Ginger (Marrying Miss Kringle)

by Lucy McConnell

  Her mom raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine. Zap is that thing that goes through you when you’re attracted to a guy. The swirly-twirly happiness—you know? Please tell me you know.”

  Gail grinned. “I know plenty about zap.”

  Ginger held up both hands. “I don’t need to know what you know.”

  Gail laughed. “What I know, dear girl, is that zap has the power to completely change your direction in life.”

  Lux said that before she met Santa, Gail had been a women’s rights activist, confident in the spotlight, crying out for change. Ginger swirled her finger around the edge of her cup. “I’ve wondered about your decision to get married and step away from all those things you’re so passionate about.”

  “Honey, the focus of my work hasn’t changed, just the way I go about it. I could have screamed at police officers, marched in front of major corporations, and been arrested for chaining myself to the front of buildings where women made less money than men, and I doubt I would have had the impact on the world that raising five strong and independent women has and will continue to have.

  “Consider what you’re doing. You’re the first female Santa. You will manage the largest toy production company in the world and the Kringle family trust, which funds over a dozen charities—including one that provides education and job training to low-income women and one that helps women in Africa learn how to protect themselves and their children against AIDS. Not to mention the food shelter and clothing provided to refugees of war-torn countries. How is that not making a difference in the world?”

  “This is a big, huge world, Mom. And I’m just me. I feel so small and incapable.”

  “That’s not true. You are one of the biggest givers I know. You’re going to do tremendous things as Santa.”

  “Yeah … Santa.”

  Gail leaned away, the tenderness in her eyes replaced by determination. “Sugarplum, you need to stop hiding your Kringle.”

  “I don’t hide my Kringle.”

  “You do. You did it in college, and you’re doing it here. When I met your father, he swept me off my feet with a burst of warm southern wind. He even flew me halfway around the world for our first date.”

  “He was just trying to impress you because you told him to buzz off.”

  “There was that.” Gail grinned. “But I liked that he was always himself. It took me some time to get used to his Kringle-ness, true, but he never pretended to be anything but what he was—and he was Santa.”

  Ginger sighed. “But how will I know if …” She bit her lip. “… someone loves me for me and not for Santa?”

  “Being Santa is only a part of who you are, but it is a part of you that you can’t deny. You have to embrace it, because any man who asked you to hide a part of yourself isn’t a man worth having.”

  Ginger nodded. Since that first brush of their fingertips, Ginger had known there was something wonderful between her and Joseph. She’d denied it for long enough. Tracing the snowflake in her wrist, Ginger knew she’d been denying her calling to Santa as well. Sure, she’d put in a half-hearted effort to meet and/or date the guys on Ginger’s List, but she hadn’t really thrown herself into the whole project, because she feared Christmas Magic had made a mistake, and at some point this would all be taken away.

  Pulling her arm to her chest, she felt a fierce desire to claim and protect her right to be Santa. No more provided lists. No more hiding her Kringle-ness.

  She waved her hand in the air. “This place needs some serious Christmas cheer.” She sat up. “The whole town needs Christmas cheer.” Visions of Clearview decked out in Christmas splendor filled her mind.

  “Then I guess you’d better get to work.” Gail took a sip of cocoa.

  Ginger whipped out her phone and dialed Lux. “Hey, can you bring the sleigh back?”

  Lux groaned. “Fine, but I’m leaving Blitz here—he almost flew us into a barn.”

  “You do realize you’re supposed to steer.”

  “Easy for you to say,” grumbled Lux.

  “Oh, and I’m going to need my red purse.” Ginger winked at Gail.

  “That’s my girl.” Gail patted her knee. “Share your gift and you’ll find your way.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” said Lux before she hung up.

  “I’ll stay until you are done with the town, and then I need to get back home.” Mom stared out the window, her eyes tight with worry.

  “What’s going on back home?”

  “Just the usual.” Gail waved her hand as if clearing candle smoke. “And nothing you need to worry about.” Her eyes landed on Layla. “She’s something special—reminds me of you when you were that age.”

