A Krampus Country Christmas: Day 12

 

Chapter 12: The First Snowfall Kiss

By the time the parade ended, Holly Winters had cocoa in her hair, sleigh bells tangled around her scarf, and the first genuine laugh she’d had in weeks still caught somewhere in her chest.

The streets of Tinsel Bluff glittered under a blanket of snow that hadn’t been there an hour ago. It glowed faintly in the lamplight, like sugar dusted over a dream. No one could quite explain it. Some said the generator sparked it, others claimed atmospheric joy. Either way, people were calling it the Miracle Snow, and Mayor Garland had already scheduled a press release.

Holly just wanted to get warm.

She and Nick ducked into the empty tree lot, their breath misting in the cold. The festival noise was a muffled hum behind them. The laughter, the music, the endless caroling of Deck the Halls & Oates all faded into something soft and far away.

“You were incredible,” she said, wiping a smear of cocoa off her mitten. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Santa so efficient.”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Efficiency was not my goal. Stability was.”

“Well, you stabilized the entire town.”

He hesitated, brushing snow from his coat. “It was a group effort.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling. “Group effort and mild sorcery.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Sorcery,” he repeated carefully. “That’s an interesting interpretation of electrical maintenance.”

“Right.”

For a moment they just stood there, the wind swirling flakes between them. Holly realized she could still hear the faint echo of bells, though no one was nearby. The air smelled like pine and nutmeg.

Nick glanced upward. “Fascinating. It’s the first true snowfall of the season. Statistically, it correlates with increased human sentimentality.”

“Is that what this is?” she asked, stepping closer. “Sentimentality?”

He tilted his head, studying her face as if it were a problem to solve. “Possibly. You appear flushed. Elevated heart rate. Pupillary dilation.”

“Nick,” she said softly. “You’re analyzing again.”

“Force of habit.”

“Try something different,” she said. “Just… be here.”

He blinked, unsure. Then, slowly, he let out a breath and looked around: the lights twinkling on the trees, the frost gathering on the fence rails, the soft sound of snow landing on snow.

“This is pleasant,” he admitted. “Unproductive, but pleasant.”

She laughed. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?”

“Relaxation,” he said, “has never been part of my job description.”

“Well, maybe it should be.”

He met her eyes then—dark, searching, curious. For the first time, he looked uncertain. Not calculating, not assessing. Just present.

A flake landed on her cheek. He brushed it away gently, gloved fingers cool against her skin. The touch lingered a second longer than it needed to. Neither of them spoke. The snow thickened, quieting the world to a hush.

Then, with a breath that felt like a confession, Holly leaned in and kissed him. It was quick, hesitant. Warm lips against cold air, a spark in the silence. When she pulled back, he was still blinking, as though trying to understand a new equation.

“I—” he began. “Was that… part of the custom?”

“Sometimes,” she said, smiling. “Sometimes it’s just because you want to.”

He seemed to file that away somewhere deep. “I see. Spontaneous affection. Noted.”

Holly laughed, shaking her head. “You don’t have to take notes on everything.”

“Old habits,” he murmured, and smiled. It was small, genuine, and human.

Above them, the Miracle Snow kept falling, slow and steady, dusting the trees, the ground, and two people who, against all odds, might both be learning something new about Christmas.

My new comedic sci-fi novel, Someone Else's Book Club, is available on my website or through Amazon!