Author: Jaimie Admans
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/jaimie-admans/page,17,600588-the_post_box_at_the_north_pole_the_perfect_cosy_and_uplifting_christmas_romance_to_curl_up_with_in_2021.html
Chapter 9
Dear Santa,
For Christmas, can you get the teachers to stop giving us homework? And an Xbox to use up some of the time now there won’t be any homework?
From,
Dylan
Tav’s gone when I wake up, and the blanket that was covering him is now over me as well. It feels like so many hours have passed that I expect it to be late afternoon, but the clock beside the bed shows it’s only half past eight. Any hint of the Northern Lights is long gone, and on the bed beside me is Tav’s compass and a piece of paper, and when I pick it up to decipher, it’s a map of the path to follow to get back to the main part of the Christmas village.
He must’ve thought I wouldn’t recognise it because it was dark last night. I smile as I fold up the blankets and return them to the storage chest. My thumb rubs over the face of his compass when I pick it up. He’s the most thoughtful person. He seems to think of everything. It makes him seem caring in a way that no one else in my life is. It was good of him to say what he said about Dad last night. I know he doesn’t want to get involved; I get the feeling he’s the type of guy who stays far away from conflict of any sort, but he knew I needed to hear it.
Thankfully the control panel I saw him open last night is simple to operate and I turn off the heat and step out the door. A fresh dumping of snow has obliterated his footprints already, and I follow his map and emerge next to the post office we left last night.
It won’t be daylight for hours yet, and the lights are on in Dad’s house but I go up to Candy Cane Cabin for a quick shower and change, put my hair up in a neat ponytail, and get back down the hill in record timing.
‘Good morning!’ I call as I open the door and pull my boots off.
‘Didn’t expect to see you so early.’ Dad steps out of the living room with his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee.
I give him a morning hug. ‘Is Tav here?’
‘Not yet.’ He gives me a knowing look. ‘But that explains why you’re so eager. And I did happen to see Tav doing the “walk of shame” this morning.’
I go red even though there’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘There is no walk of shame. We fell asleep in an igloo under the Northern Lights. That’s it. Nothing happened, certainly nothing like what you’re hinting at.’ I think for a moment. ‘It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever done with someone I’m not romantically involved with.’
‘And—’
‘And never will be,’ I interrupt. There are enough problems around here without my dad trying to imply something between me and Tav.
‘Ah, so I made it before him …’ I realise what that means. ‘For a change of pace, I’m making breakfast today, and Tav … isn’t.’
‘He won’t like that.’
I give him a curious look.
‘Tav doesn’t like people doing things for him. He’s very independent.’
“Very” is very much an understatement. ‘Well, Tav is going to have to like it or lump it. He’s got enough to do as it is and I didn’t come here to be waited on.’
‘I knew you’d be the tonic we needed.’ Dad sips his coffee. ‘What are we having?’
‘Mum’s mince pies,’ I say without thinking about it. There isn’t much I can make, but the things that have stayed with me over the years are the things Mum showed me how to make when I was little.
Dad swallows and looks down. ‘Been a few years since I had them.’
Tav’s right about needing to talk to him, and this seems like a good opening. ‘I make them every year. Maybe if you’d come home more oft—’
Dad turns his head sharply towards the snowman-shaped clock on the wall. ‘Tav’s going to be here any minute; you’d best get a move on.’
I sigh again. He closes down any conversation that strays too far towards the past, but he has got a point about the time.
‘How long ago did you see him?’ I ask as Dad directs me around the kitchen to find ingredients.
‘About half hour ago, not long before you walked back.’
‘Good, that means he slept,’ I say to myself, and then turn to Dad. ‘Do you sit here spying on your staff all morning or what?’
‘I like to watch the world go by. It’s so beautiful here, Sasha. Like living in a Christmas card. I can sit in front of that window all day watching the snow coming down.’
‘But you can’t …’ I see an opportunity to bring up the topic of staying here, but I trail off and it jangles unsaid through the atmosphere between us.