  Ginger brightened at the thought. “Really?”

  “Yep. Her uncle, on the other hand … is he your zapper?”

  “Gag, Mom. You make him sound like a bug killer or something.”

  “Promise me that you’ll not only share your joy with the town, but you’ll open your heart to Joseph.”

  Ginger gulped. “He—”

  “Hates Christmas—I got that. Sometimes the hardest hearts need a tender touch to open up. Mine did.”

  The front door burst open, and Lux fell inside, positively green. “I. Hate. Flying.”

  Ginger laughed. “And I love it! I’m ready to paint the town. Literally, if I have to.”

  Gail laughed as she poured Lux a cup of cocoa.

  “Don’t wait up.” Ginger winked and shut the door behind her. The time had come to fully embrace her Santa side. She only hoped that by doing so, she wouldn’t alienate the one guy in town who made her hope for mistletoe.

  Suddenly, the front of the sleigh filled with the plant as it spewed out of her red purse. Working with Santa speed, she tacked sprigs to every doorway she passed, along with wreaths and garlands and ribbons and bells and bows. This would be a Christmas Clearview would remember for a long time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fairy lights twinkled all merry and bright from the rafters and around a huge tree in the corner, and … and … Joseph placed his palm against the wall and leaned heavily against it. Snow globes and angels and reindeer and sleighs graced every tabletop, countertop, and window lintel. A Nativity set adorned his fireplace mantel. Good grief, there was mistletoe above the door.

  “What happened?” He wished for his phone so he could check the date, wondering if he’d slept for a week.

  “Shh.” Layla reclined on a huge beanbag chair near the tree. A new beanbag chair. Timber lay at her feet. She had a book in her hands, the pages crisp. “Ginger’s sleeping,” she admonished before returning gleefully to the pages.

  Joseph hardly dared leave the protection of the hallway. He glanced behind him to see if his room had been transformed into a holiday décor boutique as well. Except for the new quilt on the bed, which had some kind of crest on it, his room was safe.

  Perhaps Ginger was right. Perhaps the ibuprofen was causing hallucinations. Except his arm, and his head, throbbed. If he hadn’t left the meds out here, he’d gladly crawl back into his private den, hibernate until December 26, and then come out when the world was once again sane.

  The kitchen was just as bad as the front room, except there were trivets full of steaming eggs, bacon, and waffles. Three bottles of syrup lined up like nutcrackers. No, wait—they were nutcracker-shaped syrup dispensers.

  “Where is everyone?” he whispered.

  “Gail had to go home early this morning. Lux got kind of freaked out when Ginger started putting up lights. She says Ginger doesn’t know the first thing about overloading a circuit breaker. Don’t worry, Lux checked it all and made sure it was safe before she left.”

  “Safe for who?”

  Layla ignored his grumbling and turned a page.

  Joseph frothed. He let his guard down for one night and Little Miss Merry Christmas takes over his house.

  Perhaps he hadn’t been clear about the rules in his house, but that was about to c
hange. It was time to lay down the law. Tuning out the thrumming in his arm, he marched to the couch, intent on giving Ginger a rude awakening. She startled him by sitting up just before he got close enough to touch her, and he backed up a step.

  “Joseph! You’re up.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You shouldn’t be up. I bet your arm is killing you. Here, sit down and let me get you an ice pack and some more pills.” She got to her feet, placed her hands on his shoulders, and maneuvered him into the warm blankets she’d just vacated.

  Placing a pillow on his lap, she laid his sore arm across it and then covered him with a blanket, all done so quickly Joseph didn’t have time to protest. “Where did I put the bottle? Oh yeah, it’s by the sink. You’re going to love this orange juice. My mom squeezes the oranges herself.”

