Dexter Tinker Arc 1
The Tinker's Trouble
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Sleigh Ride Squeaky Bells Decorator Menu Mixup Hall of Records Panic
Menu Mixup at the Inn
Santa’s Village Inn, June 2022
A Promising Start
For once, Dexter Tinker was off to a good start.
It was a clear June morning in Santa’s Village, the cobblestone paths drying in the warmth of the midsummer sun, and Dexter—clipboard in hand—was already two-for-two on assigned tasks.
First, he had successfully reorganized the napkin shelf in the Inn’s supply room, separating reindeer prints from snowflakes and folding each linen into perfect rectangles. Len Thornley, the textile coordinator and event planner, had given an approving grunt. From Len, that was practically applause.
Second, Dexter had delivered six breakfast trays to the second-floor guest rooms without spilling a single cup of cinnamon tea or bumping into a single guest. He even remembered to knock.
“Look at you,” said Crumbelle Frosting, passing by with a bowl of whipped cream. “You’re practically responsible today.”
Dexter beamed. “I’m just getting started!”
After several months of bumpy adjustments—his infamous candy catastrophe in January, followed by the short-lived plush penguin incident in March—he had been reassigned to the Village Inn for the summer. It was meant to be calm, simple, and instructional.
“Observe and help,” Len had said on Dexter’s first day. “Don’t touch the hot pans. Don’t move the linens unless asked. And whatever you do—no inventing.”
Dexter had taken it seriously. He even kept a checklist titled ‘Quiet Successes’ tucked inside his vest pocket, and today he already had two checkmarks.
What could possibly go wrong?
A Formal Affair
That afternoon, the Santa’s Village Inn was preparing for a formal dinner. Delegates from the coastal towns of Dromstad and Ainslo would be arriving within hours to attend a seasonal planning session with Santa and the Council of Elves. The evening’s meal was to be elegant, refined, and dignified.
Naturally, the Inn staff was in full hustle.
The kitchen was alive with sounds and smells—sautéing vegetables, clinking spoons, bubbling sauces. In the dining room, elves buzzed between tables, folding napkins into winter blossoms and placing snowflake-patterned plates in precise alignment.
Len was directing it all with the air of a maestro. “No, no, no. The centerpiece goes here. The bread basket goes there. Do not confuse the two.” His clipboard was already worn at the edges from the day’s flurry of notes.
Crumbelle Frosting had set up her own baking station off the main kitchen. She was working on her signature rootbeer bundt cake, carefully drizzling icing in slow spirals. A separate tray held peppermint cream cones, and a third was piled with fresh sugar cookie bites.
“Don’t even breathe on that tray,” she warned Dexter as he passed.
“I won’t,” he promised, stepping wide. He was on his best behavior.
Len caught sight of him and waved him over. “Dexter. I’ve got two tasks for you.”
Dexter perked up. “Yes, sir!”
“First, bring the seating chart to the dining hall and mount it on the easel. Then come back here and rewrite the dinner menu neatly on the front chalkboard. No shortcuts. No spelling errors. Clear enough?”
“Crystal,” said Dexter, snatching up the seating chart and dashing off.
A Sudden Opportunity
The seating chart went up without a hitch. Dexter even straightened it twice just to be sure, and added a little curtsy when Crumbelle passed by and smiled.
He returned to the kitchen ready for task two—but Len had vanished, pulled away to deal with a napkin-folding emergency.
Dexter glanced around. Crumbelle was piping stars onto cupcakes. The chef was barking instructions to the sous-chefs and muttering about carrot gratin. No one was free to rewrite the menu.
On the prep table sat a smudged paper listing the dinner’s official courses:
- Winter Pea Soup
- Maple-Roasted Root Medley
- Snowberry Chicken with Cream Sauce
- Crumbelle’s Bundt Cake
- Chilled Peppermint Cream
- Sugar Cookie Bites
A floury thumbprint obscured part of the third item, and the ink had run on the last line. Dexter squinted.
It was legible—barely—but dull. Mostly vegetables. Maybe too many syllables. Did “Snowberry Chicken” sound fancy or just weird?
He tapped his pencil against the table. A thought drifted in like steam from a soup pot.
Everyone loved dessert.
He remembered the guests who had asked for extra cookies that morning. And last week, a visitor from Ainslo had declared Crumbelle’s peppermint cream “a revelation.” Maybe, just maybe, the dinner menu could use a little more sparkle.
Dexter stepped out to the front lobby, erased the chalkboard, and began to write.
Dexter’s Special Touch
Tonight’s Feast at the Village Inn
- Bundt Cake Delight
- Peppermint Cream Cones
- Sugar Cookie Bites
- Hot Fudge Ribbons
- Ice Cream Snowballs
- Chocolate Sleigh Tracks
He added a doodle of a candy cane and a tiny snowman waving near the bottom. The chalk smudged slightly under his thumb, but overall, it looked festive. Joyful. Delicious.
