Oaken’s favorite feature, however, was the shelves of merchandise lining the walls. Directly opposite the reception desk, shelves offered select items from his Hygge for Home line: wool-scented candles, mugs with take-home cocoa mix, cozy picture books, and the like. All with smartly printed labels featuring the Oaken family logo. There were sections for Oaken’s ointments, Oaken’s anti-ailment remedies, and Oaken’s beauty balms—each of his own invention. The shelves on the wall directly across from the curtains contained his newest line of offerings, souvenirs that he called Oaken’s Tokens. They contained snow globes, carvings of snowgies, baskets containing the awkwardly revealing yet tastefully traditional towels his family was so fond of wearing, and many other items intended to surprise and delight.

  “Oaken’s Family-Friendly Cozy Cottages are all inclusive and come with unlimited lutefisk and sauna use. We have a continuous supply of heated towels, warm cookies, and cocoa.”

  Brows meeting in the middle of her forehead like caterpillars, the woman opened her mouth to speak. A firm believer in seizing every opportunity to wow and delight, Oaken waved a freshly baked cookie under her nose. “Care for a treat?”

  She paused in confusion before taking the cookie and nibbling politely.

  “Good, ja?” When she nodded, he continued with his pitch. “In addition to such amenities, each guest gets fleecy slippers and a soft, signature towel to wear during their stay that they take home afterward. Guests can choose whether they want to take meals communally in the sauna or in the coziness of their private cabin.”

  Continuing his spiel, he pivoted and pointed back toward a windowed wooden door situated halfway between the reception area and the trading post counter. “On the board over there is a list of nightly sauna activities. Each evening we offer something different: charades, trivia, sing-alongs, storytelling, and my favorite—the family dance party. Storytelling nights will feature rotating themes, such as spooky speculations, traditional tales, and comedic amusements called Oaken’s Jokens. Guests will also receive a gift bag of assorted all-natural, locally obtained Oaken products, and the kiddies get to select one free item from Oaken’s Wall of Tokens as a treasured keepsake of their magical visit.”

  Grabbing a colorful, hand-knitted satchel from beneath the registration desk, Oaken thrust the bag into the woman’s arms. “Since you are getting this very special preview, the Oaken family wants you to have this bag of complimentary cozy items as you consider booking your next getaway with us.”

  There he paused. That was the pitch in its entirety. He waited, blinking down at the woman, whose expression had not changed in the slightest since she had walked through the door. After a moment, she replied, “I have a delivery. It’s on the porch. Sign, please.”

  As soon as Oaken signed the slip, she turned to leave. No matter that she was a delivery person. Everyone was a potential customer. People who toted packages up and down the mountains for a living had families, too. Following her out the door, he watched as she climbed into her sled. “Remember. Make your hassle-free reservations at Oaken’s Cloakens and Sauna, or Oaken’s Hus of Hygge tiny beauty salon in the village. Tell your friends! Bye-bye.”

  Oaken waved as the nice lady disappeared down the lane, then turned his attention to the parcels on his porch. In addition to a bag of walnuts for the cottages’ signature cookies, his delivery included a fresh supply of jars and labels from the printer in Arendelle for his latest invention: a carrot-balm beauty face mask. The mask could be used with or in place of the sauna, to give you a fresh, moist glow when you had no time for a good sweat.

  Humming to himself, he turned the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED and carried the parcels into the store. Soon Wandering Oaken’s would become a multi-kingdom destination, more famous than Wes-Lee’s, a beloved string of Weselton traveler-respite and goods-of-convenience posts. Of course, Wes-Lee’s possessed an iconic mascot. Weslee the Wolverine’s likeness greeted weary travelers from large signs along the main trading routes of Weselton. But Arendelle had cute, furry animals, too.

  Oaken hurried to the counter to set down his parcels. He grabbed a pencil and his list of ideas for his ever-expanding enterprise. Below Wandering Oaken’s Annual Winterfest: frozen snowground, ice rink, and sliding sleigh adventure ride, he scrawled Get adorable mascot.

