I leaned in closer, as close as Elinor stood next to him. I could smell his hair; it smelled faintly of pine. “And I’m telling you, this house needs a more feminine touch. It’s looking too sterile.”
Another thing elves hate—to be criticized. “Can you please just let me work?” he asked.
“Not until you say you believe me about Lars.”
“I’m not going to say I believe something when I don’t.” Flynn finally turned his head to look at me. “I have a job, Natty. I mean, Natalie. We all do. Christmas Eve is—”
“I know. Twenty-five days away.”
Flynn nodded, satisfied that I got it, that we were on the same page, both of us understanding how great is the magnitude of twenty-five days away. He swiveled back around to his computer.
“Are you saying we all have jobs to do here but me?” I demanded.
Flynn turned back around. He looked perplexed when he said, “No, that’s not what I’m saying—”
“My father says that my contributions to the cowgirl outfits were inspired. He—he said that it was the single most requested outfit for girls ages five to seven, so don’t you dare try to minimize what I do. And just so you know, I wasn’t lying about Lars. He really does exist, and he really was my first kiss. I don’t care if it’s in the database or not.”
I turned on my heel and left before he could say another word. I knew what I’d done. I picked a fight with my only friend because I was mad. Mad that Flynn picked Elinor. Mad that it wasn’t me.
I’m the foolish one for being surprised. There’s no such thing as elves and humans dating. It’s just elves and elves. They marry, they have elf children, and the North Pole keeps spinning and children keep getting their toys and everyone is happy. It’s the way it’s always been. Nothing ever changes here.
A few years from now, I can see it. Her in a silvery wedding gown made to match her hair, a wreath of ivy at the crown of her head, him, tall and slim, together in front of the marriage tree every North Pole elf has ever married in front of. Of course he will love her. Of course he will marry her. Who else would he love? Not me, obviously. I’m not an elf. I’m not like them.
*
I stepped outside of the Great Hall for a breath of fresh air, but then I just kept walking.
The air smells like peppermint all the time now. The candy-cane factory is just next door, and the confectionery elves are working round the clock.
It’s snowing, of course. There’s always snow on the ground here. It makes everything look diamond dusted. The thing about snow is, it’s very quiet. The air is hushed. It’s like church.
It’s reverential.
It’s dark, but it’s always dark this time of year. We won’t have sunshine for weeks. The elves don’t mind it, because it’s their natural habitat, but my papa worries I’ll get seasonal affective disorder, so in our house there are light-therapy boxes everywhere.
The sound of my boots crunching along the ground is the only sound I hear besides the sound of my heartbeat as I walk along the path from the Great Hall to our house. And then through the silence I hear Flynn call my name. “Natty, wait!”
I freeze. When I turn around he’s already caught up with me, and he’s just standing there, not wearing a coat. The cold doesn’t really bother the elves. I eye him warily. “Are you here to give me a lecture on holiday cheer and a joyful spirit?”
“No. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Oh.” And then I draw up all my courage, and I just ask, because I have to know. “Why does it have to be her?”
“It’s only a Snow Ball, Natty.” But it isn’t. He knows it, and I know it.
Flynn looks up at the sky, at the North Star above us. Polaris, it’s called. A fixed point, more accurate than any compass. You always know where you are when you look up at it. Home. “The north celestial pole is shifting, did you know that? It’s because of the gravitational forces of the sun and moon. Polaris won’t always be what it is now.” I’m about to reply when he asks me, “Do you ever think about the future, Natalie?”
It thrills me to hear him say my name. So much so that I don’t answer so he’ll say it again.
“Natalie?”
“I’ve only ever thought about the future in days till Christmas,” I tell him. No more than three hundred sixty-four days ahead. It never occurred to me that anybody thought differently. Especially not elves. But I guess Flynn is different, and I guess I’ve always known that. It’s why we are friends. It’s why he knew I wasn’t okay, why he followed me out here to check. Whatever we are, we’ll always be friends.
I’m thinking maybe now is the right time to give him the robin. I feel around for it in my pocket. And then he says, “You don’t really belong here.”
His words hit me like a snowball to the face. They sting, but they land true. The robin slips through my fingers and deep into my pocket.
Flynn is still talking. “Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if you weren’t here. Sometimes I think maybe I’d be different.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Like … maybe if you weren’t here, maybe I wouldn’t wonder about what the world is like beyond the North Pole.”
I wave him off. “Flynn, it’s not that great. I saw the world two Christmas Eves ago and I’m telling you, what we have here is better than anything out there. There’s eggnog every day! And candy cane hot chocolate, and those marshmallow cakes with the little red dots.”
“I’m pretty sure they have all that stuff, too. You’ll see. You’re going to go away someday,” he says, and it sounds like a premonition. “You’ll stop believing.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Not me. I’ll never stop. Never ever ever.”
Stubbornly, he shakes his head. “One day you will, and you’ll forget all about us.”
“Stop saying that!”
“It’s all right. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”
I don’t like the sad look on his face; it weighs on me in a way that is unfamiliar and strange. We’ve never talked like this before. I don’t like the way it makes me feel—too real. Lightning quick, I pull the robin out of my pocket and hand it to him. “Here,” I say. “Merry Christmas.”
He holds the bird up to the moonlight and examines it. “It’s your best work,” he says, and from an elf, there’s no higher compliment. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Faster than I can blink, as fast as only an elf can be, he touches my cheek with his fingertips, whisper soft and cool. He tucks my hair behind my ear. And then, a sharp intake of breath, my own. Is this really happening?
I lean in closer, I close my eyes, and I purse my lips. And nothing.
I open my eyes. “Um … were you going to kiss me?”
“I—I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He hesitates and then he says, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“You won’t hurt me,” I quickly say.
Flynn shakes his head.
I can see that he means to stand firm. The answer is no. So I say it, my whammy, my ace in the hole, the one thing an elf cannot refuse. “It’s my Christmas wish, Flynn.”
He opens and closes his mouth. He tries not to smile. “How is it that you always find a way to get what you want?” Before I can reply he says, “Don’t answer that. Just—close your eyes.”
Dutifully, I do.
“And Natalie?”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t the one I’m worried about getting hurt.”
Before I even have time to think, he tips my chin up, and he brushes his lips against mine. Flynn’s lips aren’t cool the way I imagined; they are warm. He is warm. He’s warm but why is he shivering? When I open my eyes again to ask him, he’s already backed away from me. “I have something for you, too,” he says.
I hold out my gloved hand, and he drops a piece of paper inside, and then he’s gone. Leaving me to wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Living where I live, it can sometimes be hard to tell the difference between magic and make believe.
I open the piece of paper.
Lars Lindstrom