Clink
Clink
Clink
The sound of the pickaxe reverberated throughout the mine burrowing into Chip’s skull, making his head throb.
A chunk of coal broke loose from the cave wall in his designated corner and Chip took the chance to take a quick break. His shoulders sagged as he wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek with the sleeve of his red shirt. The fabric smeared the sweat into the fine layer of coal dust on his skin, turning it into a gritty paste.
That’s how it was in the mine. Despite the freezing temperature outside, he always came home sticky with sweat and coated in coal dust.
Chip glanced sideways at Fritz, who was chipping away with cheerful precision in the adjacent section. Fritz always arrived grinning, tin of homemade treats in hand, ready to share with everyone.
Chip was once like that too. So eager to work, so eager to please and do his part to make the special day, special.
But years of working in the mine had made Chip apathetic to his job. It wasn’t like coal mining was the most glamorous, or even the most important job here. Honestly, he’d only ended up here by accident.
Deciding that his short break was over, Chip picked up the piece of coal and threw it into his bucket. Almost a full day of work and all he had to show for it was a half-filled bucket. Barely enough to meet his quota.
Chip glanced over at Fritz’s bucket and saw that he had coal up to the rim. He was still so new to the job. It was still exciting to him. He still had the passion for it.
Reaching into his back pocket, Chip pulled out the candy cane he’d tucked there that morning. Still wrapped, miraculously free of dust that seemed to seep into every crevice in the mine. Chip made a feeble attempt at cleaning his hands by wiping them on the inside of his shirt, then peeled back the plastic and snapped off a piece. He popped it into his mouth before the dust had a chance to settle on it.
He rewrapped the rest carefully and tucked it away again.
The familiar flavor of peppermint coated Chip’s tongue, and it helped to relax him. The point of his ear itched and Chip reached up to scratch it, feeling the coal dust packed beneath his fingernails.
Then he picked up his pickaxe and got back to work, doing his part, however small, to make the season bright.
#
An hour later, Holly descended into the mine, sleigh bell in hand. Its cheerful jingle signaling quitting time.
Chip slung his pickaxe over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of his bucket, which he managed to fill a little more.
He spotted Fritz struggling with his gear, trying to balance his pickaxe and both full buckets at once. Chip took pity on him when Fritz nearly knocked himself in the head with the handle of his axe.
With a grunt, Chip took the pickaxe from him. Fritz gave him a jolly smile. Even through the grime, his cheeks stayed rosy red.
“Thanks, Chip. How’d it go today?” Fritz asked as they toward the lift. It didn’t go unnoticed by Chip that Fritz was doing everything he could to not look at Chip’s bucket.
Fritz really was one of the nice ones. Chip wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing down here. He belonged in the Workshop, where the cheeriest and jolliest worked.
“About the same as yesterday,” Chip said as the lift creaked upward, carrying the miners out of the dim cavern and toward the light. “You did well today, I see.”
“Oh fa-la-la,” Fritz said with a sheepish laugh. “I’m just doing my part to make the season merry.”
Chip wasn’t sure how hauling coal helped make anyone’s season bright. No one actually wanted the coal. That’s not what the kids ask for.
Aboveground, the bitter North Pole wind bit at them the moment they surfaced. It was harsh enough to make a human freeze, but it was nothing the elves couldn’t handle.
The miner elves stowed their pickaxes in the gear closet, then made the short walk to the depository. There, the coal was weighed, and each elf was handed a quota slip with a number for what they were expected to bring, and what they actually had.
Once again, Chip fell short.
The miners piled into the reindeer-drawn sleighs and rode back to the village. When they arrived at Base, they climbed out and made their way into the warmth of the building.
Chip had always wondered how they kept the Base so spotless. With coal miners tromping through day after day, he figured the floors would be permanently streaked with black dust. His own apartment floor was.
But here the tiles gleamed.
The miners lined up at the quota-takers’ desks like they did every evening. Some elves didn’t care who they got. They just wanted to hand over their slip and be done with it.
Not Chip. He always made sure to get in Tinsel’s line.
Tinsel was, in Chip’s completely unbiased opinion, the prettiest elf in the entire Pole. Her ears came to such a perfect point, and her cheeks were so round and always rosy.