  Setting the paper on the countertop, he turned his attention to the jars and labels. Tomorrow he and the family would package the rest of the balm for guests. Right now, he only needed enough for himself. As was his tradition on the eve of every new venture, Oaken liked to take time to simulate the customer experience to ensure maximum coziness. A moment of hygge awareness and appreciation. Today he would sample the carrot face mask while eating warm cookies and practicing his jokes during some well-deserved sauna time. That way he could personally ensure the cookies and towels were at the perfect temperature, the jokes would flow smoothly, and the carrot balm would give his face a fresh-sweat radiance that would last for days.

  Making a quick things-to-do list in his head, he headed to the cold storage off the stockroom and grabbed the vat of carrot balm. Next he headed into the changing annex of the reception space to shed his rather constricting clothes for a heated, brightly colored towel.

  He had gotten the idea from Olaf, who came asking about holiday traditions. The inquisitive little snow person had asked for a towel to take home as a souvenir of his visit. Oaken had been so pleased by the request that he’d given Olaf his favorite towel as a memento. He liked to think of the little fellow wearing it around the castle. Towels were so much cozier than everyday clothes. Plus, it was good advertising, ja?

  On his way back through the guest area, he picked up the tray of cookies. While fresh, they were no longer warm. He set them on top of the wood-burning stove. Allowing the tray to warm while he filled one jar of balm would allow the tasty treats to heat to the perfect temperature.

  Placing the wooden vat on the counter, he proceeded to fill one tiny jar, affixing it with a dainty label front and center. He and the family would take care of the rest of the jars in the morning. And shell the walnuts. He glanced over toward the nuts.

  Huh?

  Oaken scratched his head. He could have sworn he’d left the walnuts on the counter next to the jars. But they were no longer there.…

  Perhaps he’d accidentally taken the bag into the storage room or the changing annex and absentmindedly set it down. He did that sometimes. No matter. They would turn up eventually.

  Intent on returning the carrot balm to cold storage, he picked up the vat and made his way across the store. Pausing at the stove, he inhaled the heavenly aroma of freshly baked cookies. Nearly ready, they would be perfect to eat while having a good, steamy sweat. Remembering he needed to prep the sauna for maximum steam, he set down the vat and backtracked to add water to the sauna stones. Typically, entering Oaken’s sauna was like stepping into a tropical oasis. Steamy moisture and the scent of burning cedar tickled the senses. But not this time. The place was as cold as Elsa’s ice palace.

  The fire that heated the sauna had gone out, and the extra wood was gone. Strange; he could have sworn his family had restocked it earlier that day. Nothing, however, was burning—except the cookies! With no cedar aroma to distract, he could clearly smell them. Rushing out of the sauna, he raced to the stove and carefully lifted the tray using the corner of his towel to protect his fingers.

  The cookies had definitely exceeded optimal warmth.

  No matter. A moment on the porch while he collected more wood for the sauna would be just the right amount of time to cool them off. He had just set the tray on the porch railing and turned toward the woodpile when a familiar high-pitched squeak echoed from inside.

  Oofta! Not again.

  The sauna door slammed shut just before he reached it. Peering through the window confirmed his fears—three ecstatic snowgies, led by that scoundrel William, had barricaded themselves in the sauna and were building a fort out of wood and colorful towels.

  Did Marshmallow know William was causing mischief down the mountain? How had he and the others gotten all the way to the trading post?

  BANG!

  Rattling outside led Oaken to deduce the three snowgies weren’t alone. Creeping to the front door, Oaken listened to the noises coming from the porch. Convinced that whatever was making the racket was complicit in the snowgies’ coup, the shopkeeper threw open the door, coming nose to nose with a most unexpected accomplice. Mouth stuffed full of cookies, the creature swallowed with a resounding gulp. A second later, its mouth opened wide as steam from the flaming-hot snack rose from its throat. Sucking in a lungful of air, the animal let out a huge yawn to cool its brain.

  “Sven!” Oaken reprimanded. “What have we talked about? You can’t just eat things that belong to someone else. You need to ask permission first, ja?”

