Poles Apart (9 page)

Cupboard doors open, her head buried
deep inside the opening, Sarah scanned the empty shelves. “Chocolate,
chocolate... Where are the chocolates?”

She checked the fridge. Nothing there either.
In fact, it was almost as bare as the grocery cupboard shelves.

After sharing a slab nightly with Niklas—seemed
he liked chocolate as much as she did—Sarah hadn’t realized last night’s was
the last. As for the groceries, she’d only bought sufficient for about a week,
and she had already been in Lapland nine days. She’d have to go shopping,
pronto.

Suited up against the cold, Sarah
stepped outside, her small black travel pouch slung over her shoulder. Euros
inside. And her credit cards. She’d make sure to buy sufficient groceries to
last her until she left. And more than enough chocolate for every remaining
night...then some more. These Finns sure knew how to make the dark, decadent
sweet.

Fresh snow had fallen overnight. Thick
and deep. From the porch, Sarah glanced over to the Micra, its blue color
making it appear frozen into the landscape. Looking past the small vehicle, she
breathed a sigh of relief. A snow-free driveway, all the way to the main road. Niklas
must’ve stopped by with a snowplough while she’d been in the sauna. Rooted to
the spot, she chewed her lip. She may have a clear run off Toivonen land, but what
did the roads look like further out? If the snow was thicker than when she’d
arrived, could she trust herself to drive? Even if it was just a little way up
the road?

Staring at the white expanse toward the
trees blocking Niklas’s home from view, Sarah pondered her food crisis. She
needed to get to a grocery store. Today.

Niklas. Surely he wouldn’t mind taking
her. He’d been nothing but kind since the day she’d arrived. Not to mention
charming. And handsome. Truth be told, she was glad he’d befriended her, come
around each night to help...and keep her company. Despite her wishes to be
alone so she could write, it would’ve been a cold, lonely, white three weeks.
He’d brought color and warmth to her world. She would miss him when she
returned home. A lot.

Sarah took the steps down the porch
carefully, disappearing deeper into the snow than the last time she’d stepped
outside. The walk to Niklas’s place would be more difficult than a week ago. A
giggle slid from her mouth. Would she catch him in the sauna or
avanto
again?
She allowed her laughter free reign at the memory as she pushed herself through
the snow, leaving no footprints in her wake. Instead, her tracks resembled
railway lines, evidence of how arduous the walk in these conditions.

By the time she stepped onto Niklas’s
porch, she was out of breath, her heart thumping from something more than the sheer
physical labor of walking that distance in such deep, soft snow. Could it be
the prospect of seeing him again, at his house?

Like the first and only time she’d been here,
a dog’s bark resounded at her knock. Then another’s.

“Niklas?”

No response. Where was he? Maybe the
sauna?

She headed back down the steps and made
her way toward the small wooden house. The chimney pointed to the sky,
inactive. He couldn’t be in there. Still, she should check.

Pushing open the sauna door, Sarah
called his name again. No response. She’d take a walk around the buildings.
Please
be here somewhere.

Rounding the corner to the back of the
house, Sarah spotted a black Range Rover, parked and covered in snow. Was
that...? Surely not. It couldn’t be the same car that almost pushed her off the
road the night she arrived.

Finding herself back at Niklas’s front
door, suspicion pushing her nerves to the edge, she knocked again. Harder and louder
this time. The door clicked at the action, a gap into Niklas’s world forming
along the door’s edge. Sarah stepped back, uncertain what to do. Niklas couldn’t
have latched the door properly when he left.

Before she could pull the door shut
again, a black nose found its way through the gap, followed by long golden fur.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Risto?” She stooped
and rubbed the dog’s fur, scratching him behind the ears.

He responded with two loud barks and a
lick to her cheek.

“What are you doing here, boy?”

From inside came a whimper, and Sarah raised
her eyes to see Mila curled in a whelping box in the corner of the lounge. Dare
she go inside? Uninvited?

She’d check on Mila, and then leave.

