Nicholas was almost a hundred-percent sure that their toes were icicles by the time they removed their boots and stuck their feet in front of the fireplace. Carol was seated beside him, her small little toes wiggling as the heat thawed their toe-cicles little by little. He hissed, sticking his feet closer to the flames, willing life back into them so that he might also wiggle his, willing heat into them by using movement.
Noelle laughed as she walked past, already covered in more layers than he could count, and her feet stuck deep into her favorite winter slippers. She’d made a beeline for her room once Carol was sorted, warm and cozy by the fireplace with supervision to make sure she didn’t set her feet alight.
“I’ll make some hot cocoa for you babies,” she teased. “Such melodrama!”
“Hey!” Carol and Nicholas shouted in unison, both of them turning to glare at Noelle as she rolled her eyes and backed away, hands lifted in surrender. He glared a little more just for good measure before turning back to the fire, his toes finally starting to gain life again.
“Alright Sweet Pea, it’s time to remove these little chestnuts and get some real ones on this fire,” he said, lightly nudging her feet aside. He then grabbed the chestnut roaster and the basket of chestnuts Noelle had set down for them. Carol protested, her glare now turning on him when he laid the chestnuts in the roaster and focused his attention on them, no longer caring for her frozen toes.
“Traitor,” she whispered, as he stuck his tongue out at her and grinned.
Nicholas toasted the nuts, as she tugged on her socks—special flannel socks that had sheep’s wool on the inside, keeping her nice and toasty. Toasty, he thought, as he toasted chestnuts. Nicholas snorted, laughing at his own joke.
“Why are you laughing?” Carol asked, tilting her head as she regarded him with confusion.
He waved his hand at her. “Nothing. Just a stupid joke I made.”
She nodded, picking at a stray piece of wool on her sock. “Noelle does the same.”
“Does what the same?” He shook the little pan, making them rotate every once in a while, to make sure they didn’t burn.
“She laughs at her own jokes too.” Then she looked up at him, her eyes flitting towards the kitchen briefly. “You make her laugh a lot too.”
Nicholas smiled then, lowering to his knees once the flames were the right temperature for the nuts not to burn. He had to keep an eye on them though, they didn’t need to be on for that long.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He asked, now glancing back at her. She was smiling, her picking having turned to her toes, which were freed from the sock. He frowned, amused with her ceaseless picking.
“Well, yes,” she said, pulling her foot to her face, her eyes turning cross eyed as she studied whatever bothered her on her foot. “But you’re the only one that makes her laugh.”
Nicholas huffed, “You make her laugh plenty, too.”
“No,” she said, her tongue now sticking out the side of her mouth. He almost cringed at the angle of her hip, wondering how she hadn’t popped it out of place yet. Her foot was almost against her nose at this point. Not only that, but he wondered if her sweaty skate-feet would knock her out. “That’s different. She laughs at you like my Ma laughed at my Pa.”
“How’s that?” He asked before he could stop himself, needing the girl to know she could open up to him, talk to him if she needed and wanted to. Maybe for a selfish reason too. Carol sat upright again, placing a finger to her chin, tongue still out as she thought.
“Like she has sunshine in her heart,” she finally said, and his own heart about burst out of his chest.
“Is that so…” he said, for lack of better words. Of course, Carol just nodded, completely oblivious to the war she’d just started within him. He left the conversation at that, no longer knowing what to do or say, and knowing Carol wouldn’t understand half of it anyway. To her, she had just made a connection between them and her parents, and the similar ways they interacted with each other. To her, it was an innocent observation supported by fact as she’d seen it herself. But to him, who was nothing but a friend to Noelle, he had just been compared to her married parents who had obviously been very much in love.
Noelle chose that moment to return from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three hot cocoas and a bowl of her deliciously fresh-baked Christmas cookies—once again decorated by a very talented Carol. Nicholas took the cup she offered, smiling his thanks, and placed it on the coffee table beside him.
“They’re almost done,” he said, pointing to the still-roasting chestnuts. She nodded, taking her usual seat in the rocking chair closest to the doorway. He noticed how she always looked for a seat closest to a doorway, as if easy escape was still the first priority over comfort. He knew the rocking chair was uncomfortable, the wood in the back digging into her flesh; but she still sat there every time. He’d have to come up with some ideas to fix that.
A moment later, while Carol and Noelle were deep into a conversation about her current book, Nicholas removes the toasted nuts from the fireplace. He placed them into the given bowl, and put them in the kitchen for whatever Noelle wanted to do with them later on. Back in the living room, while his mind ran wild with Carol’s comments, he sipped quietly at his cocoa, almost rolling his eyes as the deliciousness of the drink.
“Can we tell ghost stories?” Carol asked suddenly, eyes wide as saucers and her hands curled like makeshift claws. She made her creepiest face, baring her tiny little teeth and hissed like a monster. Nicholas feigned a fright, carefully placing his mug down, and lifted his hands in mock surrender. Noelle giggled, but shook her head,
“Sorry little bee, but there will be no ghost stories at Christmastime,” she said, giving the girl a stern look when she pouted. Nicholas could see the meltdown starting to brim, the girl’s cheeks taking on a red hue and her arms tightly tucked underneath each other. Noelle’s jaw was set in determination, her eyes not budging as she stared the girl down. He would have to come up with a compromise—and soon.
“What about a special Christmas story?” He blurted, sitting upright from where he’d slouched against the couch. Nicholas remembered the story his father had told him one day, about a big man with a white beard and a sled pulled by reindeer that brought all of the nicest children presents.
