Author: Jaimie Admans
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/jaimie-admans/page,12,600588-the_post_box_at_the_north_pole_the_perfect_cosy_and_uplifting_christmas_romance_to_curl_up_with_in_2021.html
‘Well, who doesn’t want to see Santa on a cold December morning?’ I’m quite proud of myself for saving that so well, even though my cheeks are still tingling with redness that’s not just about coming in from the cold.
When I risk looking at Tav to see if he’s got the implication, his cheeks are red too, and his lips curve into a smile.
I can’t help smiling back. The chill in the air from the walk down has left something feeling clenched in my chest and it instantly defrosts and leaves me so warm that I start undoing my coat.
He’s wearing another cosy-looking wintry jumper, navy with a line of white mountains around the chest, and black snow-proof trousers with lighter stripes down the sides. His stubble is even more unkempt than yesterday. It looks like it should be perfectly shaped but he hasn’t had time to shave for a few days, and his brown hair is pushed backwards and not-quite-dry from a morning shower.
Thinking about Tav and showers was not a good plan because my face goes even redder than it was before, and I may as well be carrying a placard that reads “I am thinking naughty thoughts”.
‘You wouldn’t be doing pancakes over there again, would you?’ I say to distract myself.
‘Gingerbread waffles today,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Brown sugar, flour, butter, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg … Just so you know what it is.’
‘You can stop making fun of me anytime now.’
‘I’m not,’ he says with a grin. ‘I’m going to adopt it as my own life policy. Don’t put things in my mouth without knowing what they are. People live by life policies like “make every day count” or “do something each day that makes you smile”, but I think this is where people are going wrong. Putting things in their mouths without knowing what they are can lead to all sorts of trouble.’
He inclines his head towards the stool next to Dad’s, and I hop on and watch him do that dexterous thing of sliding a plate across while simultaneously pouring a mug of coffee and placing the waffle in front of me with chef-like precision.
‘Does anyone ever make you breakfast?’ I ask as he turns back to ladle his own waffle into the griddle pan.
‘I don’t like people doing things for me.’
That independence again. I look over at Dad but he carries on cutting up his waffle obliviously.
‘How are you this morning?’ I ask him.
We had dinner together last night, but the conversation stayed on a strictly superficial level. Dad didn’t mention the heart attack, and any attempt to get him to open up about his health was met with: ‘I’m fine, Sash, you don’t have to worry.’
Which, obviously, makes me worry more.
‘You’re dressed up so you’re planning on working again today, but you’re supposed to be slowing do—’
‘I’m fine, Sash, you don’t have to worry about me,’ he repeats like a broken record with its mouth full.
I roll my eyes and cut off a corner of waffle and inhale the steam rising as I take a bite and soft and fluffy gingerbread flavour melts in my mouth.
‘Oh my God, Tav.’ I let out an orgasmic noise. ‘Are you a chef? Because if you’re not, you should be.’
‘No, don’t say that.’ Dad slaps his hand onto the table. ‘Don’t give him ideas – we can’t afford to lose him round here.’
Tav laughs. ‘My cooking is limited to unhealthy comfort food, but thank you.’
‘Thank you.’ I take another bite. ‘I didn’t know it was possible to enjoy breakfast so much.’
Tav does what he did yesterday and turns around to lean against the unit and eat standing up. I watch him for a moment and then nod to the island. ‘Won’t you sit?’
He mumbles something unintelligible around his waffle.
‘Sit, Tav.’ I point my fork at him threateningly. ‘It’s earlier today; you can’t be late for anything yet. The place isn’t going to fall apart if you’re off your feet for a couple of minutes. Don’t make me come round there.’
‘And what? Poke me with a fork?’ He’s laughing as he takes a seat, but the stools that are a struggle for me to climb up on are actually too small for him and he’s hunched over.
‘What do you think of our fine establishment, Sash?’ Dad asks. ‘You’re the expert. How would you improve it?’
‘I’m not an—’ Oh, right. He means with the hotel. Apparently I am an expert.
