along with a tiny train set on an oval track surrounding a cluster of Christmas trees and a four-foot-tall gingerbread house. I take a picture for Ginger.
"What's a Christkind?"
"She's the original Candy Cane Princess."
"Stop it." I elbow him in the ribs, sure he's goading me but for once not minding it.
"I'm serious." He dodges my elbow with ease, nodding toward a blonde teenager behind a velvet rope with a line of children waiting to take photos with her. She's got long curly locks, a foot-tall crown on her head and a matching gold gown. I observe the scene for a few seconds, realizing Nick is telling the truth. Clearly Reindeer Falls adapted this tradition from Nuremberg.
"Wow," I finally manage. "Her crown is so much bigger than the one I got."
We cover more ground, passing a gothic spire-shaped structure that must rise twenty feet in the air. Nick tells me it's a fountain, the Schöner Brunnen, dating back to the fourteenth century. Colorful figures adorn the fountain which is lit from below at night. Nick tells me they represent liberal arts and that two brass rings embedded into the wrought-iron fence surrounding the fountain are meant to bring good luck if you spin them.
He's the consummate tour guide.
And beyond patient as I stop to look at everything. Nothing is too small or odd to capture my interest. The market has so much to choose from my head is nearly spinning with Yuletide joy. Nick helps me pick out traditional gifts for my family: for Noel, an ornament handmade by a local craftsman; for my parents, an angel called a Rauschgoldengel. Her wings are coated in gold foil and Nick regales me with her legendary history.
Nick tells me that Nuremberg is famous for their gingerbread, which they call lebkuchen and have been baking for hundreds of years. It comes in every size and shape imaginable and with a variety of coatings. I purchase a wide variety for Ginger, knowing it will thrill her to sample and attempt to reconstruct the recipes.
"If you could have anything you wanted for Christmas, what would you ask for?" I question while we're waiting for the shopkeeper to bag up my collection of gingerbread. He's silent and I'm not sure he heard me so I turn, one eyebrow raised in question.
"Nothing I can have," he answers, and he seems uncomfortable, not looking directly at me. While I'm trying to decipher that he reaches past me to take the bag from the shopkeeper.
"I can carry that," I insist, trying to take it from him. Our fingers brush and that brief touch is enough to make my stomach drop and my breath catch.
It must be the Christmas market.
That's all.
I'm turned on by Christmas markets. Which makes sense, anyone would be. I bet the birthrate of Nuremberg skyrockets each September. They must pump pheromones into the air along with the scent of cinnamon. Get everyone all hot and bothered and drunk on mulled wine to ensure the continuity of the local population.
"Do you miss living in Europe?" I ask, suddenly curious. Curious about him in a way that has nothing to do with him being run over by a sleigh or hog-tied by a rogue tribe of elves.
"Of course," he replies. "But not as much as I missed Reindeer Falls."
My heart nearly stops. "You missed Reindeer Falls? As in, you always intended to come back?"
"I was always coming back." He looks at me strangely. "How could anyone not return to Reindeer Falls?"
"Right," I agree, except I'm nearly breathless. Because the air between us feels charged. Because his eyes softened when he said it. Because some people do leave, as quick as they can with no intention of returning.
I swear Nick is looking at my lips, but then I blink and I'm sure I imagined the entire thing. Perhaps they're chapped? I dig around in my handbag for a chapstick and smooth it across my lips as Nick looks over my shoulder at something or other.
"Come on, let's eat." Nick turns me in the direction of a food stall. The smell of smoked sausages permeates the air and my stomach growls. We each get a traditional Nuremberg sausage, which is three small sausages served in a bun. Then we grab drinks from another stall, which is the equivalent of a Christmas market bar—mulled wines and spiked eggnogs along with a variety of other drinks I can't decipher the names of. Drinks are served in a ceramic mug, which is both charming