As he waited, quota slip in hand, a familiar wave of embarrassment crept up his neck and ears. The numbers on the slip weren’t great. They never were. And yet every day he told himself he’d try harder tomorrow.
He never did.
When he finally reached the front of the line, Tinsel greeted him with a smile bright enough to rival the lights on the Christmas tree in the main square.
“Hey there Chip!” she said, her voice as sweet as sugarplums.
“Hiya, Tinsel.” Chip stammered. He handed her the slip and scratched the back of his right ear, a nervous tic from childhood.
Tinsel glanced at the numbers and jotted them into her big green ledger. As always, she didn’t flinch or frown or raise an eyebrow at his underwhelming haul. That was another reason he always chose her line.
“Well jingle my bells, Chip,” she said cheerily, “today’s haul is even better than yesterday’s!”
Elves couldn’t lie, but they sure could stretch the truth, which is exactly what Tinsel was doing for Chip right now.
“Thanks Tinsel.” Chip said with a small smile. “Oh, I saved this for you.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the other half of the candy cane. The plastic wrapper was smudged with coal dust, but the candy inside was untouched.
Chip made an attempt to wipe some of the dust off on his shirt, which didn’t help at all.
He heard Tinsel giggle. Chip looked up, just in time to see her grin as she took the candy.
“Thank you, Chip,” she said. “It’s just what I needed.”
His ears burned like they’d been dunked in hot cinnamon cider. His face had to be as red as Rudolph’s nose. If Tinsel noticed, she pretended not to. She simply unwrapped the candy and popped it in her mouth, still smiling.
Chip walked out of the Base with a tad bigger smile on his face. He began to walk his usual path home.
Chip paused outside the candy shop, unable to help himself.
Through the frosted windows, he watched elves dusted in sugar instead of soot. They swirled candy canes in peppermint glaze and dusted cocoa onto truffles. One elf stretched a strand of taffy, grinning so wide it nearly reached his ears.
Chip bet none of them went home at night and had to scrub every part of their little body until it was red and raw. They probably smelled like cinnamon and sugar instead of coal dust and sweat.
He had to turn away before the envy settled too deep.
He passed a group of wrapping elves as they giggled about some workplace mishap of the day. Colorful paper draped every corner of the shop, and toys lined the tables, waiting to be wrapped.
The miner elves never got to laugh at workplace mishaps. If something went wrong down there, it was nothing to giggle about.
Chip reached his apartment and found half a leftover chocolate cake he had for dinner the night before. He cut a slice and turned on the radio.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle belling
And everyone telling you be of good cheer
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
Chip stood by the window, staring out at the village. Rising above everything else was the Workshop. It was the shining heart of the North Pole. That’s where every elf dreamed of working. Close to Santa. Making toys for kids on the nice list. There was never a dull day at the Workshop.
The coal mine was the place no elf wanted to work. At least that was Chip’s opinion. Coal wasn’t something anyone looked forward to getting on Christmas morning. No kid asked for it. But rules were rules. Naughty kids got coal. That’s just how it was.
Santa has his list, and he checks it twice. He knows when kids have been naughty and when they have been nice. Sometimes, Chip thought he’d rather work in the monitoring department, deciding who got candy and coal. Though, if it were up to him, no one would get coal. The stuff was awful.
Chip finished the piece of cake and licked the chocolate icing off his fingers. Earlier, some of his coworkers had invited him out for eggnog, and though he’d thought about declining, tonight he needed the pick-me-up.
Chip walked along the cobblestone streets, that always seemed to be magically clear of snow, even though it snowed every day at the Pole.
He walked into Sip & Sleigh, the bar that the elves frequented. Blue Christmas was playing over the speaker, not helping Chip’s mood.
Twinkling lights were strung throughout the bar. Garland was wound around every chair and beam. The bar’s centerpiece was the giant wreath hanging on the wall above the bar.
He saw his coworkers had spread around and were in different areas of the room. Chip found Fritz sitting at the bar with a few other elves from their mining team. All of them still wore their dust covered work boots.
He slid onto the stool beside him.
“Chip!” Fritz beamed with his usual jolly giggle
Chip ordered an eggnog from the bartender and joined the conversation.
“I tell ya, today’s haul was something else,” Fritz exclaimed. “We found the biggest vein of coal I’ve seen since starting!”
