Matchsticks and Candy Canes Read online

  “So,” Brynne’s voice broke the silence. “Do you work here, sir?”

  “S-sir?” he croaked, trying not to laugh.

  She blushed and looked away. “Uh, yes?” she stammered. “I’m sorry if that bothers you—”

  “It does bother me,” Carter said quickly. “I mean, you don’t have to call me sir. We look like we’re the same age, not that I’ve gotten a good look at your face.” He looked down at her again, hoping she would lift her head, but as usual her face remained hidden in the folds of fabric. He frowned. “I’m Carter Holly.”

  Even his name sounded like Christmas. “Okay then, C-Carter Holly.”

  “How about just Carter?” he said, walking towards the space heater under the register. He flipped it up on high, seeing her eyes widen at the sight. “It’s warmer over here, if you want,” he said, straightening up to organize the money in the register. “Only if you want. I know it means coming near me.” He frowned and tried to dial down the awkwardness. “And what about you, huh? What’s your name?” He dipped his head.

  “Brynne Mirren,” she answered in a tremulous voice.

  “Brynne Mirren—”

  “Just Brynne.”

  “Brynne.” He breathed out the name slowly, trying it out on his lips. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he would get the chance to. As she began to creep towards the heater at his feet, he busied himself with the cash drawer, making sure that he had enough change for the next few hours so he wouldn’t have to pester his uncle. Jeremy wouldn’t even come out from the back room unless he was shouted for, and that would give Brynne a chance to warm up in the shop for a while.

  She paused and he lowered his eyes a bit as she leaned back to give him a strange look. “Something wrong with the name Brynne?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not at all, actually. I wanted to know what I could call you.”

  Despite the simplicity of his words, they meant more to Brynne than he could have ever known. He wanted to know her name. He wanted to not have to call her by some nickname. Maybe he wouldn’t be like so many of the others who wanted to jeer and curse her.

  “Okay,” Brynne said.

  Carter nodded and politely returned his gaze to the task of checking the register.

  She lowered her eyes back to the space heater at his boots. The warmth radiated through the air, beckoning her closer. Unable to resist, Brynne was drawn like a moth to a flame. She stepped under the shadow of the counter, finding it easy to ignore the giant shoes behind her in favor of the blessed heat.

  “Ohh.” She sighed blissfully and stretched her pale, stiff hands out towards the source, letting them defrost fully for first time in forever. “T-this feels incredible.” Her long pale fingers stretched towards the black box with orange waves as Carter watched her from above while fumbling around with a roll of quarters. Every step, every movement was so delicate and graceful.

  “It’s only a little space heater,” he couldn’t help stammering as he dumped the coins into the drawer. “They sell them for under twenty bucks at the thrift store. You could set one up on your little cart if you want.”

  Brynne wasn’t even listening. She was huddled close to the heater, rubbing her hands as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

  “Someone your size shouldn’t stay outside for such long periods of time,” he said. “That way you wouldn’t end up freezing out there.” The corner of his mouth crooked upward as she basked in the orange glow of the heater.

  For the better part of ten minutes, Brynne was lost in a pleasant trance. Her fingers and toes, and even the tip of her nose all became toasty and happily warm within the span of several minutes. It was like a taste of Nirvana. Suddenly, going back outside sounded like the worst possible thing.

  She sighed though, knowing she couldn’t stay there forever. This wasn’t her world, and it was time to go before she got into trouble.

  Brynne shuffled backwards, forgetting the large feet behind her and tripping over the toe of Carter’s boot. With a yelp of surprise, she fell backwards onto his shoe. Far overhead, his face turned down at her with blatant surprise. Blushing in embarrassment, Brynne flailed to get to her feet and back away.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—” she hurried to apologize.

  “Carter? Everything okay up there?” A deep, powerful voice called from the back room.

  Carter’s eyes widened.

  Brynne squeaked and dove into a stack of storage baskets set up by the counter, ducking low as heavy steps drew closer.

