“Ten out of ten!” I shouted, holding up a handmade scorecard.
I blinked back to the present, clutching the sweater to my chest.
“Neve?” Kip’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. Just... remembered something.”
“From before?” Kip’s voice lowered, his hand warm on my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I pulled the hideous sweater over my head, hiding for a moment. “It was an ugly sweater contest with sweaters even worse than these. My dad was there with a bunch of his friends.”
Cole’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Your memories are returning faster now.”
“They’re popping up randomly. None of it makes sense.” I adjusted the sweater, wincing as the bell jingled.
Kip pulled on his sweater, which had actual working Christmas lights embedded in a tree pattern. “We’ll take the random pop-ups.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. Why would my two very loving parents send me away and alter my memories? That seemed so cruel.
I pushed open the truck door, eager to escape the claustrophobic cab. “Let’s get this over with.”
Cole locked the truck and stuffed the keys into his jeans pocket. His sweater was navy blue and covered in glittery snowflakes.
“How come you get the tasteful one?” I gestured at his sweater as we walked toward the entrance.
“Seniority.”
“Not fair. I should get seniority. I’m Santa’s daughter; that has to be good for something.” I stopped abruptly, and Kip ran into me, his arms circling my waist to stop me from face-planting.
I knew I’d already considered it, but now the thought was stronger, like it wasn’t being tamped down by some subliminal force in my brain. It felt like discovering a door in a familiar wall that had always been there but was painted to match the background perfectly until this moment.
My memories weren’t just missing; they’d been deliberately hidden from me. The name “Santa” echoed in my skull, too loud and too obvious to ignore.
My dad. The man in every song, every story, every childhood dream, and he was mine.
And now, standing here in this ridiculous jingling sweater with Kip’s calming presence behind me, the barriers seemed to be crumbling faster than a gingerbread house in July.
My chest ached with a strange mix of awe and grief, like I’d just stumbled across the truth of who I was and realized how much of myself I’d lost without it.
“Why are my memories all over the place?” I turned, looking at both men for answers.
“It’s complicated.” Cole crossed his arms, appearing uncomfortable for the first time.
“It’s really not. You guys can’t tell me anything, but why? Is there a spell? Can you only be in the North Pole to talk about the North Pole?” I ran through all of my interactions with them and thought about how I steered myself away from anything festive. “Jingle is code for the North Pole.”
Kip’s eyes widened, and then the tight line of his lips broke into his usual smile. “It is, but you usually forget it pretty quickly, which is why we can’t just tell you everything. The magic won’t let us.”
“I forget?” My brows furrowed so hard that I really hoped a permanent crease didn’t form. “So I’ve connected myself to my dad being Santa and the North Pole already?”
“Briefly. You’ve been away for so long that it’s hard for the magic to grant you permission to know. If we were to stay away for too long, the magic would push us away from the truth, too.” Cole shrugged as if this wasn’t a major piece of the puzzle he was giving me.
“So in a few minutes, I might forget all of this?”
Kip took my hand, entwining our fingers. “Yes. We think when you fight your joy, it’s a snowball effect in your brain with the magic. Also, the distance from home doesn’t help.”
Cole’s gaze was steady on mine. “You won’t hold on to it yet. The magic won’t let you. At least not with how long you’ve been away and not until you’re closer to the North Pole.”
“The North Pole?” I blinked, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