“I saw your buckets,” said Holly, sipping her spiced cider. “Must’ve been a fun day for you!”
“Oh, it was sugarplums and candy canes all day!” Fritz replied, beaming.
Chip wasn’t feeling the same cheer.
“What good is finding coal if fewer kids are on the naughty list than ever?” The words came out before he could stop them.
The group quieted, giving him a few puzzled glances. Chip turned back to his drink, heat rising in his ears.
Why did he say that? He didn’t want to ruin the good cheer. He was happy that Fritz enjoyed his job. He had to be honest, he was envious of Fritz’s excitement over his job. Chip was like that at one time too.
The bell above the door jingled. A moment later, someone slid into the seat beside him. Chip glanced over, seeing Tinsel. She waved down the bartender before turning to him with a smile that made his heart thump.
“It’s nice to see you out, Chip,” she said. “You don’t join us for after work drinks enough.”
She ordered a mulled wine, then turned back to greet the others, just as the conversation drifted to a familiar debate.
Which reindeer was the best?
“Dasher’s top-tier,” said Twinkle, gesturing wildly. “Speed, agility, and flair. He’s the whole package!”
“Now wait a minute,” said Holly. “Sure, Dasher is fast, but Comet has incredible stamina. I mean, he just keeps going and going! Endurance is what matters on Christmas Eve.”
“You’re all forgetting about Rudolph,” Tinsel said, crossing one leg over the other. The bells on her shoes jingled softly. “It’s not just speed or stamina, but leadership. He lights the way.”
The table broke into laughter and playful protest, agreeing to disagree. The conversation moved on to the results of the snowball fight semifinals. The Holly Jolly Hitters had recently pulled out an upset over the Nutcracker Knockouts.
Tinsel turned to Chip, her voice soft. “So… how was your day?”
“It was okay,” he said with a shrug and sip of eggnog.
Tinsel was silent for minute and sipped her own drink.
“Oh, sparkling snowflakes!” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot.”
She reached into her red-and-green striped purse and pulled out a folded cloth. It was deep red, soft, and clearly expensive.
“Here,” she said, grabbing his hand pressing the cloth into it before he could protest. “So next time, you don’t have to wipe off any more candy canes on your shirt for me.”
Tinsel had a twinkle in her eyes as she watched Chip examine it.
Chip blinked, staring at the cloth. It was the nicest thing he’d ever held.
It was far too nice for a coal miner like him to carry. Plus the reminder that he had to worry about being covered in coal dust everyday didn’t sit right with him.
“I can’t take this,” he said quietly, trying to hand it back. He probably already smeared dust on it.
But Tinsel shook her head and gently pushed his hand back.
“I’ll keep it because you’re making me, but I’ll just keep it at home, so it doesn’t get ruined with dust.”
“I’m giving it to you so you can cover it with dust.” Tinsel said.
Chip stared at the cloth and took a long sip of his drink.
“You don’t enjoy what you do,” Tinsel said after a moment, watching him closely.
Chip hesitated. Was it okay for an elf to say that they didn’t enjoy their job? He’d never heard of anyone ever admitting that.
“…Not lately,” he whispered to Tinsel.
She nodded. “You can always ask for a transfer. Where would you want to go?”
Chip didn’t even have to think. “The Workshop. Of course.”
“Of course,” Tinsel smiled. “Have you taken the entrance exam?”
He shook his head. “I heard it’s tough. Only the top twenty percent pass.”
“Well, there are other jobs too,” she said gently. “I heard there’s an opening at the post office. You could help sort Santa’s letters from the children.”
Chip only nodded.
#
The eggnog had gone lukewarm in his mug, but Chip was still nursing it. Tinsel had moved on to cider, and the rest of their coworkers were talking about going to the gingerbread shop.
Tinsel stayed seated next to Chip. Her smile had softened, but her eyes still held that sparkle that somehow made everything around her feel warmer.
“So,” she said, nudging him gently with her elbow, “are you going to apply?”
Chip stared down at the cloth she’d given him, still folded neatly in his lap.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I mean… what if I’m not cut out for it? What if I try and just… fail?”
Tinsel leaned back on the bar stool, the bells on her shoes jingling lazily. “Then you try again. And maybe again after that. Failing’s just part of figuring out what kind of elf you are.”