  “Huh. Thought I heard a customer,” Jeremy muttered.

  “Eh, er no,” Carter said, looking quickly away from Brynne’s hiding spot. He tried to hide his relief as Jeremy approached the register. He hadn’t seen her. “Just talking to myself.”

  “Try not to scare the customers away, eh?” Jeremy said with a warm chuckle. “At least not until Marvin gets here.”

  “I’ll try not to,” Carter said, moving a bit to the left as Jeremy walked around to the front of the register. “When’s he coming in again?”

  “After five.” Jeremy frowned and looked around the shop. “Slow day, is it?”

  “It’s too cold for anyone to be out,” Carter said. He used the tip of his shoe to angle the space heater towards where Brynne was hidden as his uncle ambled to the window. At the very least Carter wanted to keep her warm while she was hiding. “It’s still a mess, isn’t it?”

  “Huh,” Jeremy huffed back.

  Carter glanced quickly at the baskets. She was hidden. She was safe. She was warm. That would have to be good enough. Lifting his head, he noticed his uncle was still staring hard outside of the bay window of the shop. “What is it?”

  “That cart’s still out there,” Jeremy mused, “and I don’t see the witch.”

  Carter caught the slight sound of Brynne shifting. He wished he could comfort her somehow, not that she would let him. The sight of her surprised, helpless face as she had been sprawled on his foot kept flashing into his mind. She was so freaking small. And the more often he was able to sneak a look at her face, the more he remembered the mark on her cheek. It didn’t look like anything other than a bruise. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t take a better look until his uncle went to the back again. “It’s technically across the street, Uncle Jeremy. You can’t be too mad about that.”

  “That little witch is bad for business.”

  “She’s not a witch!” Carter exclaimed as his uncle whirled around. “I mean, when did it all happen, you know? When did elves become Santa’s Rejects? And when did elf become synonymous with witch?” He frowned and thought of Brynne’s ragged coat and sad, timid demeanor. Weren’t witches supposed to be powerful? “I mean, she hasn’t done anything other than sell matchbooks around the holidays. There’s no harm.”

  “It’s bad for business,” Jeremy grumped. “My personal feelings for the elves are not the point. There are those who don’t trust em’. And I need people to come to my shop.”

  “So you don’t think she’s actually a reject?” Carter tried. “Or a witch?”

  “Huh,” Jeremy said, turning away from the window. “That’s neither here nor there.” He started to walk to the backroom. “I run a business before anything else, Carter. I can’t get caught up in pity for the elves.” He frowned briefly, eyes flickering to the shelves of bagels and muffins. “If there’s any samples left over at the end of the day, you can toss em’ her way if it makes you feel better.”

  “S-sure,” Carter said, hazel eyes widening as his uncle disappeared into the back room. He quickly crouched down and tried to find Brynne’s face amongst the baskets. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as a glimmer of one of her grey eyes poked through.

  Her face was half hidden again. Her breathing came in short, panicked breaths.

  Brynne found the courage to look at his face fully. He had a good-enough looking face. His eyes, hazel and searching, bore no glimmer of malice or lust and thanks to him, she was warm and had fresh bread in he
r belly. This human had had many opportunities to hurt or demean her and had been kind and honest instead. Should she go against her better judgement and trust him?

  “He rarely comes out when he’s working,” Carter continued. “Are you okay?” He held out his hand for her to take so he could pull her out of the basket, but she looked at it as though it was covered in thorns. His expression fell slightly but he wasn’t about to give up. Not when he couldn’t get her scared and embarrassed expression out of his mind. There had to be a way to show her that he didn’t mean any harm.

  “Come on,” he tried again, flexing his fingers a few times to beckon her, “take my hand, er, please?”

  To his shock and surprise, a half-dollar sized hand landed atop his proffered index finger. The comparison made her gasp audibly, and she snapped her eyes up to his, discovering he had a similar reaction himself. She braced her second hand next to the first, tentatively grasping at his hand.

  For two years he had observed the Christmas elf, but he never imagined touching her.

