Nobody waits for the stairs to clear. The crowd of elves rush inside. Members of the council, who lent their hands and time to the project, are ready to take the public on tours.
For the next several hours, I lead my own tour groups as well. I get a rush of excitement every time a detail or a change evokes an ooh or an ahh from the listeners. They love the expansiveness and the various light controls that allow workers to switch the brightness, tone, and saturation of their personal workspaces. We’ve implemented collaboration rooms with fidget toys and table games, so our designers and our makers don’t feel like two separate teams. Community calendars are displayed everywhere possible to promote socialization.
“Using color psychology,” I explain as we head around the catwalk above, “we’ve made the production and brainstorming areas red since that color is conducive to physical labor, which needs a more elevated heart rate. It’s also good for getting the creative juices flowing. Greens were reserved for outdoor and relaxation spaces that promote balance and health. Your happiness was paramount to my designs.”
I get a great response to the glossy snack bars stocked with candies and healthier options like granola mixes. We conclude the tour in our renovated, temperature-controlled atrium complete with rippling water features, plenty of thriving greenery, and ample places to sit.
Nicholas, who had been hovering at the back of the group this whole time, sports the faintest of smiles. Unlike his wife, he did not pitch in, so this is his first time seeing the new space. He lingers when the group dissipates, which leaves me with a resounding uneasiness.
“I wanted to hear about the changes from the horse’s mouth,” Nicholas says gruffly.
“In this case, I’m the horse?” I wish my voice wasn’t so shaky.
He nods like that isn’t a little insulting. “I have to say…” I brace for the crushing weight of his disapproval. For a replay of my firing from Carver & Associates. “I’m impressed.”
“If you just give it a chance, I think—” My words roll out automatically. Then, I replay what he said in my head. And I nearly flop onto the ground from surprise. “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Nicholas laughs. It’s a booming thing. I don’t think I’ve ever heard this man give off more than a grunt or a groan. “I know I project toughness, but in fairness, as the oldest member of the council and the person with the most experience, I have to. The last guy in your position nearly crashed our entire operation. Forgive me for my bluntness and coldness. Blame my generation or my age or my sentimentality, but at some point, I got stuck in my ways. Not all shake-ups are bad. I see that now.”
Those words stick with me after he offers his congratulations. He even invites me and Quinn by for dinner in a few weeks before he goes to find Colleen.
Not all shake-ups are bad.
While getting fired from Carver & Associates seemed like the end of the world, maybe it was one of those good shake-ups. I needed it to forge a new beginning. For my career. For me and Quinn.
I can’t help but think that the North Pole is the home Quinn and I have been chasing after ever since we met. Santa and the Merriest Mister might be the roles we were born to play.
“What was that all about?” Quinn asks. His eyes are trained on Nicholas, who is sampling from the snack station beside his wife. Quinn sounds about ready to go to battle for me and my designs. Mr. I-Don’t-Fight-the-Power might be growing a set of claws out here.
“I think he apologized. Or, close to it anyway.” I’m still stupefied.
Quinn’s jaw drops. “Nicholas? Did he get a brain transplant? Every morning over breakfast, the eggs are too runny, or the toast is too dry, or the jam is too sweet. He didn’t have any critiques?”
“None,” I say. I’m still not sure there wasn’t a backhanded remark embedded in what he said to me. I run it back again in my head and don’t find one. I shrug with my palms up. “I think he really approves.”
“Wow.” Quinn shakes his head slowly. “Look at you. Your designs turn even your greatest critics into fans. I’m glad you were able to make this happen, and so quickly, too! You barely lost any necessary production days. You’ll be up and running again at full speed by Monday.”
“Speaking of, let’s go up to my office,” I say.
When we arrive, Quinn purrs, “What are we here for, Mr. Claus?” He’s draped himself in the doorway like a starlet in a black-and-white movie.
I huff out a laugh. “While I wish it was for what you’re thinking, I wanted to check this.” I push a button and out pops a mechanism that looks like the wheelhouse of a ship. There along the dashboard of it are three meters: Love-o-Meter (which tracks the love among the human population), Nice-o-Meter (which gives a relative overview of how good people are being), and lastly, the Happiness-o-Meter (which monitors the quality of life in the village). On the third, the needle has moved exponentially closer to the big red heart on the right side.
“Where was it before?” Quinn asks, stepping in close beside me. He smells like the homemade, organic peppermint soap he keeps stocked in the shower at the chalet.
I point somewhere a little past the halfway mark. My finger shakes with pleasure. “We’re really making a positive difference here,” I utter. The tingle I now identify as purpose gathers force in my fingertips.
It prompts me to reach out for Quinn’s waist, pull his pelvis flush to mine, and kiss him with all the heady passion that’s beenswirling inside me. “I’m so lucky to love you,” I say. “Thank you for coming on this adventure with me.”
Quinn blinks at me. His face reddens as he smiles. “Any adventure with you is an adventure worth taking.”
35STAGE FRIGHT-OR-FLIGHTQUINN
208 DAYS ’TIL CHRISTMAS
Electricity surges through the backstage for the Elf Extravaganza. I’m helping with any final touches before joining Patrick out in the audience.
I’m stuffed into the tailored tuxedo Christa made for me. It doesn’t matter that it was cut to my exact proportions or that the finest maroon fabrics were used, I’m still a sausage inside a casing. Mashed-up bits masquerading as something I was never meant to be.