Chip let out a soft, tired laugh. “I used to think I was the kind who made things better. Now I’m not so sure.”
Tinsel looked at him for a moment, then took another sip of cider. “You gave me half a candy cane, wrapped in coal dust, after falling short of quota. You still wanted someone else to have a little sweetness. That seems like making things better to me.”
Chip didn’t know what to say to that. So he just nodded, folded the cloth a little tighter, and put it in his coat pocket.
#
A week later, Chip began applying to the Workshop.
The first night he sat down with a blank sheet of parchment in front of him, he just stared at it for ten full minutes. He tapped his quill against the edge of the table, then against his nose, then tucked it behind his ear, then took it out again.
It felt foolish. Borderline embarrassing.
What did he have to show for himself?
His resume, if you could call it that, was just decades of coal mining and a line about being Employee of the Month back in ’03—1803. He’d kept the certificate all these years, yellowed and curling at the edges. It had a drawing of a smiling pickaxe on it. Very official.
When Tinsel arrived later with a stack of peppermint scones and a glitter pen between her teeth, she didn’t even blink at the empty parchment.
“Perfect,” she said. “A clean slate.”
Chip gave her a doubtful look.
“I don’t have any real skills,” he muttered, arms crossed.
Tinsel arched a brow. “You mine. For coal. In darkness. Surrounded by potential cave-ins and dust that gets on everything. Every day.”
“Yeah. Not exactly glamorous.”
“No,” she said, tapping his ear with her pen. “But definitely skilled.”
They spread out at his tiny kitchen table, scones on one side, cocoa mugs on the other. She wrote in cheerful cursive while he paced behind her, listing every boring-sounding thing he’d done in the mine.
“Okay,” she said, pausing to read back. “‘Expert in subterranean navigation. Experience with heavy tools and tight deadlines. Calm under pressure. Works well in low-light conditions.’”
Chip blinked. “That makes me sound… impressive.”
“You are impressive,” she said simply, and added “reliable” to the resume.
The next session was at a little café near the reindeer games field. Tinsel came prepared with flashcards. Each one had a practice question written in shiny green ink.
“Tell me about a time you overcame a challenge,” she said, waving one.
Chip scratched behind his ear. “Um… I once broke a pickaxe mid-shift and had to finish the quota with just a chisel?”
“Great!” she said, jotting it down. “We’ll just say ‘demonstrated resourcefulness under pressure.’”
“Sounds like a different elf,” Chip muttered.
She smiled. “No Chip, that sounds like you.”
A week later at his apartment, they sat cross-legged on the floor amid crumpled drafts and chocolate-smudged napkins. Chip paced nervous circles while Tinsel read the questions aloud.
“What motivates you?” she asked one evening.
“You,” he said automatically.
He froze. She looked up.
Her cheeks went a little pink, but she didn’t say anything.
Chip laughed nervously, ears reddening. “Also… candy canes.”
They both laughed at that, and for a moment, Chip forgot how scared he was.
A week before Christmas, he landed his first interview.
He wore his best red-and-green shirt, the one with the little candy button cufflinks. He scrubbed behind his ears until they stung. He even polished his boots until they almost didn’t look like mine boots anymore. Almost.
He practiced his answers in the mirror so many times, he started answering himself in his sleep.
Why do you want to work in the Workshop?
“Because it’s where the magic happens.”
What makes you qualified?
“I’m dependable, adaptable, and don’t mind glitter under my nails.”
When he arrived at the Workshop gates, his breath caught.
It was bigger than he realized. Towers of toy parts. Laughing elves dashing through the halls with clipboards and holly in their hair. It looked like the kind of place where dreams didn’t just come true, but were built.
He didn’t get the job.
The letter was polite.
Dear Chip,
Thank you for your interest in the position of Wrapping Department Assistant. Unfortunately…
He read it twice. Then he folded it up, stuck it in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, and didn’t mention it to anyone.
Not even Tinsel.
But she knew anyway.
That night, she left a chocolate chip cookie in his mailbox with a note that simply read:
I’m still proud of you.
The second rejection came after a promising second-round interview in Material Sorting. He’d even worn a tie that time. Green with little sleigh bells on it. But the job went to someone else. Someone with more “organizational proficiency.”
Whatever that meant.
