Poles Apart (8 page)

As the door clicked shut, Sarah leaned
against the rough wood and closed her eyes. That went a little different to
what she’d expected. Fancy Santa believing in Jesus and the virgin birth. Who
would have thought?

A loud knock startled her, the sound
pushing its way through the wood the exact height of her ears, resonating
between her left and right eardrum. Must be the landlord. Perfect timing. Probably
parked the reindeer behind her cabin, out of sight.

She turned and cracked open the door. There
he was, in all of his glorious blue-eyed splendor, sans the Santa fuzz, glasses
and crimson clothing.

I’m on to you Saint Niklas.

The jingling bells and barking dog
pulled their attention to the passing sleigh, heading away from the cabin.

“Ha-ha-ha. Goodnight, Sarah Jones.” With
a final wave, Santa and his sleigh, his reindeer and dogs, faded into the night,
their sounds swallowed by the snow.

Jaw dropping, Sarah turned her gaze from
the runaway Santa, to firm-footed Niklas filling her doorway. Had she been
wrong?

Niklas pointed to where the sleigh had vanished,
eyes wide. “Was that—”

“Yes.” She released a sigh then smacked
Niklas lightly on the chest. “Oh come on, you’ve surely seen Santa before,
living here in Rovaniemi?”

“Not in my front garden, riding a sleigh.
Ever.”

“Technically it’s my front garden, at
least for almost three weeks.”

He chuckled, deep and throaty. She could
get accustomed to that sound.

“You’re right. So, Sarah, what was
Joulupukki
doing riding across your snow at this time of night, this long before
Christmas?”

She lowered her gaze. “Wouldn’t you like
to know?” Turning, she invited Niklas inside. “Are you ready to teach this
newbie all about fires and saunas?”

“
Juu
.”

Shooting him a stare and a frown, she
replied, “Yes, me.”

His laugh resounded again—louder, longer—filling
the room almost as much as he did. “Sorry, I meant yes, not ‘you’. I’ll have to
remember you don’t speak Finnish.”

“You could teach me a few phrases while
I’m here. I could perhaps weave them into my novel.”

“I’d like that.”

So would I. I mean, my muse would like
it.
Focus,
Sarah
.
“Should we get started? I must say, I’m rather keen to try that
sauna stuff again.”

“You enjoyed it yesterday?” Niklas
removed his boots and stood them neatly at the door. His jacket found its way
onto a coat hook beside hers, as did his snow pants. Boy, did he look good in
jeans.

Sarah watched him closely, warmth
flooding through her. She tipped her head and arched her back. Eyes closed, she
stretched to the roof, circling her arms in no particular hurry down to her
sides. “Oh yes. It was so relaxing.” She turned and moved toward the kitchen.
Stopping in the doorway, she leaned against the wall. “I must warn you, camping
was never my strong point.” Reaching up, she tapped the dangling mistletoe. It
swung back and forth like a pendulum.

Niklas crossed his arms and rested his
shoulder against the wall beside the fireplace, an amused expression on his
face. His gaze see-sawed between Sarah and the mistletoe she played with.

Mistletoe!
Shoot.
She dropped her hand. What must he be thinking? That she was deliberately waiting
there under the mistletoe for him to...

She pushed away from the wall and
hurried through the kitchen to the sauna.

Niklas followed.

Inside the small, dimly lit room, she
glanced up at him. “Uh, so where do I start?”

He grinned, his blue eyes burning into
her soul.

Please, don’t do that. You’re making
me...um...my muse, nervous.

“
You
don’t start anywhere, Sarah
Jones. Yet. Sauna is a ritual, a custom to be enjoyed and revered. First you
understand what sauna is all about and then I’ll teach you about lighting that
fire.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He frowned, pushing up his sleeves.
Muscles rippled on his forearms, shaping the tight fitting gray sweatshirt
higher up. “And why would I do that?”

Oh, I could think of a million
reasons—same ones Andrew had for leading me on, stupid fool that I was. But not
this time. I’m older. Wiser.

Instead of breathing life to her
thoughts, she shrugged. Was she really wiser? Could she rightly judge a
person’s character? Niklas could be the nicest man on earth, with the purest
intentions—he certainly seemed that way, hadn’t given her cause to think differently—and
here she went dumping him in the same class as Andrew Palmer.