Kneeling in front of the golden
retriever, she patted her head. Wait a minute, these are Santa’s dogs. That
meant, if Risto and Mila were here in Niklas’s home, then Niklas and Santa...
They
were
one and the same, just as she’d initially suspected. Unless
Niklas had a really good explanation for why these dogs were quite at home in
his house, this little scenario playing out before her eyes meant he’d been
living a lie from the day they met. And deliberately deceived her the other
night with the reindeer and sleigh.

Hot tears pricked. She had to get out of
there. She needed fresh air.

Stroking Mila one last time, Sarah
shoved to her feet, nearly tripping over Risto as she stumbled outside. She
tried to wrap her head around what she knew was real. Niklas being Santa was no
big deal. Lying to her was. He’d had the entire week to tell her the truth. He
chose not to, continuing the deception instead.

She rummaged in her small bag for a
tissue. Her purse shifted precariously to the edge of the bag beneath her
probing fingers. Too much scuffling, it tipped over the edge, falling to the
floor. Coins scattered in all directions, like refugees.
Great. I should’ve
closed that coin pocket zipper.
It was always getting stuck, so most times
she didn’t bother.

Scurrying around on the icy porch, Sarah
gathered up the coins. Goodness knew if she’d retrieved them all—they’d
literally rolled everywhere.

Risto followed her descent into the snow-covered
garden.

“Go home, Risto.” She bent down and
grabbed a handful of snow. Pressing it between her hands, she hurled it in the
dog’s direction. The powdery snowball broke into a million pieces and drifted to
the ground. Risto barked and bounded in the snow, resembling a jumping jack
cracker.

The failed snowball brought a fresh bout
of tears. Could she get nothing right?

By the time she reached the line of
trees, Risto gave up his pursuit and headed for home. The dog obviously knew
his limits, unlike his master.

Back at her cabin, Sarah grabbed the car
key, her tears exchanged for outrage. She’d not take this deception lying down.
Not this time. Saint Nick, who in her opinion was no saint at all, was about to
get a piece of Sarah Jones’s mind. Or should that piece come from Miss No Name
from Nowhere?
Wonder how he’d like not knowing who he was dealing with?

He’d have to tell her. He wanted to tell
her. Now. But she was busy...writing. He couldn’t interrupt.

Tonight. He’d tell her tonight.

Niklas parked the snowmobile between his
house and the sauna, and turned off the engine. He slid his leg over the seat,
his feet sinking into the snow as he stood. How good it felt not to dress up in
red today. To have time off. First thing he’d do to while away the hours until
tonight was fire up the sauna. One of these days he needed to invite Sarah over
and teach her the next part of sauna culture.

The
avanto
.

Once he told Sarah the truth, he’d no
longer have to worry about her finding out about Risto and Mila...putting two and
two together.

Hearing Risto bark, Niklas turned. The
dog bounded toward him and jumped up against his chest, desperate to greet him
with a welcome lick. Niklas allowed him, ruffling the fur on his neck.

“What are you doing outside?”

Back on all four paws, Risto gave
another loud bark and tore off toward the house, pausing to check that Niklas
followed.

Niklas narrowed his eyes. The snow
around his house had been disturbed. He wasn’t expecting company. Who could’ve stopped
by? He raised his eyes toward the porch and the open front door. Hadn’t he shut
that before heading to
Isä
and
Äiti
?

Pausing on the top step of the porch,
Niklas surveyed the area. A trail led across the white expanse toward the tree
line. And Sarah’s cabin. Had she come over?

Mila eased out of the whelping box. She
was using it? Did that mean...?

Niklas checked the box. Nothing out of
the ordinary. No tiny retrievers hiding beneath the soft blankets.

He knelt in front of Mila and felt her swollen
belly. “Any day now, Mila. Any day.”

With a whine, Mila turned, finding
comfort again inside the box that Niklas had almost given up on her using.
Thankfully, he had everything ready for the birth—like an expectant father. All
he had to do now was wait. The hardest part, although the end certainly seemed near.
He’d probably be delivering puppies by Christmas Eve. Dinner with his parents might
not happen.