After the third rejection, he didn’t want to open the letter at all. But Tinsel showed up with a box of bon bons and a 6-pack of hard cider.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We’re just getting started.”
He looked at her across the table, her chin resting in one hand, half-drunk bottle sweating in the other.
“We?”
She smiled. “You didn’t think I was going to let you give up, did you?”
And slowly, stubbornly, tenderly… her belief in him started to become something he could almost believe in, too.
One snowy night, Chip trudged into Sip & Sleigh, his boots scuffing against the polished floor. He saw her already at the bar, cradling two mugs of eggnog, her scarf looped three times around her neck and one pom-pom missing from her hat.
She pushed a mug toward him without a word.
Chip sat down. His shoulders sagged.
Tinsel didn’t ask about the interview. She didn’t have to.
“You’re not meant to stay in the mine forever,” she said softly, curling her hands around her mug. “I can feel it in my bells.”
Chip let out a breath. “You always say that.”
“That’s because it’s true.”
She nudged his knee with hers under the table, and they clinked mugs.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
#
The new year arrived with the village wrapped in a quiet hush, every rooftop frosted in sugar-white snow. Icicles dangled from lampposts like crystal garland, catching the morning sun in rainbow glints. Candy-colored flags fluttered gently in the breeze, and the chimneys puffed out little clouds that smelled faintly of cinnamon and clove.
There was a kind of stillness in the air that only came in January. The frantic cheer of December had faded, and a softer kind of hope took its place.
January was a clean slate. A fresh page.
On the third morning of the new year, Chip opened his mailbox and found a scroll tied in green and gold ribbon.
He froze.
His hands hovered over it, as if touching it might make it disappear. The silk ribbon shimmered in the weak morning light.
He glanced around. No one was nearby. Just snow-covered porches, twinkling lights, and the low jingling of wind chimes in the distance.
Chip stared at the scroll again, his breath fogging in front of him. Then, slowly, like peeling back the final flap on an advent calendar, he untied the ribbon.
His fingers shook.
Dear Chip,
Jingle bells and congratulations!
We are delighted as dancing sugarplums to offer you the position of Materials Prep Assistant at Santa’s Workshop.
Your experience, dedication, and excellent coal-mining track record have not gone unnoticed. We believe your steady hands, eye for detail, and warm holiday spirit will make you a perfect fit for our bustling Workshop team.
In this role, you’ll assist with the preparation, sorting, and magical enhancement of materials used in the crafting of toys, gadgets, and all things joyful. It’s a vital step in the process of making Christmas dreams come true and we’re thrilled to have you on board.
Please report to Workshop Entry Gate 3 on your first day.
With warmest wishes,
Twizzle
Head of Elf Resources
Santa’s Workshop, North Pole
Chip blinked.
Read it again. And then again.
He stood on the snowy steps of his apartment, scroll in hand, for a full minute before it hit him.
He got the job.
It wasn’t toy-making. Not yet.
But it was the Workshop. The Workshop. The real one, with toy and magic hammers and glitter-swept floors.
It was a foot in the candy-striped door.
He let out a breathless laugh and pressed the scroll to his chest. Then, without thinking, he ran. Down the front steps, past his still-frosted window, down the cobblestone lane, boots kicking up snow as he moved.
Coal dust trailed behind him, falling from his coat like old shadows being left behind.
The whole village seemed brighter somehow. The lanterns twinkled a little harder. The cold bit less sharply. The candy shop windows sparkled as if cheering him on.
And for the first time in a long, long while… Chip didn’t feel like he was on the outside looking in.
#
That night, the ice rink was lit up with soft golden lights, casting starry reflections on the glossy surface. A gentle snowfall drifted from the clouds like powdered sugar, and somewhere in the distance, a quartet of caroling elves sang harmonies in front of a cocoa stand.
Tinsel sat with her mittens wrapped around a thermos, legs tucked beneath her on a plaid blanket. She looked up when she saw him, and her smile began before he even said anything.
Chip ran over, a little clumsy, like always. His ears were red from the wind, but his eyes were shining.
He held up the scroll.
“I got the job,” he said, barely able to contain the grin stretching across his face.
Tinsel’s eyes widened, then lit up like someone had flipped a switch behind them.