  And even more, he never fathomed her willing to touch him.

  But it happened.

  His thumb gently clasped over her hand and he tugged her carefully.

  “There we go,” he muttered, pulling her free from the crates. He kept his voice soft so his uncle wouldn’t hear him talking. But something tugged deeper. He could tell his uncle. He could find a way to keep Brynne warm and well-fed. She was safer here. With him. She had to be.

  Once she was standing on the floor again, he carefully released his grip on her hand and tucked it on the floor to steady himself on one bent knee.

  His eyebrows pinched together when he noticed she was clutching her hand. The same one he had just touched. “I… uh… I’m not sick or anything,” Carter muttered.

  “I know that,” she agreed awkwardly, dropping her hand to her side. “Of course not. That’s not why… sorry, that was just weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Don’t you think?”

  “Think what? Brynne, you’re kinda losing me.”

  “Come on, don’t be stupid.” He arched a brow, surprised that she had the nerves to call him such a name. “I’m assuming you’ve interacted with elves before?”

  He flushed, still not completely catching on. “No. Not on a personal or physical level,” he admitted.

  “I’ve seen your kind every day of my life,” Brynne mused, “but I guess it never occurred to me how big people are.” She ended with a sheepish expression.

  “We’re not that big,” he said, ducking his head a bit to look at her delicate hands. Tentatively, he held up one of his. “Not so different,” he muttered, looking towards her.

  She looked at his looming hand for a moment, then slowly lifted her own and rested her hand against his.

  “Not so different, right?” he said again. Slowly, he brought his fingers down and curled them around her hand. It was completely enveloped. “Mine are a little warmer,” he said with a worried chuckle, “but they’re still basically the same.” He dipped his head, still wanting to see her face again. “Right?”

  Brynne stared at their hands. Her breath was shaky. She could barely see her own hand between his sturdy fingers. There was so much power in his grip. She could feel the way that, unless he released her, she would have to fight to free herself. She swallowed away that dark thought, focusing instead on his question.

  “I guess so,” she agreed slowly. “I mean, it’s not like you have seven fingers or something.” She suddenly realized that her nervousness had eased and to her surprise, Carter’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly. And when she looked up again, he was smiling. Her heart quickened. She was sure Carter could see it pounding through the fabric of her shirt.

  “I should go,” she said quietly. “I could be missing customers outside.”

  Carter blinked as though coming out of a trance. “R-right, right,” he muttered, releasing her hand immediately. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. You came in for the money and now you have it.” He straightened up to adjust the heater so it was at the same place as before and Brynne watched him with helpless eyes.

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask to stay.

  “So I’m gonna go,” she said in a rushed voice. “Thank you. Thank you for the warmth, and the food, and the money! Thank you for all of that!” She was practically tripping over her own feet to find the door.

  Carter stood up from behind the register and waved weakly, disappointed that she was leaving so abruptly. “You’re always welcome to come back,” he called, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

  “Sure!”

  “It’s warm in here.” He wanted to apologize for some reason, but he couldn’t come up with a reason why. He had touched her and she didn’t seem that upset by it. So why was she in such a rush to get away from him?

  She glanced back at him, then shoved against the door and slid through without another word. The blast of cold from outside made him shiver as he watched her stumble through the snow back to her cart. Through the window he could see her breath as she pulled her ragged coat tightly around her.

  Far from being cold, his hand still burned from her touch. He stood watching her for a few minutes, then looked around. The store was very quiet now and he suddenly wanted to talk. He went down the hall to the back room and found Jeremy pounding out some fresh dough.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asked in a low voice, occasionally glancing over his shoulder towards the front room.

  Uncle Jeremy tossed the dough mound onto a floured cutting board, finally angling his gaze over at Carter.

  “Didn’t I hear the door?” he asked.

  “I wanted to see how cold it was,” Carter lied quickly.