But then Andrew, too, had seemed nice.

“Sauna time is not just for a quick in
and out, Sarah. You need to give yourself some hours for the process.”

Sarah’s mind drifted to earlier that morning
when she’d lost herself in the steam and heat. And enjoyed it. Time had slipped
by without her noticing. Or caring. These Finns were onto something. If she
could bottle that experience, and sell it to the corporate world, she’d be a
billionaire.

“...getting the wood, the water,
lighting the stove, tending the fire—these are all as integral to the ritual as
actually taking the sauna.”

She loved the way he said the word.
Sowna. Heat rose to her cheeks, and they hadn’t even brought wood into the
sauna yet, let alone lit this fire.

Focus. Stop daydreaming. You’ve already
missed some of what he’s said.

“You need to fire the stove fast. It must
be brought to maximum temperature rapidly, that’s why logs are not suitable for
the oven. Start with sticks as thick as your finger.” He glanced at her hands
and grinned. “Maybe as thick as my finger, rather.”

Sarah couldn’t stop her gaze from
lowering to his strong hands. Sticks? Might as well put logs on that fire.

“Work your way up to wood an arm’s
thickness. But remember—”

“No—big—logs.” She grinned. “I get it.” Although
that was about the only thing she did get. When he spoke of an arm’s thickness,
was he referring to her anatomy? He must have, for if he were gauging it on himself,
they’d definitely be back to using logs. And that was taboo.

Sarah clamped the corner of her bottom
lip between her teeth. He’d barely instructed a minute or two, and already she
was lost. She wasn’t entirely sure she could blame it on her lack of
fire-making skills though. Niklas Toivonen was a distracting teacher.

Very distracting.

“Don’t look so worried, I will make sure
I put the correct logs out each day.” He reached for her arm and gave it a
gentle squeeze. “Now, let me teach you about our sauna.”

At the end of his explanations, the
blank look on her face must have said it all. Heated rocks; the water tank;
löyly
—sauna
steam he clarified; cleaning the ash drawer, and the grate for airflow; opening
the drawer, closing the drawer; filled buckets; towels; shut windows; hydration;
temperature; dry sauna; wet sauna; and a myriad of other customs and
instructions. Her mind spun.

With a light hold on her upper arms, he
gazed deep into her eyes. “I’ve a better idea. If you don’t mind me coming
around every night, I’ll sort out your sauna and the fireplace in the lounge.
All you’ll need to do is put more wood on when needed.” A grin spread across
his face, lighting his eyes. “And please, use oven gloves when you do.”

Sarah swallowed hard. “I—I’d like that.”
I mean, my muse would.

Right... Blame it all on the Muse. How
long would that creative goddess allow Sarah to make her the scapegoat?

“Out
with it, Niklas. Who is she?” Hands on her hips, and a smile on her face, Mother
waited for an answer. She’d not let the subject go.

Perhaps if he feigned ignorance. “
Äiti?
”
He grabbed another cardamom bun from the emptying plate, stuffing the entire
thing into his mouth. She wouldn’t expect him to speak with his mouth full.
She’d always taught him it was bad manners to do so.

Mother pulled the plate away. “Niklas
Toivonen, don’t you
Äiti
me. I brought you into this world. I raised
you. And I know you better than you know yourself. You have not been able to
wipe that smile from your face the entire week. You’re in love. So out with
it—what is her name?”

In love? Niklas took a huge swig of
coffee. He wasn’t ready to tell his parents.
Äiti
might be smiling now,
but she’d not be thrilled once she knew the woman he was falling for lived on
the other side of the world. She’d have a myriad of questions for which he had
no answers. Yet. Could he and Sarah make a long distance relationship work?
Would he move south? Would she move north? How long should they date before
marriage? Was she even interested in him? She seemed...intrigued. And there were
sparks of mutual attraction between them.

Scrap that. There were flames.

Getting to know Sarah the past week had
been nothing short of amazing. She was funny and interesting, educated,
beautiful. They’d talked until late each night, curled up on either side of the
couch. The crackling fire never went out until after he’d left. The saunas were
another story. The fires burned out, unused. In the mornings, he returned to
light the sauna oven again. They’d talk more, drink more coffee. Too soon he
had to leave and afford her time to write her novel. And he had duties to get
on with—chopping wood, and listening to children’s Christmas wishes—counting
the seconds until he’d see her again.