Relief washed over Niklas. Then shame.
Hadn’t he just vowed to tell Sarah the truth? Tonight? Maybe he should go over
there now, before he had a change of heart. He pushed to his feet.

Walking back to the door, he stopped and
bent over. How did that coin get there?
See a penny, pick it up. All day
long you'll have good luck...
Serendipity. He could do with a little today.
His fingers lifted the money from the wooden flooring.

The shiny silver coin was unlike
anything Niklas had seen. He examined it closely. On the heads side, some kind
of deer with twisted horns. Definitely no reindeer. The currency? Two rand. He flipped
the coin—a coat of arms the mintage, dated 1990.
Been in circulation for a
while.
He focused on the wording either side of the emblem. On the left,
the words ‘Suid-Afrika’—‘South Africa’ on the right.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in deep,
fighting the nausea.
Sarah.
She’d been here. Those were her tracks in
the snow. She’d seen Risto and Mila. She knew.

He’d been wrong in his actions. Oath or
no oath to his father’s profession, he had to tell her. And ask her forgiveness
for his deception.

On
a mission, Sarah pulled the blue Micra into the parking lot of Santa’s Village
perhaps a little faster than she intended, burying the front fender into the
ploughed snow bordering the lot. She shoved the stick shift into reverse and
backed up slightly.

Grabbing her gloves from the passenger
seat, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Two beeps split the
quiet as she pressed lock on the remote. An elderly couple walking past on the
sidewalk stared at Sarah.

So she’d slammed the door. So what.

Sarah held their pointed looks.

The old man offered a smile. “No need to
lock in Lapland.”

Sarah’s return smile no doubt resembled a
certain wooly animal the color of her surrounds. Of course they don’t lock cars
this side of the world. But having spent her entire life locking, and double
locking...everything...it would take forever to become accustomed to walking
away from anything unlocked.

She hurried to the front of the vehicle,
bending down to inspect the fender. Thankfully the only damage, a little more
snow decorating the blue edges. She wiped it off. The cold bit into her fingers.
Fragments of snow clung to their human scraper, dissipating into teensy
droplets. Sarah brushed her hand against her jean-clad leg, removing the
moisture from her skin. Couldn’t risk hurting her fingers a second time. She
shoved her hands into her woolen gloves.

Ah, warmth.

Sarah glanced at her watch as she
climbed the staircase beside the gigantic timepiece. Eleven-thirty. Santa only
opened shop from midday. Not long to wait, and as tenth in line, she’d soon be
standing in front of Saint Nick. She had a good mind to march to the front of
the queue, tell everyone she had urgent business. Had it really only been nine
days since she’d climbed these stairs to those striking blue eyes she couldn’t
get out of her mind?

Sarah kept her gaze fixed on Santa’s
timepiece—second after miserably long second. The half-hour until the doors to
Santa’s office opened seemed to take hours.

With each family that disappeared
through the entrance with the elderly ‘elf’ she’d been semi-rude to on her
first visit, Sarah’s heart beat harder, faster. It took all her restraint not
to turn and run back to her car, her cabin, the airport.

Home. Could she really return earlier
over this? Spend Christmas with her family? The idea tempted her, until she
forced her thoughts to the real reason she’d run in the first place. The only
reason that would keep her feet firmly planted in Lapland until her return
date. Andrew Palmer and the Christmas Day service at Hannah’s church.

“Hello. Are you ready to
meet Santa?”

Sarah hadn’t even noticed
the elderly ‘elf’s’ return. Her smile wavered, her mouth twitching like a
faulty fluorescent tube. Would anything brighten her countenance today?

“Oh, it’s you. Miss No Name from
Nowhere, wasn’t it?”

Sarah forced the sides of
her mouth upward. “Sarah Jones from South Africa.”

The ‘elf’ grinned wide.
Seriously? Was getting her name and location really like winning the lotto?
Whatever floated his boat.