  Uncle Jeremy nodded and started laying into the dough with his squared hands. “Heh. Well, at least make yourself useful and sprinkle some cinnamon sugar over this.” He wiped his hands on the towel around his neck and leaned back to let his nephew add to his work. “What’d you wanna ask me?”

  “I, uh,” Carter frowned as he tried to work out how he wanted to say... what he wanted to say. This kind of request was a big risk, but he couldn’t get that tingling sensation out of his mind. He couldn’t get her surprised face out from his memory. He shook his head hard as he sprinkled cinnamon sugar over the dough in an even layer.

  “Carter?”

  “Right! Earlier on, you mentioned your personal feelings about elves don’t matter as much because you have a business to run.”

  “Uh huh,” Uncle Jeremy said as he reached over for a mug of cold coffee. He took a sip and made a face. “Ugh, I’ll have to ask Marvin to pick me up something fresh. This tastes like cigarette butts.”

  “Do you really think they’re witches?” Carter croaked suddenly.

  The mug lowered a fraction. “Huh?”

  “The elves,” Carter tried again. “Business aside, do you think they’re witches?”

  Jeremy pressed his lips together, considered taking another sip of his coffee and then lowered the mug again.

  “No.”

  “No?” Carter tried to hide his surprise. “Really?”

  The older man shook his head. “Really. I don’t care one way or the other, but I don’t think that them being elves means they’re witches. However other people do, Carter. It’s not up to me. And if I start speaking my mind—”

  “Then people will listen?” he tried.

  “Then I’ll start losing business to the megastore in the next town over,” Jeremy said. He took another heavy gulp from his coffee mug and smacked his lips together. “Good God that’s awful. What brought this all about anyway?”

  Carter glanced at his boots for a moment. The elf girl’s – Brynne’s – face flashed up at him. Pink and surprised. That mark on her cheek. Those puffs of air that flew from her lips and her hands like ice.

  “Carter?” Jeremy tried.

  “That girl,” Carter started, hoping he wouldn’t regret it, “the girl
who sells matchbooks across the street.”

  “The one with the cart.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been talking to her.” Carter peeked up to catch Jeremy’s reaction. He blinked, but didn’t say anything. “She’s nice.” Carter pushed forward. “I want to know if it’s okay if I bring her into the shop sometimes. It’s freaking cold and she’s freezing out there.”

  Jeremy pressed his lips together, longing more than ever that his coffee was hot and fresh. It certainly would have helped him swallow his nephew’s words easier.

  “So say something,” Carter muttered. “What do you think?”

  “You’re right. It’s cold.”

  “What about letting her come in here?”

  “Carter, I don’t know…”

  “I could hide her!” Carter yelped, sensing his opening. “I could hide her behind the register! No one would see her, Uncle Jeremy.”

  “Why does her being cold suddenly bother you so much?”

  “It’s not suddenly.” Carter remembered the first time had had seen her several years ago. “I never like seeing her outside all the time. Frankly, I don’t understand why she needs to be out there so much in the first place. It’s not like she sells much and…” he trailed off. “I’d like to know she has someplace warm to go. I’m asking you, can I bring her in sometimes?”

  Jeremy heaved and released a deep breath. His eyes darted up and down his nephew critically. “Carter. I have to ask you something.”

  Carter swallowed hard. “Y-yeah? What is it? You want something in exchange? I can work more hours. I can volunteer. If it’s about the money then—”

  “You know this isn’t about the money.”

  “So what is it?”

  “Do you fancy this girl? This elf?”

  Carter’s breath caught and he quickly composed himself. “No one says the word fancy anymore—”

  “Answer the question, Carter.”

  Carter sighed. “It’s… it’s not about that. It’s just that she gets so cold out there,” he mumbled forlornly, haunted by the images of her pretty face scrunched up to fight for warmth.

  Jeremy drug a hand over his chin. He stepped up and started tearing off the cinnamon rolls, expertly coiling the dough into generous proportions onto the baking sheet. Carter observed, not wanting to say another word and allow the man to be alone with his thoughts. He worried that another word or plea could change his mind completely.