He could remember the way the story had made him feel, how wondrous he had regarded the world afterwards, always looking towards the night sky in search of the white beard and the sled of reindeers. He just knew Carol would love this story, maybe as much as she loved those fictional stories she always read. However, he did not know if Noelle would be okay with it—Carol was still so young and easily influenced. He did not want her to forget the true reason for Christmas.
Carol gasped, scooting closer as she nodded profusely. Both of her socks were on again, feet probably picked raw, and she clutched at her toes as she scooted. They were about two feet apart when she finally stopped, bending her legs in front of her, hugging her knees in anticipation of whatever story Nicholas was about to tell her.
He tucked his legs under him, taking the hot cocoa mug in his hands as he leaned forward. He lowered his voice, as if it was just their secret, and asked, “What do you know about Santa Claus?”
Nicholas glanced up at Noelle, seeking any confirmation or rejection to his story. But she smiled, widening her eyes, and gasping when Carol glanced to her. He supposed that was her green button for him to continue, which he did—with a lot of dramatics and theatrics.
“Well, it’s a big secret, so you can never tell anybody!” He whispered, coming in close. “He only told our family because my great grandpa helped him with his sleigh one day.”
Carol’s eyes widened and she nodded, her mouth making an ‘o’ as she waited for him to continue. He almost laughed then, and especially when he heard Noelle’s suppressed giggles, but remained serious.
“Okay, well, this might seem a bit crazy, but I need you to listen carefully, okay?” Carol nodded again, but a frown creased her forehead, the first sign of her growing impatience. He huffed out a laugh before beginning the tale.
“Santa Claus is a very old man, with a big, long beard,” he cupped his hand by his face, emphasizing a large beard. “A big belly, and a sleigh pulled by reindeer that run all night long.”
Her eyes were wider now, Nicholas bouncing his stomach as he tried to emphasize the belly Santa Claus would have. She scooted closer again, as if her proximity would force the story out of him faster. He leaned in, widening his own eyes to express his wonder and the craziness of the story.
“Every year on Christmas Eve, he goes around the whole world,” Nicholas circled his hands, encompassing the whole proverbial world, “and delivers presents to all of the nice little children. His sleigh is packed full of toys, almost spilling over the sides, and he leaves them in every home where the little boys and girls have been nice for the whole year.”
“What do the naughty kids get?” She asked, her mouth completely open now. Carol stared at him in wonder as he told the story, making him want to squeeze her to death.
“Nothing,” he said, making his fingers wiggle. “All the naughty kids are taken off of the list, and they do not get any presents because of it. Only the nice kids get presents, because they earned them. Although, some say the naughty ones get nothing but coal.”
“But that would break the naughty kids hearts!” She said, ever concerned about others. “How do you know if you are one of the naughty ones?” Concern laced her tone now, and maybe even a little mixture of doubt and fear.
“They say you can hear him on the roof when he comes to visit you. His reindeer stomp their feet to count how many gifts you get that Christmas.”
Nicholas glanced over at Noelle. She was silent, watching their exchange with a content smile on her face. She rocked in the chair, her cup of cocoa forgotten in her hand.
“But how do they know how many to give?” Carol asked, her hand clutching Nicholas’ thumb now. He glanced back at her, smiling.
“They count your kind deeds towards others. How much you do for your friends and family and strangers.”
Carol smiled, but he interrupted her before she could conjure the thought he knew was looming. “But, they only get counted when you mean them and when the deeds are sincere. If you are kind because you want more Christmas presents, he’ll know, and you won’t get the gift.”
She frowned, her eyebrows slamming down. “He sounds like a sourpuss.”
Nicholas burst out laughing then, Noelle even giving her own huff of laughter. Out of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was the last. Sure, there was a lesson in this story, but he would be a fool to think she’d grasp it at her age. All she cared about at this moment was the presents, and her lack of, if she didn’t mean what she did all day. He could understand her observation.
“Yeah?” He asked, still huffing a laugh every now and then. She nodded, getting up and grabbing her book from the coffee table. Apparently, she’d lost interest in Mr. Claus and his terms and conditions. She lay stomach down on the rug, her feet swinging as she removed the torn piece of paper that served as a bookmark. Nicholas and Noelle were officially dismissed.
The former shook his head, still cross-legged on the floor. He glanced out of the window, the previously pink sky having turned dark in the matter of half an hour. He glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall to the second living room, eyes bulging at the time. It seemed to have run away from him, fun leeching the time from the day. Nicholas stood, sipping the last bit of his hot cocoa, before he took the cup to the kitchen, along with Carol’s and Noelle’s.
She rose from her perch on the chair, smoothing her hands down her dress as he emerged from the kitchen, his hands in his pockets.
“On your way?” She asked, her eyes at half-mast and evidence of the exhaustion today’s business had caused. He felt his own eyes were dry as well, a yawn lurking not too far behind. Nicholas glanced outside, the snowfall light enough to make it home without having to rush. He nodded, smiling,
“I think River would very much like to get home as well.”
Noelle nodded, walking towards the door alongside him. She was quiet as he gathered his coat and shrugged it on, peeking behind the corner to see little Carol engrossed in her book. He smiled and shook his head.
“Just tell her I said goodbye, I think she’d slap me if I bothered her now,” he said.
Noelle glanced back at her daughter, nodding her agreement. “Oh yes, that’s her ‘don’t approach me I’m reading’ position.”
They both chuckled. Nicholas glanced at her one moment longer, remembering exactly what he’d wanted to ask her since that morning,
“Would you like to go to the Christmas fair with me tomorrow?” He was slightly nervous for some reason, as if he hadn’t just spent the afternoon with them and every day before that. He also had no doubt she would accept, so there really was no reason for the slight tremor in his hands.
Noelle smiled brightly, nodding her head. “We would love to.”