by Ellie Hall
He laughs and covers the page with his arm. “You mean about that woman and her space heater?”
“Well, that was interesting,” I say. “But I was thinking more along the lines about how you almost kissed me.”
Max twists his body and looks at me. “Me? You were the one who almost kissed me. Again.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“Weren't you telling me what a good memory you had earlier this evening?” He grins and taps the side of my head. “You don’t have to take notes because you remember everything.”
I inhale sharply as he runs his fingers from the side of my head down to my mouth. As he lightly traces my bottom lip, he whispers, “It’s a shame we were interrupted and you couldn’t kiss me like you wanted to.”
“You mean you couldn’t kiss me like you wanted to.” I lean in closer, smelling his peppermint cologne, daring him to press his lips to mine.
“The bus is here,” the manager calls out, startling both of us. Max’s journal goes flying across the floor.
“I’ll get it,” I say. When I bend to pick it up, I notice several sheets of loose paper scattered nearby and gather them up.
“Please don’t look at those,” Max says.
“Too late,” I say, stacking the pages together. Each one is a sketch of different places in Santa’s Village. “These are amazing. You’re a very talented artist.”
“No, I’m not.” Max grabs the sketches from me, then shuffles through them. “There’s one missing.”
I look around and spot it under the bench we were sitting on. As I pick it up, my eyes widen. “Hey, this one’s of me.” I peer more closely at the sketch, recognizing the background. “Did you draw this when we were on the German riverboat cruise? This was right after we kissed, wasn’t it? And you’ve been carrying it around this whole time? Why?”
Max shoves the paper back into his journal. “I don’t know how that got stuck in here. I meant to throw it out.”
Why don’t I believe him?
The next day, I wake up and stretch my arms over my head and think about the previous night—the heart-to-heart we had about our exes, the almost-kiss (and for the record, he almost kissed me, not the other way around), and the fact that Max has been carrying a sketch of me around for months.
I have to admit, it’s a really flattering sketch. I’m leaning over the railing of the riverboat, lost in thought, oblivious to the quaint German town on the shore. My hair is fluttering in the breeze, I’m holding a straw hat in one hand, and I’m wearing a polka-dot sundress.
The dress is how I know exactly when Max made the sketch. I had bought it in a boutique earlier that day and worn it to dinner that night. While we were walking on deck later that night, Max had joked about how the polka dots reminded him of M&M’S.
Then that infamous kiss happened. I grabbed Max’s hand, and pulled him into an embrace. He looked surprised, but as soon as I pressed my lips against his, he made a noise that sounded like a cross between a growl and a moan. Then he ran his fingers through my hair, drawing me in closer and deepening the kiss.
This is just a pretend kiss, I kept telling myself. It doesn’t mean anything.
Finally, I managed to pull myself away. Turning around, I saw my friend Isabelle give me a thumbs up sign. I nodded, then looked at Max. “Thanks. I think that fooled Erich.”
“Erich? Who’s Erich?” Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute, does this have to do with Isabelle and that guy?”
“Yep, we were just doing her a favor.” I toyed with the ribbon on my straw hat. “Thanks for playing along.”
“So this didn’t mean anything?” Max asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “Remember, we can’t stand each other. We’d be the last person either of us would want to kiss, right?”
Max pressed his lips together. “You’re right. It didn’t mean anything.”
Then he turned and walked away, and I leaned over the railing, lost in thought about Max and that kiss that didn’t mean anything.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my memories of that evening in Germany. When I pick it up, Max tells me that I’m late. I notice that this time his tone is light and joking, not like all the other times when he was so obviously irritated with my tardiness. “Better get a move on, babe. We’re late for our appointment at Elf Central.”
It almost feels like Max and I are a real couple, not just a pretend one. We connected last night, really connected. He’s a nomad like me, constantly traveling for work, having no real roots. When I’m not on assignment, I stay with my sister and her family in Los Angeles. Max crashes with a friend in New York City. Neither of us has a real home.
As I get dressed, I wonder what a home really is. Is it a physical building, whether a small bungalow, an apartment, or even a house made of ice? Or is a home something less tangible? A feeling you have when you’ve found someone to share your life with—they become your home.
Snap out of it, I tell myself as I pull on my favorite sweater—the pink one with candy canes on it. You’re getting entirely too mushy. Whatever happened between you and Max last night was a fluke. Just wait and see. Things will be back to normal in no time with the two of you not being able to stand each other.
When I walk into the hotel lobby, Max is chatting with the desk clerk. He must be telling the most hilarious jokes because she can’t stop laughing. When Max smiles at the woman, I feel myself stiffen. Yep, the old Max is back. The one who can’t help but flirt with every woman in his path.
“You ready?” I say brusquely to Max. “Or are the two of you busy?”
“I was the one waiting for you, remember?” he says coolly.
“Max was just telling me the hedgehog story,” the young woman says in between giggles. “I can’t believe you mistook a hedgehog for a rattlesnake. And then you jumped up onto a chair and screamed, ‘Killer Snake.’ It’s a good thing Max caught the hedgehog when it went flying. It could have been hurt.”
