bought sufficient for about a week, and she had already been in Lapland nine days. She’d have to go shopping, pronto.
Suited up against the cold, Sarah stepped outside, her small black travel pouch slung over her shoulder. Euros inside. And her credit cards. She’d make sure to buy sufficient groceries to last her until she left. And more than enough chocolate for every remaining night...then some more. These Finns sure knew how to make the dark, decadent sweet.
Fresh snow had fallen overnight. Thick and deep. From the porch, Sarah glanced over to the Micra, its blue color making it appear frozen into the landscape. Looking past the small vehicle, she breathed a sigh of relief. A snow-free driveway, all the way to the main road. Niklas must’ve stopped by with a snowplough while she’d been in the sauna. Rooted to the spot, she chewed her lip. She may have a clear run off Toivonen land, but what did the roads look like further out? If the snow was thicker than when she’d arrived, could she trust herself to drive? Even if it was just a little way up the road?
Staring at the white expanse toward the trees blocking Niklas’s home from view, Sarah pondered her food crisis. She needed to get to a grocery store. Today.
Niklas. Surely he wouldn’t mind taking her. He’d been nothing but kind since the day she’d arrived. Not to mention charming. And handsome. Truth be told, she was glad he’d befriended her, come around each night to help...and keep her company. Despite her wishes to be alone so she could write, it would’ve been a cold, lonely, white three weeks. He’d brought color and warmth to her world. She would miss him when she returned home. A lot.
Sarah took the steps down the porch carefully, disappearing deeper into the snow than the last time she’d stepped outside. The walk to Niklas’s place would be more difficult than a week ago. A giggle slid from her mouth. Would she catch him in the sauna or avanto again? She allowed her laughter free reign at the memory as she pushed herself through the snow, leaving no footprints in her wake. Instead, her tracks resembled railway lines, evidence of how arduous the walk in these conditions.
By the time she stepped onto Niklas’s porch, she was out of breath, her heart thumping from something more than the sheer physical labor of walking that distance in such deep, soft snow. Could it be the prospect of seeing him again, at his house?
Like the first and only time she’d been here, a dog’s bark resounded at her knock. Then another’s.
“Niklas?”
No response. Where was he? Maybe the sauna?
She headed back down the steps and made her way toward the small wooden house. The chimney pointed to the sky, inactive. He couldn’t be in there. Still, she should check.
Pushing open the sauna door, Sarah called his name again. No response. She’d take a walk around the buildings. Please be here somewhere.
Rounding the corner to the back of the house, Sarah spotted a black Range Rover, parked and covered in snow. Was that...? Surely not. It couldn’t be the same car that almost pushed her off the road the night she arrived.
Finding herself back at Niklas’s f
ront door, suspicion pushing her nerves to the edge, she knocked again. Harder and louder this time. The door clicked at the action, a gap into Niklas’s world forming along the door’s edge. Sarah stepped back, uncertain what to do. Niklas couldn’t have latched the door properly when he left.
Before she could pull the door shut again, a black nose found its way through the gap, followed by long golden fur.
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Risto?” She stooped and rubbed the dog’s fur, scratching him behind the ears.
He responded with two loud barks and a lick to her cheek.
“What are you doing here, boy?”
From inside came a whimper, and Sarah raised her eyes to see Mila curled in a whelping box in the corner of the lounge. Dare she go inside? Uninvited?
She’d check on Mila, and then leave.
Kneeling in front of the golden retriever, she patted her head. Wait a minute, these are Santa’s dogs. That meant, if Risto and Mila were here in Niklas’s home, then Niklas and Santa... They were one and the same, just as she’d initially suspected. Unless Niklas had a really good explanation for why these dogs were quite at home in his house, this little scenario playing out before her eyes meant he’d been living a lie from the day they met. And deliberately deceived her the other night with the reindeer and sleigh.
Hot tears pricked. She had to get out of there. She needed fresh air.
Stroking Mila one last time, Sarah shoved to her feet, nearly tripping over Risto as she stumbled outside. She tried to wrap her head around what she knew was real. Niklas being Santa was no big deal. Lying to her was. He’d had the entire week to tell her the truth. He chose not to, continuing the deception instead.
She rummaged in her small bag for a tissue. Her purse shifted precariously to the edge of the bag beneath her probing fingers. Too much scuffling, it tipped over the edge, falling to the floor. Coins scattered in all directions, like refugees. Great. I should’ve closed that coin pocket zipper. It was always getting stuck, so most times she didn’t bother.
Scurrying around on the icy porch, Sarah gathered up the coins. Goodness knew if she’d retrieved them all—they’d literally rolled everywhere.
Risto followed her descent into the snow-covered garden.
“Go home, Risto.” She bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. Pressing it between her hands, she hurled it in the dog’s direction. The powdery snowball broke into a million pieces and drifted to the ground. Risto barked and bounded in the snow, resembling a jumping jack cracker.
The failed snowball brought a fresh bout of tears. Could she get nothing right?
By the time she reached the line of trees, Risto gave up his pursuit and headed for home. The dog obviously knew his limits, unlike his master.
Back at her cabin, Sarah grabbed the car key, her tears exchanged for outrage. She’d not take this deception lying down. Not this time. Saint Nick, who in her opinion was no saint at all, was about to get a piece of Sarah Jones’s mind. Or should that piece come from Miss No Name from Nowhere? Wonder how he’d like not knowing who he was dealing with?
He’d have to tell her. He wanted to tell her. Now. But she was busy...writing. He couldn’t interrupt.
Tonight. He’d tell her tonight.
Niklas parked the snowmobile between his house and the sauna, and turned off the engine. He slid his leg over the seat, his feet sinking into the snow as he stood. How good it felt not to dress up in red today. To have time off. First thing he’d do to while away the hours until tonight was fire up the sauna. One of these days he needed to invite Sarah over and teach her the next part of sauna culture.
