Allie Calvin is the oldest and only daughter of Scott Calvin. She was 15 when her father puts on the suit. Allie Calvin is nothing like her brother. She doesn't believe in Santa, she doesn't believe in magic, and she doesn't believe in elves. Allie...
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It had taken Allie a few days to get better, and when she was, Bernard watched from behind his easel, reading yet another book.
Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder, and her legs were curled up underneath her. Her head rested on the back of the chair, and she flipped through the pages faster then Bernard thought possible. He paused his stroke, tilting his head to the side.
"Hey, Allie," Bernard said, breaking the comfortable silence. He looked up from his easel, his expression thoughtful. "Do you ever feel like...there's something you want to say, but you just can't find the words?"
Allie paused mid-page turn, freezing for half a second, before shrugging a bit. "I guess...sometimes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced up to catch his gaze, her cheeks flushing a bit. "Why do you ask?"
Bernard shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes revealed the truth. He was searching, longing to see if she was feeling the same way he was. "Just wondering."
Allie nodded, her pulse racing. She wanted to ask him what he felt, to pull the truth from his heart and lay her own bare before him. But the fear of changing their friendship they had just began to put together held her back, so she simply smiled.
Bernard turned back to his canvas, his cheeks dusting pink. He dipped his brush into a palette filled with soft pastels—gentle pinks, vibrant blues, and a hint of sunlight yellow—each stroke a sort of love letter to the girl in front of him. As he painted, he couldn't help but steal more glances at Allie. She had a way of smiling at her book that lit up the entire room, a laugh that rang like a chime, sending butterflies fluttering in his chest.
With each stroke, he captured the way the light danced in her hair, the way her lips curved into a soft smile as she turned the page. The world outside faded, and all that existed was the brush in his hand and Allie's peaceful presence. It felt as though he was painting not just a likeness of her, but the very essence of her spirit—the spark that made her laugh at even the dullest parts of the day, the kindness that lingered in her eyes.
As he neared the completion of his work, an overwhelming wave of awe washed over him. The painting stared back at him, a breathtaking homage to the girl he adored in silence. Time seemed to stretch and curl around him, and for a moment, he forgot where he was, lost in the sea of colors and emotions that swirled within his heart. Suddenly he blinked, shaking himself out of the daze. Realizing he had been staring a little too long at his own work of art, he cleared his throat and set down his brush. "Uh, would you like some hot chocolate?" he asked, his voice catching slightly, matching the rapid beat of his heart.
Allie looked up from her book, her eyes sparkling with surprise and delight. "Yes, please. That sounds amazing!"
Her smile was like a burst of sunlight, igniting a warmth in his cheeks. She returned to her book as Bernard walked to the kitchen, he felt a rush of heat rise to his cheeks, his heart thumping in a rhythm that felt almost reckless. Thoughts raced through his mind, nervous and excited. He'd known Allie for so, but there was a depth to his feelings that went beyond the friendship they had formed, something he still struggled to understand, even after all these years.
Once in the kitchen, he fumbled with the cocoa powder and a small pot, his hands shaking slightly. The kettle filled with water, and as it bubbled, he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Should he tell her? How could he? The idea of confessing made his stomach flip in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.
He was quick to start making the drink, watching as the rich brown color swirled like a warm embrace. All the while, he couldn't help but steal glances back towards the living room, where Allie sat lost in her book. What if—what if he painted not just the girl in the chair, but the story they could share together?
With cups in hand, he returned to find Allie now on the edge of her seat, her eyes wide as she stared at the canvas. "Is that...me?" she whispered, her voice dancing with incredulity as she looked between the canvas and Bernard.
Her expression sent a new shock wave through his heart, a blend of pride and vulnerability intertwining. "Yeah," he said, a shy smile creeping onto his face. "I tried to capture...everything about you."
Her laughter was like music, bright and genuine, filling the attic with happiness. "Bernard, it's incredible! You're so talented! Why didn't you tell me you could paint"
He felt a thrill in her praise, but it only intensified the plunge of nerves in his stomach. "Thanks. I just...It never really came up. Besides, I don't really have time to paint."
"Well, you should do it more often." Allie said, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear. "Who knew you were an elf of many talents."
Bernard's cheeks turned red, and he hid his face in his glass. Allie laughed a bit, her eyes shining with mirth. He wasn't too sure what had been up with him lately. Well, he did, but it was still weird to him. He was so used to being by himself, and having to look after himself, as well as Coco. But know, with Allie around...Bernard had to admit that it felt good to have someone look after him and care for him like he did for Coco.
The curl haired elf smiled into his cup, turning back to his painting, then to Allie, his stomach feeling like a garden of butterflies with how much it was fluttering.
