When they’d settled in the front seat of the sedan, Mary tugged her glove off her right hand. “I’m Mary Christmas. And you are?”
Instead of taking her hand, he studied the controls and started the car. “Nick.”
“Nick?” She closed her eyes so that he couldn’t see her rolling them. “Do you have a last name?”
At first, she didn’t think he was going to answer. He pushed the shift into reverse and brushed her arm when he braced his hand on the back of her seat. He was close enough that Mary could smell his aftershave, a potent woodsy, spicy scent. His brown eyes glowed in the light from the dash. “St. Claire.”
Mary caught her breath and stared straight forward.
When Nick had the car in gear, he asked, “Do you know how to get to North Pole?”
“Yes, I lived there most of my life.”
“Then you can navigate.”
“Fair enough.”
He handed her his cell phone.
“I won’t need that. I could get there with my eyes closed.” Mary gave him directions and leaned back in her seat, letting the heat warm her hands and cheeks.
A small smile curled the corners of Nick’s lips. “Aren’t you afraid to ride with strangers?”
“If we’d been in Seattle, I would never have imposed on you, but here in Alaska, it’s probably a fair bet you’re not a mass murderer.”
“I thought people with questionable pasts moved to small towns in Alaska to escape their lives in the lower forty-eight.”
Mary snorted. “They might think they can escape, but the population is so limited in smaller communities, everyone knows everyone else.”
“Therefore, if a stranger comes to town, everyone will know him as a stranger?”
“Right.” She smiled his way. “You’d definitely stick out as a stranger, especially this time of year. In the summer, not so much. Droves of tourists visit North Pole in their RVs and on tour buses, but they eventually leave. Not many people come in the darkness and freezing temperatures of winter.” Her smile slipped. Some people left Alaska on business trips to warmer climates and greener pastures.
Her lips pulled into a straight line. She’d been so naïve. That was old news. She’d since moved to Seattle and two years had passed. Mary shook her head to clear the cobwebs and concentrated on the man beside her. “Why are you coming to North Pole? Looking for a place to escape?”
“Would you believe I have business with Santa?”
“Maybe.” Mary stared hard at him. Something about the way he said the words didn’t ring true, but she hadn’t heard much from her father in the past few months. Since her father had found a life of his own and the new wife. Jasmine.
Nick glanced at her. “What’s Santa’s real name?”
The smile returned to Mary’s face. “Santa Claus.”
“No, really. What’s his real name?”
“For as long as I can remember, he’s always been Santa Claus. I’ve asked him hundreds of times what his real name was, but he never told me. He signs his name as Santa and his Social Security card and driver’s license all say Santa Claus.”
Nick shook his head, a frown dipping between his brows. “I don’t get it.”
Mary shrugged and settled back against her seat, refusing to fall into the trap of trying to explain the whole North Pole, Alaska, and the Christmas Towne phenomenon. Some people didn’t get it. The man next to her probably never would.
His loss.
Bradley, the two-timing-bigamist, never understood it either. He’d laughed at the whole concept. He’d probably been laughing at her all along as well. Look at the dumb bumpkin from the sticks of Alaska, too stupid to see through his lies.
The fifteen miles to North Pole flew by. Her heart banged against the inside of her chest when her hometown came into view. Colorful Christmas lights sparkled year-round on the houses and the candy cane lampposts. She never tired of bright colors. Living in Seattle, she missed the cheery lights even in the summertime. As the Christmas Towne store came into view, tears welled in her eyes. Red and white diagonal stripes graced the boxy entrance. Pictures of reindeer and Santa’s sleigh stretched across the whitewashed exterior walls. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed home until she came back.
“This is my stop.” She stared at the building trying to imagine the first impression of a stranger to what she considered home. It looked like a red and white fantasy castle in the middle of the Alaskan landscape. The house beside the store was painted brown and trimmed with fake gumdrops and candy canes, the two buildings could have been out of any child’s most elaborate dream. The little cottage beside the store looked like a gingerbread house good enough to eat, covered in a fluffy foot of snow with drifts up to the windowsills.