“It was an easy mistake. Rattlesnakes are all over the place in Arizona,” I snap. “If Max hadn’t put that creature on my shoulder without warning me first, none of that would have happened.”
“I did tell you, but you were too busy chatting on the phone with your boyfriend—”
I hold up my hand. “Ex-boyfriend. And that’s still no excuse for what you did.”
“I thought it would make a cute picture. The whole group was taking turns getting their picture taken with it. Besides, everyone loves hedgehogs.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Not everyone.”
“Well, I know that now,” Max says stiffly.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? We’re late.”
“No, we’re not. Once I realized you were still sleeping when I called you, I phoned the Chief Elf and asked him if we could push back our appointment by an hour.” Max looks at his watch. “We have twenty minutes to get there. Plenty of time.”
“You didn’t have any right to reschedule it. This is my interview. You’re just tagging along to take pictures.”
The desk clerk looks back and forth at us warily, then smiles brightly at me. “Max told me you’re going to do an article on the elves who work at Santa’s Village. That sounds fascinating.”
Actually, it does sound fascinating—a behind-the-scenes peek at how Santa’s Village operates—but there’s no way I’m going to agree with Miss “Max is My Hero for Catching that Hedgehog,” especially not after the way she keeps batting her eyelashes at him.
“It’s just part of the job,” I say, then stride toward the door.
Max and I walk to Elf Central in silence. I glance at him, wondering what he’s thinking about. Probably the desk clerk.
Shaking my head, I focus on the interview and the questions I’m going to ask. From my research, I know that because Santa’s Village gets visitors from around the world, the elves are recruited based in part on their ability to speak multiple languages. I suppose one of the other key factors i
n hiring them is their willingness to wear fake pointy elf ears. I’m eager to learn more about the hiring process and what it takes to get a job here.
When Max and I arrive at Elf Central, I pause to admire the building. It looks like an over-sized gingerbread house. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that the colorful decorations on the outside were made of real candy.
As soon as I enter the building, I start to break out in a sweat. This feels exactly like last night when I had that nightmare about the ice hotel melting. I remove my hat and mittens, and unzip my coat. “Why is it so hot in here?” I mutter.
An elf wearing a red short-sleeved t-shirt that shows off his muscular chest greets us. Suspenders and plaid pants complete the look. Wow, who knew elves could be so sexy. Then I look down, expecting to see felt boots. Instead I see a pair of incredibly hairy feet. You can’t even see this guy’s toenails through all that hair. Wow, I know it’s roasting in here, but going barefoot isn’t exactly a good look for you, buddy.
After the Chief Elf introduces himself—his name is Eldon—he apologizes. “Sorry, we’re having a problem with the central heating.”
A female elf named Edwina joins us. She’s sporting a similar look—red t-shirt, a plaid skirt, and hairy bare feet. Max seems oblivious to her foot situation, probably because her t-shirt is at least one size too small for her.
They lead us over to a large wooden trestle table. Eldon pours us coffee while Edwina sets down a platter of joulutorttu—star-shaped Christmas cookies made out of flaky pastry and filled with prune jam.
After sampling some of the cookies, Max takes pictures while I conduct the interview.
“Those ears look so real,” I say. “Do they take a long time to put on?”
“But they are real.” Eldon laughs and tugs at the top of one of his pointy ears.
I feel my face redden. I’m inadvertently mocking Eldon’s misshapen ears. He can’t help it if he was born with them. “I’m so sorry.”
He furrows a brow. “Why are you sorry? All elves have ears like these.”
“Of course, it’s what visitors expect elves to look like. I suppose you’re lucky that you don’t have to wear fake ones.” As the words come out of my mouth, I realize that I’m just making things worse. I try to change the subject, but hearing Max chuckle behind me makes me even more flustered.
I spin around and give him a warning look. He just grins and snaps a picture of me.
“Are you one of those people who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus and elves?” Edwina asks. “We get a few of them up here.”
“Oh, I see what’s going on,” I say. “You guys are pulling my leg. The ears aren’t real.”
Eldon smiles. “The ears are real and we’re really elves.”
“I suppose Santa is real too,” I say.
“Yes,” Edwina says.
Eldon leans across the table and says conspiratorially, “Off the record, Santa is a busy man at this time of year, so he does have some helpers who stand in for him.”
I might have rolled my eyes a little bit because Max says, “Come on, Zoe, get into the Christmas spirit. How can anyone visit Santa’s Village and not believe in the man himself?”
“Shouldn’t you be taking pictures?” I say.
Max shrugs and wanders around the large room, taking photos of the Christmas decorations. Edwina happily poses for him in front of the fire, and the two of them engage in flirtatious banter. Apparently, hairy toes don’t seem to be a turn-off for Max.
Eldon and I continue the interview, talking about the most popular toys these days. While I sip on my coffee, I ask what he does during the summer.
“What do you mean? Christmas is a year-round thing. There’s always lots to do.”
“You must get vacation. Where do you go?”
“Oh, vacation. Sure, we get time off. Last year, I went to the Bahamas. This year I’m not sure where I want to go. What would you recommend?”