  With Ginger in the kitchen, Joseph had a moment to think. And he thought a glass of orange juice sounded good. His arm ached less now that it was slightly elevated, and his feet weren’t cold with the blanket tucked around them. He twisted in his seat to ask Ginger what on earth she had done—or why she felt she had the right—when he caught sight of her piling a plate full of bacon and eggs, and the reprimand died on his lip. How could he yell at a person who was fixing him a plate?

  “Are you hungry?” Ginger called. “Layla, come grab a plate, and we’ll have a picnic in the front room.”

  A picnic?

  Ginger cleared a spot on the coffee table for a plate. Layla took that spot, waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. It had been months since Joseph had tasted a fresh berry. His mouth watered.

  “Here.” Ginger propped a tray on the couch on his left side, where he would be able to reach it with his uninjured arm. She settled on the far cushion with her feet tucked up underneath her and set the tray between them. There were two small pills on the upper corner, and he downed them with a shot of orange juice. By darned it if that wasn’t the best orange juice he’d ever had.

  As Layla offered a prayer over the food, Joseph studied Ginger. She had on a pair of red flannel pajamas with a gingerbread man popping out of the pocket. Her hair was attractively mussed, and she didn’t have any makeup on. Yet her skin was beautiful and creamy, good enough to nuzzle into and—his head screeched as if he’d thrown on the mental brakes. The happy fuzzy feeling blew away, and Joseph was back to seething.

  He set his fork down. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here. But it’s not going to work.”

  Ginger glanced at Layla, silently asking him if he wanted to have this conversation in front of his niece.

  He did. Well, sort of did. Okay, maybe not. “Layla, you should go shower so your hair has time to dry before we head out to the shop.”

  “But your arm? How will you work?” Her eyebrows crunched together in concern.

  “The doctor said I could take off the sling today.” He fumbled with the strap and was finally able to get a strong enough hold that he could separate the Velcro strip. His elbow protested at straightening out after a night of immobility, and his bicep cramped. “I’ll figure something out,” he assured his niece. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

  “Okay.” Layla took her dish to the sink, rinsed it off, and placed it in the dishwasher before she made her way to the bathroom. He knew from experience that telling a kid not to worry was about as good as dumping matches on a fire to put it out.

  Ginger ate as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. Of course she was hungry; she’d probably burned enough calories to eat a pig, turning his place into a Christmas village. She couldn’t have slept much, and yet her eyes were bright.

  “What is your thing? Incense? Chanting? Hypnotism?”

  Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “It has to be hypnotism. That’s how you keep the cold at bay and get people to do what you want, and make them dream of sleighs and reindeer.”

  Ginger blinked several times. “Are you sure ibuprofen doesn’t mess with your brain?”

  He wasn’t sure—the last day and a half was like some kind of crazy dream. He stayed silent.

  She set her plate on the table. “Do you really think I hypnotized you?”

  “It’s the only rational explanation.”

  Ginger snorted as she got to her feet, her red pajama bottoms falling to cover her bare toes. For some reason, he liked the idea of her barefoot in his house. It was intimate and—shaking his head, he glared. “You’re doing it again.”

  “I’m not doing anything!” She threw her hands into the air. “Except leaving.” She marched to the door, and then stopped and whirled around. “By the way, you’re welcome for taking care of you, for making breakfast, and for decorating your house.”

  Joseph scrambled to his feet, his movements jerky and uncoordinated because of his arm. “That’s another thing. What gives you the right to turn my house into the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie? How many times do I have to tell you: I don’t like Christmas!”

  “The only people allowed to hate Christmas are Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch—both of which mended their ways.”

  “Don’t tell me you think they’re real people? The next thing you’ll be saying is that you believe in Santa Claus.”

  Ginger glared. “I do.” She took five steps to cross the room. “Santa. Is. Real.” Something inside Ginger’s sleeve began to glow, but she didn’t notice. “He’s more real than the anger and hurt you hide behind.”