‘No need to be modest,’ he barrels on. ‘You’ve turned the fortunes of Hotel Magenta completely around. Wave your magic wand and we’ll be back up and running in no time. You’re the brains, Tav’s the brawn, and I’m Santa Claus. Between us, we’ll have guests back by Christmas, right?’
‘Advertising?’ I glance at Tav. His hair flops forward as he gives me an encouraging nod. ‘No one knows about this place. I’d never heard of it.’
‘You don’t travel,’ Dad interjects.
‘Well, no, but … I mean, places like Finnish Lapland are super busy at this time of year. They’re real destinations … dream holidays. We should be doing the same for northern Norway. This place is amazing. You’re saving reindeers’ lives and living under the Northern Lights … People have lifelong dreams of seeing them and they put on a show for me within ten minutes of arriving. That’s special – something people would want to visit if they knew it was here.’
‘Can’t guarantee the Northern Lights,’ Tav says.
‘Budget’s too low for advertising,’ Dad adds. ‘What did you do at the hotel? I didn’t think you had a huge budget there. Anything can succeed if it’s got enough money behind it, but it takes real innovation to be a success with a small budget.’
‘Non-existent budget,’ Tav corrects.
Dad sounds so different here. Even his voice is different – a deeper, rounder tone to it, and his British accent is milder than it used to be, and the other thing that’s missing is any hint of the frailty I heard on the phone. ‘Dad, I don’t think you should be worrying about things like this in your condition …’
‘Oh, pish-posh. Fit as a fiddle, I am.’ He’s watching me expectantly and I’m struggling to think of what to say. I haven’t single-handedly saved the hotel I’m supposed to work at. I didn’t even know it had been in trouble. I um and ah for an embarrassingly long time, trying to come up with something vaguely competent.
‘Maybe Sasha needs to look around more.’ Tav evidently takes pity on me. ‘She can’t be expected to be a miracle worker when she hasn’t seen it all yet.’
I look up at him and try to show my gratefulness in my eyes. He’s obviously clocked that I don’t work where my dad thinks I do by now, and instead of dropping me in it, he’s trying to change the subject.
‘Ah, for inspiration.’ Dad claps his hands together. ‘An excellent point. Have you seen my workshop yet?’
‘Your workshop?’
‘Well, Santa’s workshop, but you know, we’re one and the same.’ He does another “ho ho ho”. ‘Where the elves make the toys.’
‘Where the elves used to make the toys,’ Tav corrects him again.
‘Yes, but all we need is an upswing in bookings and enough visitors to increase our budget and let us bring some much-needed staff back, and we’ll be right on track. And you’re an expert at that sort of thing with the way you’ve pulled Hotel Magenta out of the doldrums.’
When choosing to lie about working in a hotel, why couldn’t I have chosen one that had gradually faded into obscurity and closed down instead of becoming one of the busiest in England? No one would expect me to be an expert then.
‘You must see it. Tav can take you there after breakfast.’
‘Can’t you show me?’ I ask, because showing me a workshop might be less strenuous than another day of work for him.
‘No, no. It’s Santa’s busiest time of the year.’
‘I know, but you’re not meant to be busy, Dad.’ I sigh and try to change tack. ‘I wanted to spend time with you and I’m sure Tav’s got better things to do than show me around.’
‘Nonsense, Tav’s pr
iority is to take care of our guests and you are currently our only guest.’ He looks between us. ‘And it’s a tad overgrown for me with my health at the moment.’
‘I really don’t mind. I do whatever I’m told,’ Tav says.
‘You don’t have time to name reindeer, but you have time to show me Santa’s workshop?’ I raise an eyebrow at him across the island countertop.
‘Priorities,’ he says with an easy shrug.
Priorities. Something inside me freezes at the word. It’s been a long while since I felt like a priority in anyone’s life.
‘What can I do to help? You asked me to come here and so far all the pair of you have done is insist you don’t want my help.’
‘The elves tell me you were at the post office yesterday – that’s a great help. The post office is a much-loved and much-neglected part of the North Pole Forest,’ Dad says. ‘It needs someone to give it some attention again.’