“I knew you would!” she squealed, launching up and throwing her arms around his neck. Chip caught her, staggering back a step, laughter bursting out of him like bells.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were double-rosy, and her eyes shimmered.
“I know it’s not toy-making,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I think, if I work hard, and stay late, and maybe take some classes—”
Tinsel placed a mittened finger gently over his lips.
“You’ll be the best Materials Prep Assistant they’ve ever had.”
Chip’s breath caught. He looked at her, and noticed the gentle curve of her smile, the way her eyes softened when they met his.
His heart pounded like reindeer hooves in his chest.
He took a breath, trying not to fumble it.
“Would you…” He hesitated. “Would you want to go out with me sometime? Officially, I mean?”
There was a beat. Just long enough to make his stomach twist.
But then Tinsel’s smile slowly changed into something radiant and sure, like the first light of dawn peeking over a snowy hill.
“Chip,” she said, nudging her boot against his, “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing.”
He gave a soft disbelieving laugh and before he could think to do it first, Tinsel leaned in and kissed him.
It was quick, warm, and tasted faintly of peppermint and chocolate. Her nose bumped his, and the bells on his hat jingled quietly as they touched.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were pinker than ever.
Chip could only stare, a stunned grin slowly stretching across his face.
#
On his first day, Chip stood before the towering candy-striped doors of the Workshop, nerves bouncing in his chest like jingle bells in a tumble dryer.
He took a deep breath, straightened the collar of his freshly washed (and dust free thanks to Tinsel) red-and-green shirt, and stepped inside.
The scent of peppermint, sawdust, and fresh paint hit him in a rush.
Inside, the Workshop was a whirl of joyful chaos.
Elves bustled through candy-cane corridors, carrying blueprints rolled under their arms, bins of computer chips, boxes of half-assembled toys, ribbons trailing behind them. There were bursts of laughter from one room, the soft chime of music boxes from another, and above it all, the steady hum of magic and momentum.
The floors gleamed. The walls were painted with murals of Christmases past. Sleepy children unwrapping teddy bears, snowy mornings with sleds by the door, stockings filled to the brim.
No coal dust.
Just color and purpose.
A supervisor with a clipboard and a cocoa-colored mustache appeared from around the corner.
“You must be Chip!” he said, slapping him warmly on the back. “Glad to have you aboard. Let’s get those electronic parts sorted first. We’ve got three video game teams behind schedule, and the computer team is saying they can’t find anymore RAMs.”
Chip blinked. “Right. Electronic parts. Got it.”
And just like that, he was in.
At lunch, he met Tinsel in the courtyard, where the snow was soft and undisturbed, like icing on a cake. Icicles clinked gently from the overhangs, and little birds hummed carols as they flitted between feeders.
Tinsel was already waiting on a bench, her holly-decorated lunchbox perched beside her. Inside were cookies shaped like hammers, and she handed him a thermos of milk.
“How’s day one?” she asked.
Chip sat down, still a little dazed from the morning whirlwind.
He grinned, a little shy, but wide enough to almost reach his ears.
“It’s not toy-making,” he said. “But it’s close. Closer than I’ve ever been.”
Tinsel leaned against him, their shoulders brushing.
“You’re in the building, Chip,” she said with a wink. “That’s how it starts.”
He looked down at the thermos, then at her.
“It’s thanks to you, really. You helped more than you know.”
Tinsel answered with a smile and then leaned in to kiss his cheek. It warmed him more than the cookies ever could.
“Hey,” she said suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Have you seen Santa yet?”
Chip chuckled. “No. But I did catch a glimpse of Mrs. Claus. I think she brought him lunch.”
Tinsel squealed. “Stop. That’s so cute. I can’t believe I’m dating someone who works in the Workshop now.”
He laughed. “It’s very official, isn’t it?”
She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Oh, it’s real official.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, their breath fogging the air, the world soft around them.
Through the frosted window behind her, Chip could see the toymakers at work. One painted a rocking horse with candy-apple red stripes, another stuffed plushies so gently you’d think they were real. A team of three was fitting together a set if Legos, testing each one with a delicate click.
Chip watched, captivated.
And for the first time in a long, long while…
He felt hope.
Hope that maybe this was only the beginning. That there was still more to learn, more to build, more to give.
And that, Chip decided, might be what Christmas was really all about.
Gabby Gaspard 