  “Bwrahf.” Sven brayed out an apology and nosed the tray with its two remaining cookies toward the shopkeeper. Thankfully these were a test batch and not needed for guests. But still, the animal needed to respect the boundaries they’d drawn. Sven’s other companion—the big blond ice boy—was fond of saying reindeers were better than people. But people didn’t tend to eat everything not nailed down.

  The reindeer brayed again, batting his long lashes. At least Sven seemed sorry for his actions. His tiny menace of a buddy was another story entirely. William had no respect for anyone’s authority. And this time, the rebellious snowgie had brought reinforcements.

  “As payment for your snack, Sven, please go get Olaf. Tell him William is loose again, ja?”

  The reindeer hesitated for an instant, and Oaken had to make the stern face with the eyebrows before Sven grunted in agreement and headed down the lane. If not for his insatiable appetite, Sven might make a good mascot for his latest franchise. Oaken would have a think on that while he shelled some nuts for a new batch of cookies.

  Where did that bag of walnuts go?

  “Hoo-hoo!”

  As he reentered the store in search of nuts, the sauna door nudged open and a voice called out. Lunging forward, Oaken leapt hands-first into the opening, just in time to prevent the door from slamming shut. “Got you!”

  He grabbed for William, and the sauna went dark. One of the snowgie cohorts had pulled his hat over his eyes. Not one to be bested by balls of snow, Oaken removed the hat and stood to his full height. When he reached down to pick up the nearest snowgie, another hopped across his back, causing enough of a distraction for the first one to slip his grasp. All three chuckled like it was the funniest trick ever. He reached out again with the same results.

  This game of leap-over-the-frog went on for a few rounds before Oaken got tired of being the frog. Oofta! Olaf could deal with them. Throwing his hands in the air, he abandoned the sauna and resumed the hunt for his bag of nuts.

  Forgotten next to the hot stove, the vat of carrot balm had turned to liquid. No worries. He would set it outside and it would be solid again in no time.

  After placing the vat on the porch, he retraced his steps through the reception area. Sometime during the chaos, a display of all-natural pastes for the teeth had clattered to the floor. He’d tested many flavors over the years, but to date only three variations earned family approval: minty, no flavor for the sensitive of mouth, and family-favorite Arctic Bramble Berry. Oaken restacked the tins next to the gifting baskets for all ages and every occasion.

  Next he surveyed the changing annex, again without success. Walking to the reception desk, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. When he turned toward the shelves, nothing seemed amiss. Except the tins of pastes for the teeth were once again on the ground. Moving slowly, he carefully inspected the shelves of merchandise, starting with the products and progressing to the souvenirs. All seemed in order.

  Shelves gleamed with snow globes, replicas of the North Mountain, and carved figurines. But somewhere between the troll-like dolls, carvings of snowgies, and cloth animals stuffed with fluff, two eerily realistic statues on the top shelf caught his attention.

  “Hoo-hoo! What are you?”

  They each looked like a cross between a preserved squirrel and a nutcracker. One wore a tiny knitted topplue, identical to Oaken’s own hat. The other donned a doll-sized troll souvenir sweater. He recognized both items from his miniature mementos display. The one with the sweater had excessively bushy red ears that reminded him of his granduncle Hugo. The other possessed a droopy sort of mustache reminiscent of Cousin Lars. Between their paws, each held a death grip on a walnut.

  Fragments of shells littered the space around them.

  Oaken stared at the unmoving beady eyes while inching closer. Suddenly one of the figures blinked. With a screech, they both came to life. Before he could even process what was happening, a walnut whizzed past his head.

  Calling back and forth in a chirpy trill that sounded almost like a woodpecker, the squirrels scampered along the shelf in an effort to get away.

  At least he’d figured out what had happened to the walnuts.

  “Come here, you!” He chased Hugo and Lars—now that he had noticed the resemblances, he couldn’t think of them as anything else—to the far corner of the reception area. As he closed the distance between them, Hugo lobbed another walnut at Oaken’s face. He ducked, but his elation was short-lived as Lars’s walnut bonked him in the noggin.

