Don't Call Me Christina Kringle by Chris Grabenstein

Author:Chris Grabenstein [Grabenstein, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-5997-7
Publisher: Open Road Media

Thirty-seven

“These are incredible!” said Christine, nibbling on a snowman sugar cookie. “It tastes like, I don’t know—fresh fallen snow.”

“That’s the peppermint,” said Trixie.

“I could eat a million of these!”

“Go ahead,” said Flixie. “They’re zero calories.”

“What? What about all that butter and sugar you whipped together?”

Flixie waved her hand dismissively. “Our magic sparkle flakes take care of all the calories. Makes ’em evaporate or somethin’.”

“Wow.” Christina put down the snowman and bit into a gingerbread man. “Mmmm. Like a caramel apple covered with ginger snaps!”

“Wait ’til you taste the gumdrop buttons, honey.”

Christina plucked off a red one. It tasted like fireworks, cherries, and then, strawberry syrup.

The three of them had stayed up all night baking. Well, Christina took a nap between three and six a.m. Now every flat surface in the kitchen, except, of course, the floor, was covered with fresh-baked cookies on cooling racks.

Christina picked up a glittering snowflake cookie.

“Is that sugar?”

“Better,” said Flixie. “Pixie dust.”

Christina devoured the snowflake, which, strangely, made her feel all warm and cozy; like she could tell these two little people anything and they wouldn’t laugh or judge her. They’d just listen.

“These cookies are our gift to you and all the brave firefighters,” Trixie said proudly.

“My Dad loved giving,” said Christina. “He always told me, ‘Giving makes you feel better than getting ever can.’”

“Ain’t it the truth,” said Trixie.

“His favorite Christmas story was the one about the Three wise men. You know—with their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh?”

Flixie looked confused. “Who’s Merv?”

“Myrrh,” said Christina. “It’s like biblical body lotion.”

“Oh. Nice.”

“He always said: ‘The first Christmas gifts were given; they weren’t exchanged.’ ”

“So what’d these three wise guys do?” asked Trixie.

“They followed a star, hundreds of miles, all the way to Bethlehem. They gave their gifts to the newborn baby Jesus but they didn’t get anything in return. Or did they? That’s what my Dad would say: ‘Or did they?’ And then he’d just wink at you and smile.”

The two brownies nodded and let that soak in.

“Mmmm. I was working across the street when I smelled something sweet.” With another double-finger snap-clap, the new guy, Smoothie, strolled into the kitchen. “Oh, and there’s cookies too.”

“Help yourself,” said Trixie.

“Just don’t drip any of your hair goop on ’em,” added Flixie.

“No problemo,” said Smoothie as he ambled over to the rack of chocolate chips.

“So,” Trixie said to Christina, “speaking of gifts, you never found the one your father wanted to give you last Christmas?”

“Nope. And Grandpa and I searched everywhere. You wanna see what I was going to give to him?”

“Sure!”

“Hang on.” Christina left the kitchen and ran to her bedroom.

While she was gone, Trixie turned to Smoothie, filled him in.

“Her father was a fireman. Took toys to sick kids stuck in hospitals on Christmas Eve.”

“And poor kids in housing projects,” added Flixie. “Just like the three wise guys who followed a movie star to Bethlehem.”

“Last Christmas Eve,” said Trixie, “he died. Before he could give Christina her big Christmas gift.”

Smoothie nodded. “Gotcha. Thanks for the update, ladies.

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