‘Yeah, but reading letters isn’t helping you to take it easy. I came here to do the physical stuff so you could rest.’
‘What we need most is your expertise in the industry, and your love of Christmas.’
‘I hate Christmas.’
Dad and Tav do a gasp of horror in unison.
‘For goodness’ sake, Sasha, don’t say things like that around here!’ Dad cries. ‘An elf drops dead every time someone says that, like the fairies in Peter Pan when people say they don’t believe in them. Next you’ll be telling me you don’t believe in Santa Claus.’
When I look up, Tav’s biting his lip so hard that the skin has gone white where his teeth dig in and he’s clearly about to burst into uncontrollable laughter.
‘I would never say anything so abhorrent.’
My sarcasm goes straight over Dad’s head because he nods sagely. ‘Thought so. And how can you say …’ his voice drops to a whisper and he covers his mouth with his hand ‘… the unsayable thing? You loved Christmas when you were little.’
‘Yeah, when you and Mum used to do the fake-snow footprints and hoofprints, and all the sleigh bells and noises from the roof.’
His forehead furrows in confusion. ‘Sash, we never did anything on the roof. That would’ve been Santa himself.’
‘We must’ve had some very festive bats living in the attic then,’ I say flatly, determined not to enable him any longer. I still don’t know if he’s playing the role or if we’re in serious delusion territory, and I haven’t spent enough time with him to find out yet. And his complete ignorance annoys me. Does he really not understand why I’m not the biggest Christmas fan? ‘Besides, Christmas is a time for family, and when you’re alon—’
‘Don’t forget to take pictures for social media while you’re out and about.’ Dad doesn’t let me finish the sentence, and I sigh in resignation. He’s never going to listen or care enough to understand what Christmas is like when there’s a father-shaped hole in your life.
I deliberately avoid Tav’s eyes as I paste a smile back on.
‘You’re on social media?’ The surprises keep on coming. Last time I checked, Dad didn’t know how to access his voicemail, never mind navigate Twitter.
‘Santa needs to be accessible to all in this technological era. It’s a wonderful way to connect with people.’
‘We’re @NorthPoleForest on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram,’ Tav says as I get my phone out and send Dad a couple of the photos I took yesterday.
With the waffles gone and Dad engrossed in his phone, Tav grunts as he gets off the stool. ‘See? Now I’ve sat down, it’s harder to get up.’
I think about what Freya said about Tav working too much and how tired he looks when he’s not trying to hide it. ‘That’s no reason to keep going like an Energizer bunny that’s just plugged itself in.’
He ignores me. ‘Ready to go?’
I glance at Dad, who’s now “ho-ho-ho-ing” over a comment online and clearly has no intention of not working today, and then back at Tav resignedly. ‘I guess so.’
Outside, it’s still not daylight, but the sky is starting to brighten and lighter wisps of cloud drift across the blue-black darkness.
Tav steps out the door behind me. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day.’
‘How can you tell?’ I look up at the sky but it doesn’t give anything away. ‘Some “pink sky at night” thing?’
He looks at me like I’ve lost the plot. ‘Every day is a beautiful day.’
‘Oh, right. You meant metaphorically.’ I simultaneously want to make vomiting noises and wish I had his attitude. Thankfully I’m saved from having to decide between the two when we see Freya coming towards us, an LED lamp shining from a strap around her head to light the way.
‘Sasha! Tav!’ Her breath puffs out into the cold morning air. ‘Nice to see you together. I knew you two would hit it off.’
I have many questions, considering she knows next to nothing about me or what kind of men I get on with, and so far, standing on the same road seems to constitute “hitting it off”.
I don’t know why I’m so pleased to see her again, but the sight of her makes me smile, even though she looks like she’s listing to one side under the weight of today’s bag. When she reaches us, she shrugs it off her shoulder and the heaviness yanks her arm down.
‘There are 1589 letters from twenty-two countries.’ She holds the bag out to me. ‘It’s going up as the December days go by.’
I go to take the bag but Tav intercepts it and swings it over his own shoulder like it weighs nothing.
