a soaring Christmas tree, and even though Thanksgiving was still a few days away, she felt a little bit of holiday magic now.
There was nothing like Christmas in Montana. She’d always loved the sparkling snow, the frozen ponds for ice skating, the sleigh rides, the trip to the local Christmas tree farm to cut down one’s tree.
“Pretty tree, isn’t it?”
Whitney turned her head to look at the stocky older man standing at her side. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his round cheeks were ruddy from the cold, making his blue eyes even brighter. “Breathtaking,” she agreed. “Smells heavenly, too.”
“You can’t go wrong with a Noble Fir.”
“I can never tell firs and pines apart. Can you?”
“Well, of course. That’s my job.”
“Is it?”
“Mmm. Joy. Hope. Christmas. You know. The works.”
“Well, if it’s the works , you can’t forget world peace.”
“Never. That’s right there at the top.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back, not sure if he was a local or a guest at the hotel but he had a very endearing quality. “It’s nice to know there are still people who take their work seriously.”
“I like my job so it helps.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m Santa Claus.”
Her lips twitched. “Aren’t you out and about just a little bit early?”
“I never put on the red suit until after Thanksgiving.”
“That makes sense. I think it’d be difficult to wear it 365 days a year.”
“Especially during summer. Far too hot.”
“I thought the North Pole had snow all year long?”
“It does, which is why I try to take the missus to Hawaii each year. Just a week or two, not any longer.” His white bushy eyebrows lifted. “I’ve a Christmas tree joke for you, written by my friend, Zoey. She’s eight.”
“I’d love to hear.”
“What do you get when you cross a Christmas tree with an iPhone?”
Whitney shook her head. “I give up. What?”
“A pine-Apple.” He laughed, a big belly laugh that made her giggle. “A pineapple,” he repeated in case she hadn’t got the joke.
But she had, and she laughed as his bushy brows waggled. He seemed delighted with the joke and her response, and he laughed once more, a deep belly laugh that made Whitney feel like a child again, in the best sort of way.
“I’m Whitney Alder,” she said, extending a hand.
“Kris,” he answered, giving her hand a vigorous shake. “Krinkles.”
“Krinkles?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him right. “Not Kringle?”
“No, and people always ask me that. But it’s Krinkles like wrinkles.”
She was smiling so hard her cheeks ached and her chest was filled with warmth. There was something about him that made her happy, and hopeful. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Krinkles.”
“It was nice to meet you, too, Whitney.”
She had a sudden urge to hug him, but she stopped herself in the nick of time—no pun intended. “Hopefully I’ll see you again.”
“Well, I’m in Marietta for the holidays.”
“Wonderful. See you soon.”
At the wall of brass elevators, Whitney pushed the up button, and glanced behind her at the massive Christmas tree still being worked on, checking to see if Kris was still there but the older man was nowhere to be seen.
Her lips curved remembering his silly joke about the iPhone and the Christmas tree and she didn’t know what it was about him that made him so likeable, but he felt solid and familiar and reassuring, too. As if he were someone she’d known her entire life. For the first time since arriving in Marietta she felt calm and steady.
For the first time in ages she felt good.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped forward right as Cormac Sheenan stepped out and they nearly collided.
Cormac took her elbow to steady her. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, startled and a little bit breathless. She’d forgotten how tall he was and she tipped her head back to see his face. “I didn’t know you were in