“Clear and creative,” he said proudly. “They’ll love it.”
Dexter returned the chalk to the tray, adjusted his vest, and rejoined the staff in the kitchen—none the wiser.
Guests and Giggles
Twilight brought a golden glow to the Inn’s windows and a dusting of soft snow on the rooftops. Lamplight glimmered on the cobbled path as the first guests arrived.
Mayor Brenna Dal of Rostlic came in wearing a dark blue travel cloak with white embroidered pine trees. Mayor Dal Tinder of Dromstad followed in crisp gray and gold, adjusting his spectacles as he stepped inside.
Several elven leaders from Restful Wood and Peppermint Village trailed behind, all in ceremonial robes and cheerful conversation.
The delegation paused at the chalkboard.
“Huh,” said Mayor Tinder. “A dessert tasting menu?”
Mayor Dal grinned. “I admire the boldness.”
A young elf from Restful Wood tilted her head. “Do you think ‘sleigh tracks’ are savory?”
“I doubt it,” chuckled an elder from Peppermint Village. “But I’m ready to find out.”
Inside, the dining room shimmered with crystal glasses and polished cutlery. Linen napkins stood folded like reindeer at each place setting. A string quartet played soft tunes from the corner stage.
Dexter lingered near the kitchen doorway, eyes bright.
He couldn’t wait to see the guests’ reactions.
The Menu Melts Down
The first course—winter pea soup with warm bread rolls—was served without trouble.
But then…
“I’ll have the chocolate sleigh tracks,” said Mayor Tinder.
“And the fudge ribbons for me,” said Mayor Dal.
“Can I get two snowballs?” asked the elf from Restful Wood.
The waitstaff froze.
“What’s a fudge ribbon?” whispered a server.
“We don’t have chocolate sleigh anything!” cried the chef, bursting into the kitchen. “Where’s that menu?!”
Len reappeared from the linen closet with napkins in his arms. “What’s going on?!”
“Someone rewrote the chalkboard!” said Crumbelle, peeking through the pass window. “It’s all desserts!”
The chef clutched his mixing spoon like a dagger. “We were supposed to serve chicken!”
“Who writes a menu with six desserts?!” Len demanded.
Dexter inched away toward the poinsettia in the corner of the lobby. It had never looked so inviting.
A Hilarious Recovery
With main dishes now forgotten, Crumbelle rushed to the rescue. She brought out extra trays of peppermint cream cones and piped fresh icing onto sugar cookies.
The chef, panicked but oddly inspired, began drizzling chocolate syrup onto bread pudding and calling them “ribbons.” Whipped cream snowballs were assembled from scoops of vanilla mousse chilled over cracked ice.
Guests responded with laughter, delight, and impromptu toasts.
Mayor Brenna Dal built a miniature sleigh out of gingerbread scraps and chocolate bark. Mayor Tinder began writing notes for a dessert-themed poetry reading. An elf from Peppermint Village stood and declared the “Sweet Feast of ’22” a historic culinary experiment.
When Santa entered, dressed in his ceremonial deep-red cloak with silver trim, the room erupted in applause.
He paused just inside the doorway, took in the scene—frosted plates, teacups with sprinkles, and napkins stained with chocolate.
Then he turned slowly toward the lobby chalkboard.
And then… to the poinsettia.
Dexter tried to disappear behind the leaves.
Santa raised one eyebrow. “I take it our little helper got creative again.”
Crumbelle stepped in. “I promise we served soup first.”
Len groaned. “And we’ll be eating snowberry chicken for the rest of the week.”
Santa chuckled. “Well, at least dessert diplomacy seems to be working.”
One of the Peppermint delegates handed him a folded napkin with a limerick:
There once was a menu, delicious and bold,
That forgot every dinner dish cold.
With ribbons and tracks,
And three cookie stacks,
It warmed every elf, young and old.
The Day After
The next morning, Dexter arrived for duty in the laundry room, his energy significantly reduced.
Len handed him a stack of linen napkins and a folding board. “Three days. Boring squares only. No flourishes. No animals.”
Dexter nodded. “Understood.”
Crumbelle appeared mid-morning with a sugar cookie in hand and a small notebook.
“Here,” she said, sliding both toward him. “Write down your dessert names in here. You never know—maybe we’ll use one someday. Just… maybe not all at once.”
Dexter managed a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
He folded a napkin. Then another. Then one with slightly curved corners. He paused.
“Nope,” he said, and refolded it perfectly square.
Just before lunch, a letter arrived, addressed to the Santa’s Village Inn. Inside was a note from Mayor Dal Tinder:
To the creative genius behind the sleigh tracks,
Our party is still talking about dessert. If you happen to have a recipe for “Chocolate Sleigh Tracks,” please send it along.
With laughter and thanks,
Dal Tinder, Mayor of Dromstad
Dexter folded the note into his checklist notebook and gave it a new heading:
Unexpected Successes