But Niklas sensed she carried deep pain,
hidden well behind her charm and wit. Many times the past week he’d resisted
the urge to wrap his arms around her, stand beneath that mistletoe, and kiss
her hurt away.

Smitten, that’s what he was. And perhaps
his mother was right about falling in love. He had to find answers to the questions
Äiti
would raise. Personally, he didn’t care which side of the planet
they lived, as long as she was by his side. Now that Sarah Jones had walked
into his life and turned his world upside down, he could not lose her.

Mother stared across the kitchen table
at Father. “Speak to your son, Claus. He needs to tell. We’ve waited too long
for this day, now he wants to keep it a secret? We must meet this young woman.”

She turned back to Niklas. “Son, why not
bring her for Christmas Eve dinner? And your birthday lunch on Christmas day.”

Niklas shook his head and smiled. “
Äiti
,
I never said there was someone.”

Father sighed, deep. “Maaria, leave the
boy alone.” He brushed away the crumbs dotting the crimson fabric that covered his
rounded belly. “If Niklas has met a girl and he’s in love, he’ll tell us when
he’s ready. Won’t you?” Father winked as he held Niklas’s gaze.

“
Juu, Isä
. You know I will.”

“See.” He shot Mother a told-you-so
look.

She glared back then began to
clear away the dirty dishes. Noisily. “Humph.”

Niklas leaned his elbows on
the table and rested his chin in his intertwined hands. “So,
Isä
, are
you excited to be going back to work?”

Father nodded, looking
healthier than he had in a while. Finally, Niklas would have spare time in the
scant daylight to show Sarah the fun side of Lapland. Maybe he could convince
her to jump into the
avanto
. He smiled. If he managed that, he could
manage anything. Even convincing her to marry him.

Mother wagged her finger. “You make sure
you keep warm today, Claus. Keep your scarf and gloves on.”

“Yes, Maaria.” Father rose from the
table. “I must finish getting ready for work. I need to go in earlier to catch
up on what’s happening in the world. It is, after all, nearly Christmas.” Bending
over, he clamped Niklas’s hand with his own. “Thank you for standing in for me
these past ten days, Son. The world, and I, owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“It was nothing,
Isä
. I enjoyed
it.”

Father tipped his gray head in
acknowledgement and leaned closer to Niklas. He lowered his voice. “For my
part, Niklas, I don’t care which pole on this earth you live close to, as long
as you are happy. But, I do hope it’s north, because you make a fine Santa, and
nothing would make me more proud than to have you fill my shoes one day.”

“
Isä
? How did you...?”

Father smiled. “Korvatunturi.”

Of course. All the secrets of Christmas.
Including his. If Santa could hear the wishes of children from all across the
world, he’d surely hear those of his own son even better.

Perhaps he should take Sarah to
Korvantunturi. Then she could know the secrets he’d been keeping from her,
secrets that would be revealed should he bring her home for Christmas Eve
dinner.

He was the son of Santa Claus.

Sarah seemed to have abandoned her
obsession with his alter ego though. She’d made no contact with ‘Saint Nick’ since
he’d managed to mislead her into believing that Santa and he were two different
people. But, he had to tell her. How could he go through life with her living
any kind of lie? If the truth came out later, she’d feel betrayed.

Problem was, Santa never revealed to the
world who he really was. Niklas was not exempt from this rule. He, too, had
taken an oath never to tell anyone.

A smile wafted onto Sarah’s lips as she
stepped inside the sauna. A productive and interesting week, that’s what it had
been. Niklas and her getting to know each other. Her manuscript finally taking
shape. What would the new week have to offer? For one, it would bring Christmas
in two days’ time. She should get a gift for Niklas. Her muse really liked him.
Maybe she could cook him dinner on Christmas Eve. But what? A roast turkey
would be too big for two. Perhaps a tasty baked salmon.

Sarah plunged the ladle into the bucket
of water Niklas had filled early that morning. What if he had family close by?
Wouldn’t he want to go there instead? She hoped not. Christmas alone seemed far
less attractive than it had the day she booked her ticket to Lapland. In all
their hours of talking, Niklas hadn’t really said much about his own family. Come
to think of it, he’d shied away from the subject, moving their conversations
back to her and her writing career. Then again, there were people she preferred
to avoid talking about, too.