  Joseph snagged her hand, pulling it towards him. As he did, her sleeve fell back to reveal a beautiful silver snowflake that glowed; the tinsel-like thread was embroidered into her skin. Light exploded forth, bathing them in a sense of childlike joy, erasing Joseph’s angst. Filled with a sense of wonder and peace, all he could think about was Ginger and how he never wanted to be apart from her.

  “I—” Ginger stared at her wrist and then back to him. Her mouth dropped open, and there was a shift inside of her. Smiling, she met his gaze with relief and hope.

  “What’s happening to me?” He released her hand and brushed his fingers across her cheek, reveling in the sense of being right where he should be with the woman who was so full of wonder and delight that she illuminated even the darkest parts of his soul.

  “It’s magic,” whispered Ginger, her arms sliding around his neck.

  Her rose-colored lips were beckoning him closer. He brushed his thumb over her mouth, and she shivered. “You’re magic,” he breathed before pressing his forehead to hers and letting his eyes drop shut. Questions came forth, like who is she really and what is she hiding from him, but he shoved them aside and focused on enjoying the sensation of holding her close.

  “Joseph?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you don’t kiss me, I might explode.”

  Elated that she felt what he was feeling, he smiled so wide he could have strained a muscle. “I was getting to that.” He kissed her cheek and then moved down to kiss her neck. And then that soft spot behind her ear. She was tender and gentle and so much good wrapped up in beauty that it left his head spinning.

  Ginger leaned into him, sighing. “I was starting to wonder.”

  He chuckled softly, loving the way her fingers tickled across his skin. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. Cupping her cheek, he placed his lips over hers, relishing the warm and soft and delicious woman he found there. Yes, she was yummy—tasting exactly like he’d imagine she would.

  Kissing Ginger was like nothing he had ever experienced. He almost didn’t feel worthy of the bliss and the pleasure she brought into his life. Yet there was no way he could back away or take it back.

  *

  “Stay.” Joseph’s warm breath heated Ginger’s skin like nothing on earth ever had before. “Baby, it’s cold outside.” He left a trail of kisses down her neck that headed straight for her heart.

  “My sister will be suspicious,” she teased.

  “Your lips are delicious.” He continued to press kisses to all the places that made it difficult
to think clearly.

  Lux’s ringtone sang from her pocket. Ginger ignored it. “Breakfast sounds lovely.”

  He chuckled against her skin, making her giggle. “Only you can get away with using words like lovely,” he said.

  “Hmmm,” was her brilliant reply just before his lips found hers once more.

  Her phone screamed, “Answer now or I will find you!” effectively killing the mood.

  Ginger broke off the kiss before turning her phone off. She really needed to find a way to Lux-proof her phone. “Sorry. Lux likes to hack into my phone and mess with the ringtone.”

  “I should ask her to upgrade my internet connection.”

  Ginger grinned. “She probably already has.”

  “When …?” Joseph’s eyebrows came together. “Oh, when you were busy defacing my home she was running coaxial cable behind the walls,” he teased.

  Ginger was still wary about having let loose the Santa inside. She had gone a little overboard. It was possible that by suppressing her Kringle instincts, she’d compounded them. Like a dam bursting, every ounce of pent-up creativity poured forth. Decorating Clearview had been seriously fun, or maybe delirious fun, she wasn’t quite sure which yet.

  The glowing snowflake made her think that she was on the right track, though. Maybe her mom was right—maybe embracing her inner Santa would bring everything together.

  “Come with me.” She pulled him towards the door. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Do you want to get dressed first?”

  She glanced down at her red pajamas and shrugged. “I should be fine.”

  Joseph shook his head. “One of these days, I’m going to figure you out.”

  “One of these days, I’m going to let you.” She winked before tapping on the bathroom door. “Layla? Do you want to go for a sleigh ride?”

  “Yes!” She threw open the door. Her wet hair dripped down the back of her sweatshirt, but her face was freshly scrubbed shiny.

  “I have a blow-dryer in my purse. Let’s get you ready.”

  Joseph raised an eyebrow. “You keep a blow-dryer in your purse?”