Dad clonks his mug down loudly on the counter. ‘You’ve noticed that he doesn’t, then?’
‘Doesn’t what?’ I’m distracted by the change of subject. I should’ve said something. We keep skirting around my reason for coming here, the idea that somehow, at some point, I’m going to have to follow through on my plan of getting an estate agent involved, but every time I think about it, I put off bringing it up just a little bit longer.
‘Sleep.’ Dad’s gone back to my earlier comment. ‘He’s always so busy. He struggles to switch off at night.’
‘Or he’s got so much to do that he has to work twenty-four-hour days to even make a dent in his to-do list. You need some help around here, someone to look after you. Both of you.’
‘I thought I needed to sell up?’
I look at him across the kitchen and it’s like there’s an ice-cold thread winding between us. ‘Er, yeah. That.’ I drop his gaze, annoyed at myself for still not broaching the subject. That was the perfect chance, but every time I even think about suggesting we call someone to survey the place and put a value on it, a stone of nausea settles into the pit of my stomach.
I take my frustration out on the pastry mixture as I rub the butter into the flour and sugar. Dad slurps from his mug, deliberately making noise to fill the silence. I know I should talk to him and not let him get away with changing the subject, but it’s a nice morning and it feels wrong to create an atmosphere between us.
‘What’s his story, Dad?’ I ask when I press the shortbread-like dough into tins and spoon the filling in.
‘I don’t think I’m the person you want to hear that from, do you?’
I’m impressed that even after so many years apart, my dad can still read me so well. What I want is for Tav to open up to me, not to hear second-hand information from someone who wouldn’t betray his trust anyway.
‘And honestly, Sash, I don’t know what his story is. I’ve known him for a fair few years now, and he’s never shared much. He makes life so much harder for himself though. Like how he always insists on going everywhere by reindeer-pulled sleigh. My truck is right outside, the keys are by the door, I’m always telling him to use it but he refuses. The way he insists on doing absolutely everything himself. And it’s not just him being protective because he’s young and I’m old – he’s always been like that. He’s half-inspirational-quote and half-Grinch. He’s bright and sunny and yet dark and distrusting. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about the land and he’s an absolute whizz with reindeer. The height hides the gentlest soul. Do you know he sends food packages and clothing vouchers to families who are in trouble out of his own pocket, and he thinks I don’t realise he’s doing it.’
It makes me burst out laughing as I close the oven door on the mince pies. Maybe my dad and I aren’t the only ones miscommunicating around here. ‘He thinks you’d be mad at him—’
I stop at the sound of the front door opening and Tav’s voice calls out. ‘Good morning.’
I rush through the living room and into the hallway where he’s pulling his boots off in the doorway. ‘Good morning.’
He looks up mid-boot-pull and smiles, and we hold each other’s gaze until he overbalances and has to grab the doorframe to stay upright.
I hover in the living room doorway, unsure of how to greet him after last night.
Once free of the boots, Tav walks over to me. He’s wearing his usual snow trousers and a heavy winter jumper in deep burgundy with cable-knit line
s of white running through it. His dark hair is windblown and he shakes it back and pulls off his gloves.
‘Good morning,’ he repeats, and we seem to be in a competition to see who can repeat those words the most times in the shortest period.
His hand lifts, reaching out towards me hesitantly, and I’m not sure if we should hug or if he’s trying to politely move me out of the way so he can get past. My hand automatically reaches out too, my fingers brushing his forearm, and he bends down, and it turns into an awkward one-armed half-hug thing where we’re both using the wrong arm and there’s far too much distance between us for it to be a hug. He’s so uneasy, the opposite of how relaxed he was last night, and I’ve gone from being confident in bossing him around to unsure of how to act around him, when all I really want to do is pull him down and wrap him in a tight hug.
Like he can sense this, he pulls away and stands up so sharply that his head collides with the top of the doorframe with an audible bang.