Tonight, she’d ask him—about his family,
about dinner. And perhaps, if she got really bold, she’d steer him toward that blasted
mistletoe. Every night it became harder for them both to ignore the elephant in
the room.

She could always chalk the event up to
research. Isn’t that what she’d been accused of before?

The sauna rocks hissed the moment she
tipped the ladle, its contents splashing against the heated surface, sending a
cloud of
löyly
to the roof. Perspiration oozed from her skin as the
invisible steam descended.
Löyly
. What a great word. Sounded far more
fun than ‘sauna steam’. She’d definitely write it into her story.

Prostrating on the wooden bench, Sarah
closed her eyes and pointed her toes. If she stretched just a little, she could
touch the wall while her head butted against the other side. This bench was
just her size.

She released a contented sigh. Even
though she spent quite some time in the sauna each morning, she’d still managed
to whack out twenty-five thousand words this week. And loved every one of them.
Of course, she could’ve been much farther along in her writing, but she
wouldn’t have given up a single moment with Niklas to spend it in front of her
laptop.

She liked him. Really liked him. It had
been so long since she’d felt this way—about anyone. Even Andrew in the infancy
of their romance.

Maybe she should move that piece of
mistletoe and place it above the couch.

Breathing in deep, Sarah savored the
haunting but pleasant smell of frankincense. Spicy. Woody. A gift on Tuesday night
from Niklas, as were the other seven essential oils he’d bought to enhance her
sauna experience. She’d loved every one so far. The sharp freshness of lemon
oil. Ylang-ylang’s exotic and sweet smell. A bouquet of fresh aromas in the
rose oil. The woodiness of sandalwood. Myrrh’s warm mustiness. And her
favorite—lavender, with its light freshness. She would definitely use that one
up faster.

“Where’s the gold?” she’d joked when she
had unpacked the gift, setting the frankincense and myrrh bottles side by side.

“It’s coming.” Niklas had looked far too
serious for one pulling her leg.

“Right...” Andrew had said that, too.

Sarah used a different oil every morning
the past week. Just a few drops in the water tank. Tomorrow she’d try the last
fragrance, the one that seemed at odds with the rest. According to the leaflets
inside each individual packaging, the essential oils all blended well with one
or more of those she had. Except this last one. It made no mention of the
others Niklas had bought.

Another anomaly was that all of the oils,
barring this one, were good for the heart and mind amongst other things like improving
concentration, calming, reducing confusion and tension, combating stress,
creating inner peace, increasing one’s spiritual self—so they claimed—and
fighting depression, grief, anger and fear. But this final oil, with its warm, sweet
smell, was one that helped wounds heal.

Hyssop.

What she wouldn’t give to feel whole
again.

Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be
clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
Psalm 51—David’s prayer for mercy after committing adultery with Bathsheba.
She’d loved that Psalm.

Had Andrew ever prayed this prayer?
Begged for God’s mercy and compassion? If not, he was a bigger deceiver than
she knew him to be. If he hadn’t, how did he live with himself, his new wife, and
his church after what he’d done to her?

She pushed away the dreadful memories,
seeking the calm and inner peace the aromatic oil promised. Unlike her saunas
this week, today it didn’t work. Bitterness tainted the fragrance. Andrew
Palmer did not deserve grace—not God’s, not hers. She couldn’t escape how she
felt. He’d stolen more than just her innocence. He’d crushed her very soul.

What was wrong with her, allowing a
passing thought of Andrew to taint her day? Getting no relaxation in the sauna
after her mind had wandered to places she usually tried not to go, Sarah gave up
on the heat and steam.

She tried her hand at writing, get those
words down for the day and free herself up for Niklas’s visit tonight. Even
that was a disaster as she gazed blankly at her laptop screen. Few words came.
And those that did were no good.

A gray cloud of gloom shadowed her.

Chocolate. That’s what she needed. The
endorphins would kick-start her out of spiraling into this black hole. She
wasn’t due for a writing reward—the next milestone still several thousand words
away—but desperate times called for desperate measures. She scurried out from
behind her laptop and headed toward the kitchen.