In Alaska There Really Is A North Pole

He looked older than he had last December, though only a year had passed. His hair was damp from the snow, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. He still had the same careful way of standing when he entered a busy room, as if he wanted to understand everything before stepping into it.

His gaze found hers.

The paper in Lucy’s hands slipped.

Jason caught it before it hit the floor.

“Still trying to make an entrance?” he asked.

His voice brought back a dozen small moments she had spent trying not to remember: the two of them sorting postcards after closing, his shoulder brushing hers in the narrow stockroom, the unfinished conversation outside beneath the glowing sign. Last winter, he had looked at her as if he wanted to say something.

So had she.

Neither of them had.

“I was testing your reflexes,” Lucy said.

“Good. I was worried I’d gotten rusty.”

The customer at the counter cleared her throat. Lucy turned back quickly, placing the paper beside the mugs.

“Boxes,” she said, though she was not sure whether she meant the customer’s order or the thoughts suddenly crowding her head. “Right.”

Jason came around the counter. “Where do you want me?”

The question was ordinary. His tone was not. It held the same quiet attention he had given her last year, the kind that made her feel noticed even when the store was full.

“Register two,” Lucy said. “The line is getting long.”

He nodded and moved into place.

The rush became a living thing.

A man wanted a set of postcards mailed to his parents in Oregon. Two children argued over a stuffed polar bear. A woman asked whether the Santa hats came in adult sizes, then bought three after Jason found the last ones in a lower bin. Lucy wrapped mugs, counted change, and answered questions about the large red Santa statue outside.

Jason worked beside her with an easy rhythm that felt familiar enough to be dangerous.

“Gift receipt?” he asked.

“For the snow globe,” Lucy said without looking up.

“Already printed.”

“Blue bag for the ornament.”

“On your left.”

Their hands crossed over the counter, close but never touching. When Lucy reached for a roll of tape, Jason passed it to her before she asked. When he ran out of small bills, she slid a fresh drawer toward him.

“You remember,” he said.

She glanced at him. “You’re not that hard to work with.”

“That’s almost a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

His smile appeared quickly and disappeared just as fast, as if he knew the line was too crowded for either of them to linger over it.

A little boy in a puffy red coat tugged at Lucy’s sleeve. “Is Santa here?”

“He’ll be back soon,” she told him.

Jason leaned closer. “He’s probably checking the reindeer.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Do you know them?”

“Personally,” Jason said. “The smallest one owes me a candy cane.”

Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. The boy ran back to his family, satisfied.

“You’ve become very convincing,” she murmured.

“I practiced.”

“With the reindeer?”

“With you.”

The tape in Lucy’s hand pulled crooked across the paper.

Jason noticed. Of course he noticed.

Before she could answer, a sharp beep came from the register. The screen froze. A line of customers waited while the receipt printer clicked uselessly.

“I’ve got it,” Lucy said.

She pressed the button beneath the counter, then tried again. Nothing.

Behind her, the phone rang for the third time.

“Lucy,” Jason said quietly, “the line’s reaching the ornaments.”

“I know.”

“I can take the phone.”

“I know.”

“And I can ask someone to open the other register.”

“I said I know.”

The words came out harder than she meant. Jason’s expression changed - not hurt exactly, but careful.

Lucy hated that look. She had spent the morning preparing to handle everything, and now the counter seemed determined to prove that preparation was not the same as control.

The supervisor appeared from the aisle, carrying a clipboard and a worried frown. “What happened?”

“Register two froze,” Lucy said. “I’m restarting it.”

“Do that. Jason, take the phone and send someone for the spare receipt roll. Lucy, move the next customers to register one.”

Jason was already reaching for the phone. “On it.”

The supervisor hurried away.

Lucy turned to the waiting line. “Thank you for your patience. We’re going to keep things moving.”

A woman sighed. A man checked his watch. The children grew restless.

Lucy opened the drawer beneath register one and began shifting supplies. Her fingers moved quickly, but the tightness in her chest stayed. She had wanted Jason to see that she could handle the shift. Instead, he had walked in and found her surrounded by problems.

He returned with the phone tucked against his shoulder and a spare roll in his hand.

“Customer service is sending someone to look at the register,” he said. “The receipt roll was empty, too.”

“I know.”