  “Oof,” he grunted, as the bell over the shop’s front door chimed.

  “Hello?” called a familiar voice. “I’ve come for my little brothers.”

  He would deal with Hugo and Lars after he helped Olaf get rid of those little snowgie terrors. “Olaf. William and his friends have taken over my sauna again, ja?”

  The little snowfellow wobbled in on his little snowball feet. “Sorry, Mr. Fuzzy Oaken Man-Bear. Sometimes William tumbles down the mountain before anyone can stop him. He doesn’t mean to cause trouble—he’s just packed that way. But don’t worry, I’ll get him out.”

  The snowman turned toward the sauna, then abruptly swung back around. “A night of sauna trivia!” he exclaimed with huge eyes. “Can I be the host? Pleeeease.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure about that.” Oaken recalled the last time Olaf had visited his sauna. Even if the little snowman didn’t become an instant puddle, his permafrost presence in the sultry sauna could be a source of anxiety for his guests. But the frosty font of facts would make the perfect trivia host given the right circumstances.

  Not one to quit easily, Oaken had a flash of inspiration. “Tell you what. You get those brothers of yours back up the mountain and keep them away, and you can be the special trivia host at our first annual outdoor event: Wandering Oaken’s Annual Winterfest and Holiday Market. Ja?”

  “Thank you so much!” Olaf blinked and added, “Did you know turtles can breathe through their butts?”

  “Oh, ja? Did you know elephants sweat through their toenails?”

  “What? That’s great!”

  WHOMP!

  A snowball hit Olaf square in the face, followed by a second and a third. With his nose poking through the back of his snow head, Olaf looked at Oaken. “Whoa! Head rush. Could you… ?”

  “Ja.” Oaken carefully pushed the carrot into its rightful place. He caught a flurry of white before a snowball disintegrated against his massive chest and the sauna door slammed shut.

  Properly motivated, Olaf faced the sauna. “William! Crystal! Fridge! Marshmallow has been looking all over for you. Stop causing pandemonium and yield presently, you little rapscallions.”

  “Ooh. Someone has been reading their word-a-day calendar and top gift pick for the holidays.” Oaken had given one to all his best customers.

  Olaf nodded. “Indubitably, my uninhibited, congenial hirsute acquaintance.”

  The sauna door opened a crack and Oaken’s list of ideas sailed out. As it landed facedown, Oaken saw the crude drawing of a rounded figure with buckteeth, four crooked lines sprouting from above its overly large brows, stick arms, three dark buttons, and a grossly disproportionate carrot nose. The caricature had a circle around it with a line through the middle.

  “No Olafs allowed!” the snowman interpreted. “That’s not very amicable.”

  Oofta. It was not. But it did give Oaken an idea.

  “Hoo-hoo!” he called. “Little snow rapscallions, if you come out now, mind your big brother, and stop turning the sauna into a snow fort, I will give you complimentary passes to Wandering Oaken’s Annual Winterfest, including unlimited ice-skating and all the snow cones you can wear.”

  If it kept them and their antics away from his guests, it would be worth it. Plus, they would be rainbow-colored for weeks, all the more easily spotted coming his way.

  A commotion rose from inside the sauna. After a few moments, the door opened wide and the three contrite snowgies toddled out. In the space beyond, Oaken could see they’d tidied up their mess. The used towels were piled in a basket, and the wood was returned to its spot. William extended Oaken’s hat as a peace offering.

  With a nod of approval, Oaken said, “Very good. I will see you all at the winterfest, ja?”

  “Unquestionably, my substantial, genial, ruddy-faced Homo sapiens compatriot.” With his little brothers in tow, Olaf herded them out of the trading post.

  Grabbing the basket of soiled towels, Oaken carried it into the reception area. He listened as the front doorbell chimed; confirmation that his unwanted guests were, indeed, gone. Just before the door shut behind the snowman, he heard, “Thank you again, Sven.”