The avanto.
Once he told Sarah the truth, he’d no longer have to worry about her finding out about Risto and Mila...putting two and two together.
Hearing Risto bark, Niklas turned. The dog bounded toward him and jumped up against his chest, desperate to greet him with a welcome lick. Niklas allowed him, ruffling the fur on his neck.
“What are you doing outside?”
Back on all four paws, Risto gave another loud bark and tore off toward the house, pausing to check that Niklas followed.
Niklas narrowed his eyes. The snow around his house had been disturbed. He wasn’t expecting company. Who could’ve stopped by? He raised his eyes toward the porch and the open front door. Hadn’t he shut that before heading to Isä and Äiti?
Pausing on the top step of the porch, Niklas surveyed the area. A trail led across the white expanse toward the tree line. And Sarah’s cabin. Had she come over?
Mila eased out of the whelping box. She was using it? Did that mean...?
Niklas checked the box. Nothing out of the ordinary. No tiny retrievers hiding beneath the soft blankets.
He knelt in front of Mila and felt her swollen belly. “Any day now, Mila. Any day.”
With a whine, Mila turned, finding comfort again inside the box that Niklas had almost given up on her using. Thankfully, he had everything ready for the birth—like an expectant father. All he had to do now was wait. The hardest part, although the end certainly seemed near. He’d probably be delivering puppies by Christmas Eve. Dinner with his parents might not happen.
Relief washed over Niklas. Then shame. Hadn’t he just vowed to tell Sarah the truth? Tonight? Maybe he should go over there now, before he had a change of heart. He pushed to his feet.
Walking back to the door, he stopped and bent over. How did that coin get there? See a penny, pick it up. All day long you'll have good luck... Serendipity. He could do with a little today. His fingers lifted the money from the wooden flooring.
The shiny silver coin was unlike anything Niklas had seen. He examined it closely. On the heads side, some kind of deer with twisted horns. Definitely no reindeer. The currency? Two rand. He flipped the coin—a coat of arms the mintage, dated 1990. Been in circulation for a while. He focused on the wording either side of the emblem. On the left, the words ‘Suid-Afrika’—‘South Africa’ on the right.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in deep, fighting the nausea. Sarah. She’d been here. Those were her tracks in the snow. She’d seen Risto and Mila. She knew.
He’d been wrong in his actions. Oath or no oath to his father’s profession, he had to tell her. And ask her forgiveness for his deception.
Chapter 9
On a mission, Sarah pulled the blue Micra into the parking lot of Santa’s Village perhaps a little faster than she intended, burying the front fender into the ploughed snow bordering the lot. She shoved the stick shift into reverse and backed up slightly.
Grabbing her gloves from the passenger seat, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Two beeps split the quiet as she pressed lock on the remote. An elderly couple walking past on the sidewalk stared at Sarah.
So she’d slammed the door. So what.
Sarah held their pointed looks.
The old man offered a smile. “No need to lock in Lapland.”
Sarah’s return smile no doubt resembled a certain wooly animal the color of her surrounds. Of course they don’t lock cars this side of the world. But having spent her entire life locking, and double locking...everything...it would take forever to become accustomed to walking away from anything unlocked.
She hurried to the front of the vehicle, bending down to inspect the fender. Thankfully the only damage, a little more snow decorating the blue edges. She wiped it off. The cold bit into her fingers. Fragments of snow clung to their human scraper, dissipating into teensy droplets. Sarah brushed her hand against her jean-clad leg, removing the moisture from her skin. Couldn’t risk hurting her fingers a second time. She shoved her hands into her woolen gloves.
Ah, warmth.
Sarah glanced at her watch as she climbed the staircase beside the gigantic timepiece. Eleven-thirty. Santa only opened shop from midday. Not long to wait, and as tenth in line, she’d soon be standing in front of Saint Nick. She had a good mind to march to the front of the queue, tell everyone she had urgent business. Had it really on
ly been nine days since she’d climbed these stairs to those striking blue eyes she couldn’t get out of her mind?
Sarah kept her gaze fixed on Santa’s timepiece—second after miserably long second. The half-hour until the doors to Santa’s office opened seemed to take hours.
With each family that disappeared through the entrance with the elderly ‘elf’ she’d been semi-rude to on her first visit, Sarah’s heart beat harder, faster. It took all her restraint not to turn and run back to her car, her cabin, the airport.
Home. Could she really return earlier over this? Spend Christmas with her family? The idea tempted her, until she forced her thoughts to the real reason she’d run in the first place. The only reason that would keep her feet firmly planted in Lapland until her return date. Andrew Palmer and the Christmas Day service at Hannah’s church.
“Hello. Are you ready to meet Santa?”
Sarah hadn’t even noticed the elderly ‘elf’s’ return. Her smile wavered, her mouth twitching like a faulty fluorescent tube. Would anything brighten her countenance today?
“Oh, it’s you. Miss No Name from Nowhere, wasn’t it?”
Sarah forced the sides of her mouth upward. “Sarah Jones from South Africa.”
The ‘elf’ grinned wide. Seriously? Was getting her name and location really like winning the lotto? Whatever floated his boat.
She swallowed hard as she turned the corner, listening to the announcement of her presence. She glanced at the floor beside Santa’s chair. The picture had looked far more adoring and appealing with the two golden retrievers filling the floor. Everything about the scene before her seemed empty, and it wasn’t only the lack of Risto and Mila’s presence. Somehow, the chair didn’t seem as large as the first time she’d seen it. The platform, too, appeared different—lower than before. Had this giant of a man reduced so much in her eyes? Over two dogs?
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