Chapter 33 Haisley
HAISLEY
Haisley felt much better after a long, hot shower where she didn’t feel like she had to sneak around getting dried off and dressed afterwards.
She couldn’t stay mad at Tristan for jumping to conclusions.
She had skills clearly applicable to the place that he worked, in housekeeping if nothing else, and he had talked about forever, even after she said she wasn’t promising it.
What did finding your soulmate mean, if it wasn’t for being together with that one person that made you feel more whole?
She found herself looking around her room—so recently hated as a prison—with fresh nostalgia. She loved the chalet, and the land around it, and the magic garage. She loved all the rustic old logs and the northern lights in the winter. She loved the forest and the wildlife and the midnight sun.
She didn’t hate the idea of a milder climate and fewer mosquitos, but her heart was here, and she couldn’t imagine herself this happy in any other place.
But Tristan, damn him anyway, had made her realize that she might never be happy without him. Were they at an impasse? Would she give this all up to follow him to a magical island full of magical people, knowing that she wasn’t one?
She put on a festive dress and her favorite holiday apron, ran her fingers through her damp hair in a futile attempt to style it, then went out of her room feeling like she was facing a jury.
She passed the doors to the dining room and kitchen and paused at the end of the hallway, listening to the voices in the great room. Finally, she gathered her courage and strode boldly out. Two new faces turned to meet her, but they weren’t all unfamiliar.
“Ah, Miss Haisley!” Breck rose to greet her. “Tristan is getting more wood for the fire. Having a mate brings out a shifter’s nurturing habits, you’ll find. This is Lydia and a half, the glowering man rubbing her feet is Wrench. The rest of the party is in the kitchen or still sleeping in.”
Lydia was a gorgeous Latina woman and the half was the swollen pregnant belly that her hand was resting on. She waved with her opposite hand. “I am delighted to meet the chalet ghost!” she said kindly.
Wrench grunted in what Haisley assumed was his idea of a polite greeting. He had an alarming number of tattoos showing at his neck and wrists.
“I’m happy to meet you,” Haisley said, keeping her chin high. She wasn’t going to let them intimidate her, and none of them seemed inclined to quiz her about why she’d been hiding. “I thought I could help out in the kitchen.”
“Chef has been dying to quiz you about flour moistures or something,” Breck said.
“I’m happy to answer any questions I can,” Haisley said demurely.
Was that it? They were all going to pretend that they were all perfectly ordinary people who did not change into animals or sneak around in locked rooms?
Haisley felt a slight release in the buckle of tension that had been sitting around her chest since they arrived as she went into the kitchen. Chef was chopping vegetables, Breck was setting the table, and Darla was taking cinnamon rolls out of the oven, breathing in the spicy aroma.
“They look divine. Can I help frost?” Haisley offered. There was already a bowl waiting, full of cream cheese frosting.
“Thank you!” Darla said gratefully. “They have to—”
“—cool a little bit, first. I know! Otherwise the frosting will melt right off. There’s a trick to the timing, and extra hands will make it go faster when it’s ready.”
Darla beamed at her. “Oh, I knew I’d like a mate of Tristan’s,” she said warmly. “He’s just such a nice guy.”
“Do you know him well?” Haisley asked, testing the consistency of the frosting. She was glad it was good, because she didn’t want to insult Darla by adding more powdered sugar.
“Not that well,” Darla said, giving her a slow smile. “He’s a general handyman around the resort. I’m usually in the kitchens. I often take the early shift making bread.”
“I imagine you want to get all of your baking out of the way as early as possible, because it’s so hot there?” She might as well learn as much as she could about the place she might be moving.
“That is definitely a factor,” Darla said easily.
There was a crash out in the great room as Tristan brought in a load of firewood and dropped it on the hearth.
Haisley distracted herself, testing the temperature of the cinnamon rolls and feeling very much like a teenager who was about to see her crush.
She felt like she was on a seesaw: eagerness to see Tristan again, awkwardness that it would be in front of other people, despair that she might have to give up her home to keep him.
But it wasn’t Tristan that came skidding into the kitchen, it was the white-haired woman from several nights before. She was dressed this time, in a short one-piece dress trimmed in faux fur. “There are cinnamon smells!”
“Gizelle!” Darla greeted her. “This is Haisley. She’s Tristan’s mate, and this is her kitchen.”
“It’s not really—” Haisley started to protest.
