Chapter 3

*Holly*

“I can’t believe we showed up to this thing in a cookie on wheels,” Gretchen said. She wasn’t all for riding to her potential engagement in my parent’s bakery van. It wasn’t the most romantic car in the world, but it was the only option that would fit the three of us since mine was temporarily out of commission, Abigail drove a little 2013 Mazda Miata with only two seats, and Gretchen didn’t want to take her car since she planned to leave with Joey for a midnight showing of A Christmas Story. 

“Get over it, girl,” Abigail told her with a tough love tone. “If you really love him, you won’t care what kind of car you arrive at your engagement in.”

Gretchen frowned with a little sad sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You might have a point.”

We all stepped out of the car, helping each other fix our hair and masks. 

I wrapped my arm around Gretchen’s shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. “G, to be honest, you gotta let go. You’ve been so caught up in wondering if he’s going to propose or not that you’re not focusing on the moment. Your fixation is going to take away from simply having a good time.”

Gretchen was silent for a moment, staring down at her shoes—well, my shoes. 

Abigail came up to Gretchen’s other side and hooked her finger under her chin. “Look up, G. You’re already missing the party!”

Gretchen finally lifted her face to the auditorium where her eyes slowly drank in the wonder. I took the moment to study the decorations and the lights, too, as a feeling of awe from the magical scene filled my chest.

Along the way to the auditorium we’d seen everyone’s regular home decorations and the lights strung across the storefronts, and that was all beautiful and wonderful, but the Santa Claus Ball was different. Though I’d seen this place decorated every year of my life I could remember– except last year— this year felt especially magical.

Over the man-made tunnel leading into the auditorium, beams of light flashed into the sky as if to say, “This is the epicenter of Christmas!” Out front, literal candy cane lanes guided people past decorations on the lawn. There was Santa’s sleigh–a real, antique sleigh–painted a pristine crimson and trimmed with gold. The intricate swirl designs on the hood were stunning. In a small fenced-in field were nine real reindeer, each with beautiful Nordic harnesses. Each of the reindeer’s harnesses depicted their names–Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and, of course, Rudolph. When I was a kid, I’d make my mom let me feed each one of them a little carrot or an apple slice out of my hand. The feeling of their slobbering, wet tongues were still fresh in my mind. 

The freshly fallen snow was truly helping to set the mood, the lights hitting it casting a beautiful, clean glow. And even as we stepped inside the entryway, a slew of fake snow blanketed the sides of the walkway, and crystal snowflakes hung from the ceiling. The auditorium’s stage was set up beautifully as a scene from A Christmas Carol, set with the enchanting warm glow of a hundred lightbulbs seemingly floating in the air, with a quartet of strings and an accordion playing music right in the middle of it. I’d always loved the book, and I was excited to see parts of it living right in front of me. The auditorium was beautiful, but that wasn’t where the Santa Claus Ball shined. That happened right around the corner behind the stage in the ballroom. 

Several other “Mr. and Mrs. Clauses” filed in or mingled by the entryway, talking about the lights or the music. I spotted one tall Santa Claus and wondered if he could be my match later tonight. It was getting more thrilling to think about as we neared the ballroom.

I squeezed my friends’ hands as we stepped into the magical world that was Santa Claus’ Ball. From the tall ceilings hung several golden chandeliers, and again the ceiling was adorned with the warm glow of lights. A magnificently tall Christmas tree stole my attention from the corner of the room. It was decorated with giant intricate Christmas balls, silver tinsel, and beautiful vintage ornaments. Red bows were tied here and there, and a giant crystal star shone at the top of the tree. There was a smattering of wrapped-up presents under the tree, prizes for drawings and games. Each window around the room was affixed with garland and little pinecones and ribbons. The tables surrounding the dance floor glowed with charming golden candelabras and classic Nordic tableware. 

And in the middle of the space, where people would waltz the night away, was the dance floor. It was trimmed with a circle of freshly fallen fake snow, and hundreds of mistletoe branches hung from sparkling golden strings. 

This was it. This was the year I’d step onto the dance floor and find a match. I’d dance and chat with the men in the dance circle for approximately thirty minutes before having to make a final decision. If my choice also chose me, we’d share a kiss at midnight under that mistletoe and remove our masks.