He doesn’t react, but I wince on his behalf. ‘Okay, serious question – how many times have you knocked yourself out on doorframes around here?’
He laughs out loud. ‘Enough times that I don’t even notice anymore. My forehead is full of dents. Here, feel.’ He bends low enough that I can easily reach, and without thinking about it, my thumb runs across his forehead and my fingers slide through the long front of his hair, stroking it back. I was probably only supposed to do it once, but his eyes close and his head grows heavy in my hand, like the touch has eased the tension between us.
And then I realise that in the middle of a joking conversation, I’ve reached up and touched a complete stranger’s head, and I pull back so quickly that it makes him jump.
He shakes himself and points towards the kitchen. ‘I should …’
‘Yeah.’ We do the dance of awkwardly squeezing past each other in the living room doorway, and he goes to walk across the room, but I stop him. ‘Hey, Tav …’
I hold my hand out and scrunch my fingers to make him do the same, and then fish his compass out of my pocket. ‘I believe this is yours.’
I place it in his open palm and he looks down at my fingers holding the polished sliver disc against his hand.
He swallows and his tongue wets his lips. ‘Maybe the nisse left it.’
‘Maybe they did.’ I support his hand with one of mine and use my other to close his fingers around it one by one. ‘They’re very thoughtful elves.’
A smile twitches his lips, and when I go to pull away, his thumb catches my index finger and closes over it, holding it against his palm, and I get lost in his eyes. In that moment, there is nothing but Tav’s blue-brown eyes, a mix of two colours that change with the light and reflect the multicoloured twinkling coming from the Christmas tree, and I lose all sense of time passing.
Until Dad clears his throat from the kitchen and we yank our hands back so sharply that there’s a good possibility I’ve just dislocated my wrist.
‘Now go on.’ I shoo him towards the kitchen where Dad’s already back on his stool at the kitchen island. ‘I’m making breakfast. Have a seat.’
Tav looks like he’s going to object, but I fold my arms and raise my sternest eyebrow. ‘Don’t make me start shoving you because you know I will.’
‘Oh, not again,’ he says with a laugh, but sits on the stool next to Dad. ‘Help me, Perce, your daughter’s bossing me around again.’
‘Ah yes, something as unspeakably evil as trying to make you sit down,’ Dad says with a laugh.
Tav’s eyes are on me as I move around the kitchen. ‘Can I help? Make the coffees or something?’
‘It’s all under control,’ I say. ‘Dad’s already had his and I’m fairly sure people who have had heart attacks are meant to be on limited caffeine, so he’s not having another one no matter how longingly he looks at the machine.’
Dad sulks so hard that I can hear it.
‘Let me get the plates out, at least.’ The stool scrapes the floor as Tav moves and I spin around and point a pastry brush at him, flicking it downwards so he sits again with a sigh.
I lean my elbows on the island directly opposite him and duck my head until his eyes meet mine. His hands are balled on the counter and I reach across and slide my fingers over the top of them. ‘Taavi.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘No one calls me that.’
I glare at him for trying to change the subject. ‘Tell me something. What’s the worst that can happen by allowing someone to cook breakfast? Have you previously been poisoned by someone cooking you breakfast? Do you think I’m going to accidentally mix in bits of broken glass instead of flour or something? Do you think a misplaced gecko is going to leap out of your mince pie and attack you?’
He slips one of his hands out from under mine and rests his chin on it uninterestedly. ‘Burning.’
‘Someone’s burnt your breakfast in the past?’ I say in confusion.
‘No.’ He inclines his head towards the oven. ‘Burning.’
I turn around at the exact moment the smoke alarm starts shrieking and black smoke fills the kitchen. I let out a string of swearwords that are definitely not “Oh, holy night” as I dash back to the oven and rescue the tray of mince pies, and lean over the counter to throw the window open, narrowly missing the reindeer in the backyard again.
Tav’s jumped up to reassure the smoke alarm it’s under control and impressively, sat back down again while I flap around a tea towel to disperse the smoke. He’s laughing so hard that the stool nearly topples over.