She swallowed hard as she turned
the corner, listening to the announcement of her presence. She glanced at the
floor beside Santa’s chair. The picture had looked far more adoring and
appealing with the two golden retrievers filling the floor. Everything about
the scene before her seemed empty, and it wasn’t only the lack of Risto and
Mila’s presence. Somehow, the chair didn’t seem as large as the first time
she’d seen it. The platform, too, appeared different—lower than before. Had
this giant of a man reduced so much in her eyes? Over two dogs?

No. Not over two dogs. Over
a matter of trust. Over lies. And deception.

“Miss Jones, welcome to my humble office.
Please, sit down. South Africa? Now that’s a long way from here. What brings
you all the way to Lapland?”

Sarah stared at him as a fresh wave of
anger engulfed her. Was he really going to sit there and continue the charade further?
How stupid did he think she was? Making his voice sound different, older? She’d
recognize those baby blues anywhere, no matter how much white facial fluff, or
how thick the glasses he hid behind.

Remaining standing, she glared and shoved
her hands to her hips. “Are you really going to continue the pretense? I’m on
to you. I know exactly who you are...or aren’t, Nick. Niklas. Or perhaps I
should call you Claus?”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry.
Sorry I ever met you. Sorry I ever fell for all your lies.”
Ever fell for
you.

Sarah lunged forward. “Stop hiding
behind all this.” She ripped the glove from his one wrinkled hand. That’s impossible.
Can’t be. Let’s see you fake this one, ‘old man’. She yanked his long beard—the
one stuck to his face. Really stuck. Santa’s head followed Sarah’s tugging. If
he fixed this fake facial hair to his skin so well, how on earth did he get it
off so fast the other night? Without a blemish to his cheeks or chin? Unless...

“
Au
, that hurts.”

Sarah let go, and Santa snapped back
into his chair, thudding against the high wooden backrest. His spectacles
toppled from his face and tumbled to the edge of his lap. Instantly, his feet
shot out—an attempt to prevent the specs from rolling off and crashing to the
ground? Oversized slippers collided with Sarah’s knees. She staggered backward
then sprawled across the floor.

Before she could scramble to her feet, strong
hands grasped each arm, helping her up. But they didn’t let go. Sarah snapped
her head from side to side. Left, and then right. You’ve got to be joking.
Restrained by the elves? Could this day get any worse?

“Let me go.” She wriggled to free herself,
but their grip tightened. Did they plan to haul her off to elf jail?

Raising her eyes to Santa, the only one
with the power to grant her a reprieve, Sarah’s gaze locked with his aged eyes
filled with confusion. Aged eyes? She stared. Yes, they were the same blue eyes
she’d grown so fond of looking into this past week...except older. Much, much
older.

“Orvo. Olle. Let her go.”

They obeyed the voice of authority.

It was now, or never. She had to get out
of there. What a fool she’d made of herself.

Dashing for the exit, Sarah mumbled,
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” How had she gotten this all wrong? Treated
poor Santa so badly when he’d gone out of his way to help her. Twice. And she’d
thought so little of Niklas when all he’d done was shown her kindness. When
would she ever learn to trust a man again? There had to be a logical
explanation why Risto and Mila were inside Niklas’s home. She knew so little of
what he did for a living, besides taking care of the families renting his
cabins. Maybe he was a vet, looking after Santa’s dogs now that Mila’s time was
close. Maybe Mila was already in labor.

But those eyes... The ones she’d stared
into the other times were younger. Then again, the first time she’d met Saint
Nick, she’d been dead beat from her travels. And the second time...perhaps the
firelight had played tricks with her eyes, making her see only what she’d
wanted to see—Niklas Toivonen’s baby blues.

Maybe she should just leave this entire
subject alone, and see how it all panned out in the next two weeks.

Trust once again.