‘Always such a gent.’ Freya winks at me, and I like the way he blushes at the compliment.
‘Any collections today?’ she asks and he shakes his head.
‘Collections?’ I ask.
‘Your delivery contract with Posten Norge is fully paid up until next September.’ She nods towards the red post box beside the house. ‘We get such a large volume of mail for you that we signed an agreement that’s beneficial to both you and the postal service. You can send out anything you want at no cost. It’s all part of the North Pole Forest deal. We have a lot of mail for you and you have a lot for us, it’s in both our interests to make the most of that partnership. Leave any outgoing mail in the bags for me to collect, no extra charge.’ Freya looks around as if she’s searching for someone. ‘No guests this morning?’
‘None at all,’ Tav says. ‘You know I’ve got my eyes open. If anyone even vaguely matches his description, I’ll accost him on sight.’
Freya says her goodbyes and hurries off, and Tav and I start wandering down the same road we walked up yesterday.
‘What was that all about?’
‘She had a random encounter with a guest here last year. It was a “love at first sight” thing, you know? He was with his grandchildren, their eyes met across a snowy road and sparks flew … and then a bus full of tourists pulled up between them, visitors piled out, and by the time the crowd dispersed, he was gone. It was over there.’ Tav points to the bottom of the hill where the cabins are. ‘He was crossing from the cabins towards Santa’s House at breakfast time, so we assumed he was a guest, but we never found him.’
‘That’s so romantic. That’s the kind of thing that happens in movies, not in real life.’
‘It’s not that romantic because they didn’t find each other. She’s looked for him every day since, but it’s been almost a year now, and he never came back. And she’s instantly recognisable in her uniform, and no guests ever asked after our postwoman, so I can only assume he didn’t feel the same. There aren’t any guests on the books for this year that sound promising either, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her yet.’
‘Aww.’ There’s something about this that’s so sweet, and yet Tav is the unlikeliest person to be in the middle of it. ‘Do people regularly share their romantic woes with you?’ He seems like a nice guy, but not really someone I can imagine being the confidant of a sixty-something-year-old woman.
‘She wrote to Santa.’
‘She’s in h
er sixties!’
‘I didn’t realise there was an age limit on believing in magic.’
I’d laugh if it wasn’t for the seriousness in his voice. He’s such a conundrum. One minute he’s serious, cynical, and distrustful, and the next minute, he’ll be going on about nisse and helping little old ladies with their love lives.
‘I read her letter and put two and two together. I went through the guest register in the hopes I’d find him, but nothing matched a grandfather with two young grandchildren, so I had to tell her I’d opened her letter and needed more info, but we could never piece together enough to find out who he was.’
‘Beneath that gruff exterior, you’re a soppy old romantic, aren’t you?’
‘The guy could’ve been anyone. He could’ve been a creepy weirdo perving on women while his grandkids were in tow. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to be his next victim if he turned out to be a serial killer.’
This time I can’t help laughing. It’s much more fitting with what I know of Tav so far.
We pass the clearing to the post office and Tav stops at a gap in the bushes on the opposite side of the road. He holds his hand out and I slip mine into it without a second thought. Neither of us have gloves on, and I hadn’t realised how numb my fingers had gone until his hand closes around mine, and his warmth makes my skin tingle.
Tav stares at our joined hands for a moment and then shakes himself. ‘This way. There was a minor landslide a couple of years ago so the path isn’t what it used to be.’
For the second time in as many days, I follow this man down an overgrown path into a mysterious wooded area and he seems completely unfazed by anything that might be lurking there.
The path is narrow and sharp holly leaves catch on my jeans, branches spring out at all angles, and the ground is uneven and steep in parts. As we move further down into the forest, the snow-covered roof of a building comes into view amongst the trees, hidden in the middle of the woods, and I feel like Jack Skellington seeing Christmas Town for the first time.
‘Why is it so far down?’ I ask as Tav stops and holds up a preventative hand. He lets my hand drop as he jumps down a gap in the path, and even though I’m quite capable of doing the same, he turns back and holds both hands out to me, waiting until I give him the okay nod, before his hands touch my body.