“Definitely not Mongolia,” I say before making a few suggestions. “Ravenna in Italy is nice and the riverboat cruises in Germany are amazing.”
Max wanders over. I notice that he’s wearing one of those red and green felt elf hats. For some reason, it looks strange on someone with normal ears. He models it for me. “This was a gift from Edwina.”
“Why don’t you get one for Zoe, as well?” Eldon says to Edwina.
“No, that’s okay,” I say, pointing at my mint green hat. “My grandma knitted this for me. She knits all my hats. They’re the only ones I wear.”
“That’s sweet,” Edwina says. “My grandmother knits socks.”
I glance down at her feet, thinking a pair of socks wouldn’t be a bad idea.
After a few more minutes discussing knitting patterns, Max and I take our leave. As we walk outside he asks, “Did you get what you need from the interview?”
“Kind of. I’m not really sure how I’m going to write it up. People who believe they’re really elves? I’m going to have to talk with Nicole about it.”
“So you really don’t believe that they’re elves?”
“Of course not,” I say. “Don’t tell me you do.”
Max gives me a considered look. “You’d be surprised what I believe in.”
“Like what?”
“Well, when I was a kid, my dad used to read me bedtime stories. One of them was about how Santa’s elves could fix anything using only magic. One day, when my toy train broke, I was absolutely devastated. My dad told me he was going to take it to the elves to fix. The next week, it was back, good as new.”
“Did you ever stop to think that it was new?” I say. “You dad probably went out and bought a new one.”
“Nope, I know for sure that it was the elves who did it.” He smiles at me. “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll need elven magic to fix something.”
6
Reindeer Drool
I had another restless night, waking up several times mid-nightmare in a cold sweat with my heart pounding in my ears. The details of my bad dreams are fuzzy, but I do know that they all had one thing in common—Max surrounded by gorgeous women vying for his attention. He’s in his element, flirting with all of them, while I stand off in the background unnoticed.
I grab one of the pillows and hug it to my chest. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with Max during the day. Why does he have to ruin my sleep by haunting my dreams?
I need to get to the bottom of these nightmares. There’s gotta be some sort of symbolism hidden in them. If I can figure out what it is, maybe I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep. Knowing that my sister is into dream analysis, I give her a call. After filling her in on the events of the previous day—the interview at Elf Central, followed by a snowmobile excursion in the evening to see the Northern Lights—I tell her about my nightmares.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” my sister says. “You dreamed that Max was flirting with other women and ignoring you.”
“That’s the basic gist,” I say. “What does it mean? You have one of those dream dictionaries, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I don’t need a dictionary to figure this one out,” she says dryly. “The meaning is obvious.”
I sit up in bed, eager to hear what her interpretation is. “Do the other girls represent different career paths? Should I give up travel writing and move back to California and learn how to decorate cakes? Or maybe teach Pilates?
My sister laughs. “No, it’s a lot simpler than that. You’re in love with Max and you’re afraid he doesn’t feel the same way.”
“In love with Max?” I splutter. “Absolutely not. You’re crazy.”
“Am I?” she says. “You talk about him all the time.”
“That’s only because we work together,” I say. “And if I do talk about him, it’s to complain. I’m totally indifferent to him.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe you should look up the meaning of ‘indifferent’ in the dictionary because that’s not what it means.”
“
Okay, maybe I’m not completely indifferent, but that’s because he’s a complete jerk. Remember that whole hedgehog incident?”
“You know, that story is kind of funny. But, I know you. You hate to look foolish, especially by a guy you like.” She laughs, then says in a more serious tone, “Let me offer you a bit of big sisterly advice. You tried to play it safe with Carl. He was the type of guy who would have offered you security. A professional with a good job who could have taken care of you and provided for a family.”
“Carl was a nice guy,” I say.
“I’m not saying he wasn’t. But, let’s face it, he was boring. The life you would have led with him would have been boring. And you’re anything but boring, Zoe. You’re free-spirited. You love to travel and go on adventures. You need someone who has the same approach to life. Someone like Max.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “He is adventurous, I’ll give you that, but he’s definitely not the kind of guy I can see myself with long-term.”
“Listen, we’ve all got baggage that leads to the stories we tell ourselves. Maybe yours is baggage about how our dad left when we were little kids because of another woman. Maybe it’s because mom was constantly trying to make ends meet while raising us on her own, and we ended up having to move around a lot. But just because that’s how we grew up doesn’t mean you have to settle for a traditional kind of guy and a traditional kind of life.”
“But you did,” I say. “You got married and now you’re a stay-at-home mom in the suburbs.”
“The key word here is settle,” she says. “I didn’t settle. I chose the perfect life and the perfect guy for me. But just because it’s the right path for me, doesn’t mean it’s the right path for you. For you, it’d be settling.”
“Do you really think so?” I say faintly.
“Sorry, Zoe, I have to go. The baby’s crying.” My sister pauses for a moment, then adds, “Just think about what I said, okay? My gut is telling me that Max is the perfect guy for you—someone who leads an adventurous, nomadic life just like you do. Maybe it’s time you admitted that to yourself?”