Seated on the porch of Sarah’s cabin,
Niklas reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter she’d given
him. Well, given Santa. He’d read Jonathan’s words so many times over the past
week, obviously penned for him by his mother. While waiting, he’d read them once
again and dream of ways to make the boy’s wishes come true—plus figure out how
to tell Sarah the truth.

Dear Santa,

My name is Jonathan. I’m five years
old. I’m sorry to bother you—I know you’re really busy getting ready for Christmas.
Can I ask you for one thing, please? Will you bring my Auntie Sarah a Christmas
love story? And love. I know your job is to take care of children’s wishes, but
maybe there is something you could do for my Auntie’s heart.

Thank you.

Jonathan Olsen

Hearing a car in the distance, Niklas
raised his eyes, gazing into the distance as a small blue car broke the white
surrounds. Sarah.

He folded the letter and shoved it back
into his pocket as he watched the car come closer. If only he could put off
this task a little longer. But no doubt she’d be spitting mad when she stepped
out of that car. There’d be no escaping the inevitable.

Pushing to his feet, Niklas took a deep
breath and braced himself as her car pulled to a stop. The driver’s door swung
open.

“Niklas?”

He swallowed hard against his
constricting throat, struggling to form words, afraid he wouldn’t find the
right ones. He blew out a huff, wishing this whole situation would disappear
like the vapor that formed in the air at his breath—there for only a moment
before quickly fading.

Man up. He forced a smile to his face.
“Sarah. You’ve been out?”

“Uh...yes. I...um...needed to get some
groceries.” She shut the door behind her. “My cupboards are about as naked and
enticing as that frozen lake out there.”

What? No reprimand?

Niklas started down the porch stairs. “Let
me bring your shopping in. You get inside, out of the cold.”

A laugh floated his way as she narrowed
the gap between them. “There’s nothing to bring. Stupid me, I got to the store
and realized I’d forgotten to take my purse. I’ll have to go again tomorrow.”

“Seeing as your cupboards resemble Old
Mother Hubbard’s, why don’t I cook you dinner tonight?”

Her eyes widened. “You want me to come
to your house?” She hurried up the steps to the front door.

“Yes.” It could be a better place to
tell her. To explain.

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

Unlocking the front door, she turned to
Niklas, still rooted in the snow in front of the cabin. “You’re not coming in?”

“I—”

“Come in, please. Stay for coffee? It’ll
warm you. Surely whatever you’ve got to do can wait a little longer?”

What he had to do could wait forever. If
only he had a choice. He didn’t. But it could wait until later. He’d enjoy what
might potentially be his last visit with Sarah in this cabin.

“Sure. Why not?” Niklas climbed the
stairs.

Sarah’s warm manner took the edge off
the coolness inside. Thankfully. He could do something about the cabin
temperature, but if she had shunned him now, there’d be little he could do to
warm her to him again. Tonight, over dinner, could be an entirely different
story though.

Niklas leaned against the wall in the
kitchen doorway as Sarah filled the coffee machine and switched it on. He
shifted his gaze to where their snow pants and jackets hung side by side next
to the front door, boots standing in a neat row beneath them. He’d love to see
that sight daily. And the one in the kitchen. Niklas did his best to ignore the
small green sprig constantly in his peripheral view. But no matter which way he
looked, it was there.

Squatting, Sarah leaned into the
cupboard, retreating empty-handed. She pouted. “I thought I still had a box of
biscuits in there.”

“Don’t worry. Just coffee will be
great.”

“Just coffee? One can’t do
just
coffee.”
She brought her hand to her face, resting her chin on her thumb while her index
finger tapped across her lips. Her very kissable pink lips.

Desperate to divert his attention,
Niklas raised his gaze, stopping at the frown rippling Sarah’s brow. Any higher
and he’d glimpse that mistletoe again. Then he’d be right back at those pink
lips that he’d far rather taste than any kind of biscuit.

“Hang on. I forgot Hannah packed a small
container of homemade custard creams. They’re in the side pocket of my
suitcase.” A grin lit her face. “Am I glad I hadn’t remembered they were there
until now.”