Chapter 23 Tristan
TRISTAN
Tristan spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, wondering how he could possibly convince Haisley to give him another chance. She hadn’t hit him very hard, despite the ringing tone of the tray across his face, and he couldn’t blame her for doing it.
He’d just told her something that must seem impossible, and instead of drawing out his reveals in a natural way as she had time to get used to magic in the world, he’d laid being his mate on her at the same time, and looked like a crazed stalker instead of…
I’m a bear, his bear provided.
Thank you, Tristan said sarcastically.
You’re welcome, his bear said politely. For a bear that loved puns, he often missed sarcasm.
He went downstairs feeling blurry and grouchy, and found that everyone else had already eaten breakfast.
Lydia was zipping a coat over her enormous belly. “I love you, Wrench, but I am starting to feel absolutely smothered here. I will be perfectly safe for a few hours with the girls. You can stay here and plump pillows without me. I am pregnant, not invalid.”
“We’re heading into Fairbanks to go shopping for last minute gifts!” Magnolia called to Tristan, looking like royalty in her purple wool coat. Fairbanks was the closest town. “Tristan, did you want to join us?”
Tristan was divided. He wanted to stay here, close to his mate, even if she had hit him with a cookie tray, but he still had to get gifts.
He couldn’t assume that Haisley would still be willing to help him bake after their rocky parting the night before.
But it was only the women of the party that were dressing to go and Wrench was giving him a very warning look.
“I’ll need Tristan’s help in the kitchen, my darling,” Chef said, before Tristan could formulate an answer. “You will have to do without him to carry your indulgences.”
Tristan caught a sly sideways wink from Chef that left him baffled. Was Chef trying to get him out of shopping?
“I’m sure I will manage!” Magnolia said. “We’ll keep it to an all-girl’s day out. Oh, Gizelle, will you be coming after all?”
Gizelle was walking down the stairs with an arm in Conall’s. “I can go alone,” she assured him. “It is a lady’s-only trip. You will be safe here without me. I want to do this.”
Several skeptical looks were exchanged among the others.
“Are you sure, Gizelle?” Saina voiced what they were all thinking. “You could come shopping after Christmas, when it’s less crowded.”
“That’s probably smarter,” Alice said, tugging a hat down over her ears. “Christmas Eve means combat shopping with everyone else who has put it off to the last moment.”
“I am very sure,” Gizelle said bravely. “I promise not to shift. Cross my heart!” She laid a kiss on Conall’s cheek and went to struggle into a giant coat from the closet.
“I can hide in my coat if I need to. It has a very big hood. See?” She cinched the hood around her face, her big eyes the only thing that showed.
Everyone looked at Conall, who only shrugged. “Gizelle knows herself better than anyone. Who am I to hold her back?”
“Fairbanks is a very small city, and it’s hundreds of miles from anything. How busy could it be?” Darla said, buttoning her coat to her chin.
“Let’s find out,” Magnolia said. “I am dying to see it.”
Everyone collected final kisses—many of them embarrassingly passionate—from their mates and tramped out into the snow. It was still dark, despite the late hour; the long nights were still something Tristan was getting used to.
“I’m going to take a bubble bath and read a dirty book now that the hot water is hot again,” Breck said shamelessly. “There’s room enough for two…?”
No one took him up on the offer.
“I’ve got a book I’m reading,” Bastian said. “Not a dirty one.”
“What’s the point, then?” Breck wanted to know.
“I’m going to air out the room for Lydia,” Wrench grumbled.
“I’m writing a song for Gizelle,” Conall said, escaping back up the stairs. There were sounds of music shortly after—disconnected phrases and lilting scales. Tristan tried to imagine how it would even work, composing music without hearing, and gave up.
Graham said nothing at all, only stomped away to his room.
Tristan turned to Chef as the others drifted away. “You needed my help?”
Chef grinned broadly. “I just wanted to preserve your secret,” he said kindly. “I thought you might want to use the kitchen during the day today, rather than being forced to do your baking secretly at night.”
That was the last thing Tristan wanted. He wasn’t confident of his ability to make sense of Haisley’s recipes, no matter how many notes she’d left in the margins, and he was still hoping that he could convince her to help him that night.
“I, oh, thank you,” was all he could think to say. Inspiration struck: “But I want them to be as fresh as possible.”
Chef gave him a very skeptical look, but chose not to question Tristan’s desire to cook at midnight instead of using the so-called daylight hours.
“If you need any other help, I’m free now,” Tristan offered, as innocently as possible.
Chef accepted his assistance chopping vegetables and preparing ingredients for the Christmas Eve feast. He sang and chatted as he went along.
“It’s so strange and wonderful cooking for only a dozen,” Chef said.
“Just one meal, not a string of orders, so the timing of things isn’t quite so hard.
I could get used to this. Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! ”
Tristan did not sing, but he did chop in time.
After Chef declared that as much was done as could be ahead, Tristan snuck out the back of the dining room and tapped hopefully on Haisley’s door.
There was no answer.
Was she asleep? Ignoring him? Had she snuck out the window and fled out into the snow to avoid him? Tristan finally decided to leave her a note, agonized over what to write, and finally slipped it under the door.
I’m sorry I frightened you. I would like to explain more.
Please meet me tonight in the kitchen to bake cookies.
It’s Christmas Eve. I hate for you to be all alone.