Don't Call Me Christina Kringle by Chris Grabenstein Read Free Book Online

yours, right? I remember the tassels.”
    The man in the trench coat couldn’t speak. He looked awestruck.
    Christina glanced down at the pair of shoes she held in her hand. In the light of the shop, they shined so brightly they seemed to sparkle. The leather looked smooth and velvety—brand new, without a single crease. They even smelled wonderful. Like fresh-baked bread slathered with melted butter.
    â€œThey’re magnificent!” gasped the man.
    â€œYeah,” said Christina. “Grandpa’s good. Got that old-world craftsmanship thing going on. When he concentrates, that is. Sometimes he just needs to focus. …”
    As the man reached out to take his shoes, his hands trembled the way they would if he were about to be handed a crown of the most precious jewels imaginable.
    Just then, Guiseppe, who had only walked up the block and back to muster his courage, stepped back into the store.
    â€œOkay,” he said boldly, “I tell you the truth. I no fix—”
    â€œHow much?” the man gushed.
    Guiseppe was confused. “I no fix none of it.”
    â€œHow much?” The man sounded desperate. He pulled a fat wad of money out of his pocket.
    â€œYou need change?” asked Grandpa. “For the bus?”
    â€œHe wants to pay you for fixing his shoes,” said Christina. “You still got it, Grandpa!”
    Now Guiseppe was beyond confused. He was befuddled. Baffled.
    â€œI got what?” he asked.
    â€œA gift, sir,” said the man, bowing slightly. “I feel honored to be in the presence of a master craftsman.”
    â€œWhere?” said Grandpa, looking around for the master craftsman. “Where is he?”
    â€œIt’s you, Grandpa!” said Christina with a laugh.
    â€œReally? Me?”
    The man in the trench coat nodded like an eager puppy.
    Giuseppe puffed out his pigeon chest. “Well, you know, I work with the shoes many, many years.”
    â€œYou are a genius!”
    â€œTrue, true …”
    â€œWould you consider fifty dollars to be sufficient recompense?”
    Guiseppe didn’t understand what recompense meant. “Huh?”
    â€œI’m sorry. You’re right. Here. Take a hundred. No—two hundred dollars!”
    The man slapped a thick pile of cash into Guiseppe’s hand.
    â€œAnd here!” The man hopped around the store so he could take off the shoes he was currently wearing. “I want you to fix these, too!”
    While he danced around the room in one stockinged foot and struggled to pull off the second shoe, Giuseppe turned to Christina.
    â€œThank you!” he whispered.
    â€œFor what?” she whispered back.
    â€œYou took his shoes over to Shoe World, eh? They fixed, yes?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNope,” said Christina. “I thought you …”
    Guiseppe shook his head. “No. Not me.”
    Okay, this was seriously weird, thought Christina.
    Who fixed the shoes?
    She eyeballed the electric elf in the window display who was still hammering away, over and over, at that one stupid nail.
    Nah. He couldn’t have done it.
    His extension cord wasn’t long enough to reach the back room.

Seventeen
    Guiseppe stood on the sidewalk outside the shoe repair shop watching Christina lock the front door.
    â€œLock it good,” he said with a laugh. “We don’t want nobody else sneaking in and fixing more shoes!”
    Christina twisted the key in the lock. “Maybe you fixed his shoes in your sleep, Grandpa. Maybe you were sleepwalking.”
    â€œMaybe you take the shoes over to Shoe World but you don’t want to tell me this is what you do.”
    â€œWhatever. We made two hundred dollars. We do that every day for a month or two, we’ll be able to pay the rent … this month.” She realized what she’d just said made no sense and they were still, basically, doomed.
    â€œI’m going to go grab some