That was the tradition in Mistletoe Mountain. I thought it just came from the town founders’ strong idealism that nobody should be alone on Christmas and Christmas was a time to find and share love, to kindle relationships, and to let magic happen. But I wasn’t sure that was really the case, but it made sense to me. So, every Saturday after Thanksgiving for the last two hundred-odd years, we kicked off Christmas with the Santa Claus Ball, complete with games, dancing, plays, carriage rides, and the Mistletoe Mystery. 

One beauty of this match-making phenomenon was that as part of the tradition, every person who attended the ball had to dress as Santa or Mrs. Claus, and possibly since this event started, people also had to wear masks–until midnight, that was. So as it was, we were all free to roam about and chat, but unless we recognized someone by their voice, we probably wouldn’t know who we were talking to. This thought used to make me nervous, but now I thought it was a sweet sentiment–getting to know people, especially a potential love match, by conversation and chemistry alone.

As I thought about it, my tummy somersaulted with excitement.

When I was a young girl, I garnered an innocent admiration for this event called the Mistletoe Mystery. My mother had spoken of it so fondly and painted the beauty of it so vividly because of her experience with my father. 

But that innocence waned for a while as I reached my teenage years. I thought it was weird that everyone was cool with kissing strangers. But then, this year, that original child-like awe crept back into my heart. Perhaps I truly had taken up my mother’s hopeless romanticism. 

“Wait!” Abigail shouted suddenly, stopping us all near an ice sculpture of a vintage Santa.

I flinched at the unexpected sound. 

“Jeez, what was that for?” Gretchen whined. “You scared the gumdrops out of me!”

I smirked. When Gretchen wasn’t being anxious or obsessive, she could be a little funny. 

Abigail took a moment to shove her hand down into her purse, elbow deep, and dig around. I watched with curiosity while Gretchen looked on with vexation until Abigail finally revealed the treasure from the bottom of her purse.

She held out her hand, showing three vintage brooches. “I know we know who we are right now, but maybe this’ll make it a bit easier to spot each other if and when we get separated.”

Gretchen chose the white diamond broach, while I was more attracted to the emerald. It was set in a golden swirling diamond shape. That left Abigail with the red one. 

“That’s the one I wanted anyway,” she said with a smug smile.  

Shortly after our arrival, around eight o’clock, the party was already in full swing. Gretchen managed to find Joey in the chaos of Clauses, and we didn’t see much of them. Abigail and I stuck together most of the time, visiting with small groups of men who approached us. Some tried to guess who we were, but we opted to play by the rules and not give in to their questioning. 

It was a nice evening. The music swelled around us, the aroma of cinnamon and apples and popcorn filled our noses. I remained mesmerized by the lights, some of which were programmed to change and flash with the music. 

I was tuning out a conversation between Abigail and a Santa when someone announced that those wanting to participate in the Mistletoe Mystery were to make their way to the dance floor, men on the north side and women on the south side. They reminded us we’d have thirty minutes of continuous dancing, switching every two minutes for the first twenty minutes, and then ten minutes at the end to find our chosen match before the kiss. 

My stomach was fluttering wildly. I’d have my first kiss in years in only thirty minutes–if everything went as planned. But, what exactly was the plan? What if I really did meet someone great? 

I didn’t have time to think about it as I made my way to the dance floor with at least fifty other people. It was a bit overwhelming, but I was in it. I was–mostly–ready.

I tried to scan the crowd of Santa Clauses, and something in my mind made me let out a giggle. This was hilarious, going on speed dates with a bunch of people dressed as the same magical old dude. 

My gaze was suddenly trapped by the observant watch of a slender, tall statured man in a velvety red suit. I thought I saw his fake white beard twitch. Was that a smile? My heart flitted in my chest. He was looking at me, right? Suddenly, I was overcome with nerves. 

But I didn't have time to react because the DJ tapped on the microphone and began counting down from three. At the sharp ding of the bell, the dance floor was filled with urgency. The hurried clack of heels passed me as men and women sought out their first match straight across from them. 

My first match met me and bowed slightly. “Good night,” he said formally. “Or, ah, how is your night going?” he asked. 