“We met,” Gizelle said carelessly. “I shifted and she pretended I didn’t. Can we eat them yet?”
“They’re cool enough to frost.” Haisley realized belatedly that she was not in control here and ought to defer to Darla, but Darla was nodding her agreement.
There was already a stack of plates out, and they made fast work of frosting each bun and placing it on a plate.
Darla had deft hands. Gizelle took two and scampered away with them, and Darla delivered two to Lydia and Wrench.
“The rest of our party will be down soon enough when they smell these,” she predicted.
Tristan trailed sheepishly in after Darla and took his own plate. “They smell delicious,” he said, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. “Merry Christmas?”
Haisley took pity on him and trotted over to kiss him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
Tristan beamed at her.
“Oh, Tristan, what lovely looking boxes! I presume the cookies are from you and…?” There was a stranger in the doorway behind Tristan.
“Haisley,” Tristan volunteered. “Haisley, this is Bastian. He’s a lifeguard at Shifting Sands. Haisley is my mate.”
“Ah, and I presume she explains some of the mysteries about this place?” Behind Bastian was a lovely Indian woman with long, loose hair.
“Some of them,” Haisley agreed. She wasn’t going to volunteer the garage to anyone but Tristan, and she wondered if she should have asked him to keep it a secret.
“We’ve got Internet again!” A tall woman pressed in behind Saina and Bastian and elbowed her way to the cinnamon rolls. “Hello! You’re the chalet ghost, then, and Tristan’s mate?”
“I’m Haisley,” she squeaked.
“Alice. I’m not going to eat you when there are cinnamon rolls, instead.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Haisley laughed. “Note to self, stock cinnamon rolls.”
“Are you going to be coming back to Shifting Sands with us, then?”
Chef’s chopping stopped abruptly and Breck froze with a tray full of glasses and cutlery. Darla cleared her throat very politely. Everyone else was very quiet and Haisley felt that ratchet strap of anxiety tighten again as she was the focus of every eye in the crowded kitchen.
“If she wants to,” Tristan said with an uncharacteristic growl. He moved just a little bit, as if to shield her and Haisley thought that she could get used to a protective guy.
“Ah! Touchy subject,” Alice said with a knowing nod. “Well, we might all be here a little longer than we were planning. There’s weather moving in.”
Haisley had forgotten to look at the forecast when she turned the Internet back on, slightly distracted by the whole shifters and mates drama that had taken over her life. “A cold front? That shouldn’t keep you here. We’ll plug in your van so it starts.”
Alice shook her head. “The app says winter storm, rain, and ice, starting tomorrow. Hazardous driving conditions and high winds.”
Haisley groaned. “Oh, I hate it when it gets warm in the winter. The cold is much easier to handle. You should expect the power to go out. I’ll make sure the generator is ready.”
“I’m glad the chalet ghost is on our team now,” Breck quipped. He glided into the dining room to finish setting the table.
“Do you get these storms often?” Tristan asked.
“Almost never,” Haisley said, taking the empty tray from the cinnamon rolls to the sink. “Usually, once we freeze up in the fall, that’s it, it doesn’t thaw until spring. These warm spells—we call them chinooks—can wreak havoc. The roads might not be passable for a few days.”
“Is there anything we should do to prepare?” Saina asked.
Everyone looked at Haisley. “Do laundry and take a hot shower now,” she suggested.
“The generator will run the forced air heat and keep the freezers and fridges going, but it won’t have a lot of juice left over for hot water.
Get out and enjoy the skiing today while you can because the trails will turn to slush.
Take an extra blanket to bed tonight in case there’s a power gap.
The key will be to get out and gravel the drive while it’s still soft, before it freezes into an unpassable ice rink.
And we won’t be able to do anything about the road up here; we’ll be at the mercy of the road service, and we’re not a high priority way up here. ”
They all nodded agreement and understanding, and Haisley marveled at their unexpected respect.
She thought they might treat her as less, because they were all rich, magical shifters and she was just the human help.
But they didn’t act like rich people, and she was starting to realize that maybe they weren’t.
They talked about their jobs at Shifting Sands joyfully, and with the kind of personal pride that Haisley recognized in herself.
Haisley got the feeling that none of them needed their jobs for the pay, but that they loved their work and their resort.
There was more of family about them than financial bonds.
Haisley could respect that, and it gave her some hope that she might actually fit in on their shifters-only island. They didn’t seem to look down on her for not having an animal partner in her head.