Even the reindeer has stuck her head in the window to have a look, her furry nose twitching as she sniffs the air.
‘Hello, lovely,’ I say to her. Without a word, I step backwards until I can reach across the island, and Tav deposits the lichen I knew he’d have in his pocket into my hand, and I go back and hold it out to the reindeer, waiting for her to take it from me, her antlers banging against the open window.
‘Hold on, who’s that?’ Tav’s voice makes me jump, and my jump startles the reindeer, who takes off running across the garden and disappears between the trees. He’s suddenly behind me, his body pressing against mine as he peers out the window. ‘That wasn’t one of ours.’
‘She’s around often. Seems friendly enough. You have loads. How can you possibly tell?’
‘You can tell.’ He nudges his arm against mine and nods to the smouldering mince pies. ‘Now I’m up, can I help?’
‘You’re incorrigible,’ I tell him and point him back to his seat in no uncertain terms. One culinary disaster doesn’t change things. At all.
***
‘Well, that was the most interesting breakfast I’ve had for a while,’ Tav says as we step out the door half an hour later. It’s still dark but the sky looks lighter than it was, like the winter sun isn’t far below the horizon.
Dad’s gone to set up his grotto, and Tav’s insisted on walking me to the post office.
‘See what I mean about sitting down and giving in to it?’ he says as soon as we get a few steps away from the house. ‘‘If I’d stayed standing up, that wouldn’t have happened last night.’
‘Does it matter? You slept well, right?’
‘Yeah, but …’
‘Then I regret nothing.’ I cut him off before he can finish that sentence. ‘And neither do you, in case you were wondering.’
He laughs and knocks his arm against mine. ‘Thank you for breakfast. It wasn’t bad at all. When you cut off the burnt bits.’
The jokey tone in his voice makes me laugh. ‘I’m out of practice. I don’t cook for other people very often.’ I don’t add that in terms of cooking for other people, the most that could be counted lately is opening tins of dog food at work.
‘And I don’t let other people cook for me, but …’
‘New experiences are good for us.’ We finish the sentence in unison, meet each other’s eyes and burst into laughter.
I like how easy he is to be around. I feel like I’ve known him for mu
ch longer than the week or so I have, and walking along with him, laughing with him, teasing each other a little bit … It feels like something I didn’t know was missing from my life.
I’m walking fast because I’m excited to get to the post office, and it’s had the counterproductive effect of cutting down the walk with Tav, because we’re at the door before I know it, and Tav looks up at it like he didn’t expect it either.
We stop at the bottom of the ramp and kind of hover. I don’t want him to go yet, and he’s lingering like maybe he doesn’t want to go yet either.
He ducks his head and his hair falls forward, hiding part of his face, but not hiding his smile. My nails dig into my palms as I fight the urge to reach up and tuck it back. His hair naturally looks like he’s just pushed it back with his hands, but he doesn’t seem to use any product so it falls and flops every time he moves, and I really want to brush my fingers through it again.
‘I should …’ He points back towards the Gingerbread Cabin that he’s still repairing.
‘You didn’t have to come out of your way for me.’
‘It’s dark.’ He ignores the fact that it’s almost always dark and I’m quite capable of carrying a torch and there are loads of streetlamps. ‘And I wanted …’ His voice cuts off and he has to swallow and start again. ‘I wanted to say thank you for last night. It’s been a long time since I slept like that or since my shoulders had the range of movement they’ve got this morning.’
‘Good.’ I go to reach up and touch his shoulder but stop myself at the last minute.
He notices, and then holds his arms open, inviting a hug. ‘C’mere.’
If I had time to think about it, I’d probably be nervous of getting close to him, but it’s automatic to step into his arms and let them circle around my waist and draw me to him.
He’s so all-consuming that it’s like being swathed by his body. His bitter almond cologne fills my senses. His arms could probably wrap around me three times, even in this puffy coat, but they tighten to the perfect degree – warm, safe, and protective.