I looked him over. He wasn't the man who'd caught my attention before the bell rang. He was tall but skinnier. His fake beard was longer and his mask was matte satin.

“It's such a beautiful night,” I said, returning his bow with a small nod. 

He gestured at my hands and I lifted them up to meet him.

“I guess this is the part where we start dancing,” I said awkwardly.

The man's hands were clammy and warm. I supposed I couldn't blame him. Mine probably were, too.

I tried to think of something to say, but my first match ended up being totally silent. After that, I didn’t have much luck for the first few matches. The conversation was awkward or forced or nonexistent, and with one guy, I didn't have the chance to speak at all. 

I was about to give up and accept that I wouldn't have the same luck as my mother when the bell dinged and everyone switched partners again. I felt the velvety finish of the suit in my hands first after automatically opening my arms to receive my next dance partner. I looked up to see the same creamy white mask embroidered with holly branches and golden swirls that I had been attracted to earlier. I let my hands settle on his sturdy arm while he clasped the other confidently.

“Ah,” he said. “It's you.”

He spoke with a relaxed, soothing baritone voice. I was a bit dazed by it, even though it barely cut through the chatter around us. Apparently, a lot of these people were better at having conversations than I was.

It must have been because my answer was too slow, but the velvet-suited man felt the need to clarify.

“I saw you earlier, laughing. I was just curious what it was about,” he said.

I let him lead me in the dance and let myself focus on my response instead. I tried to relax under his watchful gaze. 

“I was just wondering if anyone else thought it was a little silly that we're all dressed up like old people trying to get dates,” I said. 

The white mustache twitched again. Another smile? I wondered what it looked like… did he have dimples? Was it a toothy smile or closed-lipped?

“You're not into older men?” the velvet-suited man asked. 

I had to smirk. “I'm into magical men.”

The man snorted and tightened his grip on my hand. “That's a high bar, but I respect it.”

I smiled again, and he studied my mouth, once again making me a bit self-conscious. I knew he wouldn't be able to see my whole face, as half of it was obstructed by my mask. I hid my face on his shoulder.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” he said. I could feel his hand move up slightly on my back.

“Don't you think that's a bit ironic?” I said. “We're all hiding.”

“But not forever,” he said. This man had a confident air about him that I really appreciated. “Just until midnight.” I could hear a teasing lilt in his voice that made me want to smile again.

I decided to look up at him one more time. 

“I hope I get to see you,” he said.

My heart faltered. Did that mean…?

But before I let myself question it, the words were out. “I want to see you, too.”

And before he could respond, the bell dinged, signaling our time to switch partners.

“Let's meet again,” he said before letting go of me.

Before I knew it, I'd been swept up by another mystery man. I wondered how much longer we had. How would I find him again in this crowd of people?

Fortunately, we were notified of our last dance after one more switch. I tried not to be disrespectful of the man I was dancing with, but he caught me glancing around, and I wasn't very responsive to his attempts at starting a conversation.

“Did you already find the one?” he asked. He wasn't mad or sad. It was more of a simple statement.

I hesitated before realizing that I was being a little rude. “Sorry,” I apologized automatically. 

The guy shrugged. “I get it. I think I'm already in love with the girl I first danced with.”

I smiled at this lighthearted honesty. “Really? Your connection was that strong?”

I could feel him radiating a grin in front of me. “Maybe so.”

“I hope it works out for you,” I told him sincerely.

The guy nodded his head in another direction and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “And for you, too. Seems like someone can't take their eyes off of you.”

I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn't get a good look over the people between us. I was about to make another comment when the bell made its final ding. My current dance partner said, “Good luck,” and slid off across the floor. 

The circle of the dance floor was filled with urgency as people shouted nicknames or codewords or as they held up symbols with their hands so their other half could find them easily. I kicked myself for not having thought of something like that. I also kicked myself for not wearing my taller heels.

I wasn't sure how much time passed as people tried to find their chosen matches, but I was beginning to worry I wouldn't find the velvet-suited man in time, or worse yet, he could have chosen someone else….

Just then, a strong hand caught hold of my arm and gently turned me around. “There you are,” he said.