He set the roll down. “You don’t have to say it like I’m the enemy.”

Lucy looked at him.

The line moved forward in uneven steps. Somewhere near the back, a child began singing a Christmas song, missing most of the words. The smell of cinnamon drifted from the café area, mixing with wet wool and the faint plastic scent of new toys.

“I’m not saying it like that,” she said.

“You are a little.”

She wanted to deny it. Instead, she lowered her voice. “I thought I could manage this.”

“You can.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

Jason’s face softened. “Because managing everything alone is not the same as doing a good job.”

The words landed more deeply than they should have.

Last year, she had liked that he understood when she did not explain herself. She had also been frightened by it. Understanding made it harder to pretend she did not care.

Jason glanced toward the line. “Let me help.”

“You are helping.”

“No. I’m working beside you. That’s different.”

For a moment, the noise of the shop seemed to pull away from them.

Lucy looked at his hand resting near the tape dispenser. His fingers were red from the cold, a thin white scar crossing one knuckle. She remembered that scar from last winter, when he had cut his hand opening a shipment and insisted he was fine while she wrapped it in a paper towel.

She had wanted to hold his hand then.

She wanted to now.

“I don’t like needing people,” she admitted.

Jason’s eyes stayed on hers. “I know.”

“You don’t get to say that like it’s obvious.”

“It isn’t obvious.” He picked up the tape dispenser. “You told me last year.”

Lucy’s breath caught.

Had she? Not exactly. She had said she hated asking for help. She had said people usually promised to stay and then got busy with something else. She had not told him how often she had believed that about him.

The register beeped back to life.

A customer stepped forward. Lucy turned to greet her, but the old ease between her and Jason had changed. It was no longer only memory. It had become something present, something standing beside her in the bright, crowded store.

They worked faster after that.

Jason directed customers toward the open register while Lucy wrapped gifts. He kept the phone tucked under his chin and still managed to make a little girl laugh when he accidentally placed a Santa sticker on his own sleeve. Lucy found herself watching him between orders, noticing how he tapped the counter twice whenever he was thinking.

At last, the line shortened.

The final customer bought a handful of postcards and a small wooden ornament shaped like a cabin. Lucy slid the receipt across the counter.

“Have a wonderful day.”

When the doors closed behind them, the sudden quiet felt almost unreal. The store remained bright and busy, but the pressure had eased. Snow pressed softly against the windows. The giant Santa outside glowed red beneath the gray afternoon sky.

Jason leaned against the counter. “We survived.”

“Barely.”

“You did fine.”

“So did you.”

“Was that another compliment?”

“Don’t push it.”

He smiled, and this time it stayed.

The supervisor returned with the clipboard tucked beneath one arm. “Good work. That was the biggest rush we’ve had all week.”

Lucy straightened, expecting instructions about restocking or cleaning the registers.

Instead, the supervisor looked between them.

“Since you two already know the counter, I’m assigning you as partners for the season.”

Lucy’s smile faded before she could stop it.

Jason’s eyebrows lifted. “The season?”

“Through Christmas.” The supervisor made a note on the clipboard. “You’ll share the gift counter schedule, cover each other’s breaks, and handle the holiday display when we change it next week.”

Lucy felt the warmth drain from her face.

The thought of seeing Jason every day had seemed appealing when it belonged to memory. Daily proximity was different. It meant no more leaving questions unfinished by pretending the shift had ended. It meant hearing his voice across the counter, noticing every glance, every pause.

Jason looked at her.

There was surprise in his expression, but beneath it something steadier. Hope, perhaps. Or the same uncertainty twisting through her.

“Sounds good,” he said.

Lucy folded the used wrapping paper into a neat square. “Sure.”

The supervisor moved away, already calling instructions to someone in the stocking aisle.

Jason lowered his voice. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m convinced we’ll sell a lot of mugs.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She met his eyes. The store lights reflected in them, bright and warm, while snow gathered beyond the glass.

Last year, they had almost said something. This year, they would have weeks together in which not saying it might become impossible.

Lucy reached for the next roll of paper.

“Then I guess you’ll have to ask me again.”

Jason’s smile turned uncertain.

For the first time all afternoon, Lucy did not look away.

End of chapter one. 32 more chapters and about 73,947 words in the full book.