Chapter Twenty-Four
Nolan
In the back corner of Harriet’s antiques shop, I hold a silver platter in front of my face and study my reflection.
I trace the edge of the purple bruise on my forehead I got when I smacked my head against the counter, then tilt the platter down, angling up my chin to get a look at the mark on my neck. A different sort of bruise.
I grin.
I didn’t expect this morning with Harriet. I had hoped for it—in some distant part of myself that’s still capable of such a thing. Waking next to her, though. Feeling the warmth of her body. Her mouth around me. The warm, wet heat between her thighs—
I drop the platter, a loud clang of metal against the hardwood floors.
“What was that?” calls Harriet from somewhere in the front of the shop.
“Nothing,” I yell back with a wince, reaching for the platter and placing it back on the shelf I retrieved it from.
I’ve been sitting in a cozy armchair by the windows for the last hour and a half, flipping through books I’ve found tucked into various nooks and crannies, listening to Harriet as she shuffles around, humming to herself.
Every now and again I can hear the jingle of bells from the man dressed as Santa on the corner.
The laughter of children as they streak past the windows.
It’s nice. Comforting. I’m supposed to be looking through inventory for anything related to my past, but the truth is, I haven’t bothered to look at all. I have no desire to.
Harriet appears in the doorway. She poured herself into a pair of skintight jeans and a creamy white sweater with a big red bow before we left her house this morning. She looks like a present I want to unwrap.
“Did you find something?”
“No.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Have you even been looking?”
“I have,” I say, gesturing to the stack of books at my side. “During our last trip to the past, I was intent upon my book. I thought I’d start there.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve done much starting,” Harriet quips, giving me an amused look as she leans up against a shelf full of teapots shaped like various produce products.
She picks up a tiny one in the shape of a cabbage and smiles at it, wiping some of the dust from the top with the edge of her sweater.
I get a glimpse of the pale skin of her belly and my mouth goes dry.
I know what that skin tastes like now. I know the exact sound she makes when I drag my scruff against it.
I’ve been riding a high of endorphins since I left her bed.
We had coffee in her small kitchen until I got distracted by the stretch of her bare thigh beneath her green shorts.
Then I coaxed her onto my lap and proceeded to kiss her until she was making tiny, bitten-off sounds in my mouth, both of my hands fisted in her hair, her legs spread wide over mine.
“Anything of use?” Harriet asks, setting the cabbage pot back on the shelf. At my blank look, she laughs. “With the books, Nolan.”
“Oh,” I say, distracted. “No. Not quite yet.”
Her head tips to the side. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“’M fine,” I say. I lean forward so I can hook my finger in one of her belt loops. She so rarely wears jeans, and these look like they’ve been painted on. I love them.
I tug at her until she’s standing between my legs. “Did you find anything?”
She cups my jaw with her hands, her thumbs easing over my cheeks. I make an embarrassing noise. Something between a rattle and a growl. Her smile pulls wider.
My magic strains and buckles in my chest. “I haven’t been looking,” she murmurs.
I drop my forehead against her stomach with a sigh of relief, encouraging her to scratch her nails through my hair. My fingers flex on her hips. “That makes two of us.”
“Do you want—”
“Yes,” I cut her off immediately.
Her smile tips wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I didn’t finish my sentence.”
“I don’t care.”
“I could say I want to go ice skating again.” Her eyes shine in amusement. “I could say I want to go cut down a Christmas tree.”
“Whatever you want.”
I want to do whatever Harriet wants to do. Sit in silence or arrange hardware by size. Go to the little bakery down the street she seems to like so much or add more baubles to the Christmas tree. I want to keep her company, be with her with whatever time we have left.
I swallow hard. “Maybe we could—”
A startled screech echoes from the front of the store, closely followed by a crash that’s much louder than my rogue silver tray. There’s some vague yelling, a gasp that sounds a lot like holy shit. And then what in the frankincense fuck.
Harriet flinches, turning halfway toward the register.
“I think Sasha is here.”
I grunt, tightening my hands against her.
Harriet laughs. “I should probably go see what the problem is.” I don’t let her go. “Since I own this place.” I still don’t let her go. “And she’s my employee.” I press my face harder against her belly. “Nolan.” She laughs.
“Or,” I offer, “you could stay back here with me.” I nuzzle into her stomach, gratified when her breath hitches. My palms inch down over the curve of her ass and squeeze. “We could see how quiet you can be.”
She hums. I let my hands play over her curves. I can feel her resistance deteriorating, the same way I could taste coffee on her tongue this morning while she sat in my lap. She sways closer.
Then something else crashes in the front of the store, accompanied by a shriek.
“Harriet! I think the mistletoe is moving!” A pause. “Related question. Where the hell did all this mistletoe come from?”
“I’ll be right there!” Harriet shouts over her shoulder, untangling herself from my grip. “Be right back,” she tells me. “I’m just going to—” She points over her shoulder, wincing. “I’m going to try and explain why we suddenly have about seventeen thousand boughs of mistletoe across the ceiling.”
I slouch down farther in the chair, satisfied at the reminder of our kiss and the things it made my magic do. “I’m not sorry about it.”
“Me either.”
“Good.”
Her face eases and an answering softness blooms in my chest, dancing happily with my magic. Harriet is so good, and it has nothing to do with the things we did to each other in her bed this morning. She makes me feel all sorts of things I have no business feeling.
“Harriet,” I begin, a confession on the tip of my tongue. “I—” Another loud noise echoes from the front of the store. “Harriet!”
Sasha shouts.
“I’m coming!” she yells, whipping her way to the front with a roll of her eyes.
I watch the sway of her ass in her tight jeans as she goes, all that blond hair hanging loose down her back.
I drop my head against the chair, annoyed at the interruption but grateful for it, too.
If I have no business feeling the things I’m feeling, then I certainly have no right to share them with Harriet.
It feels selfish. She deserves better than that.
I bend and retrieve one of the books from my stack, flipping it to read the back cover. Something about a duke and an island princess. I’m intrigued. I flip through the first couple of pages in interest.
“Didn’t mark you as a historical romance kind of guy,” says a smooth voice from the corner by the window. I jolt in my chair and almost send the book across the room.
Isabella pushes off the shelf at her back, a sharp smile curving her mouth. Her reindeer headband has been abandoned for a single gold clip, just above her left ear. She plucks at a piece of lint at the bottom of her sweater. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.” My magic sparks along my arms in warning. Isabella makes me nervous on a good day. A sudden appearance in the mortal world is not like her and I’m on high alert. “I was under the impression you were handling Reaper business.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks up at the ceiling. Her dark eyes turn assessing, cataloging the mistletoe spread across the tiles. It somehow managed to wander all the way back here, to the farthest corner of the shop. It’s probably a bad time to take pride in that.
“I did have Reaper business to attend to,” she agrees slowly. Her eyes slide back to mine. “But Gideon has decided to get involved and he is more than capable of handling the situation. All office heads are to resume business as usual.”
My back goes straight. “Gideon?”
While Reapers are fearsome in general, Gideon is … formidable. As the oldest Reaper in existence, some say he’s Death himself. Cold. Malicious. Calculated. If he’s in the mortal world, the situation is more fraught than Isabella is letting on.
“He is in charge of the Grim Reapers,” Isabella says.
She picks up the same teapot Harriet was studying, her lips twisted in a frown.
“And while his sudden appearance after three hundred years is unprecedented, it is no longer my issue.” She sets the pot back on the shelf and folds her hands together. “I’m here to talk about you.”
“What about me?”
Her eyes flick up to the ceiling. The magical mistletoe shivers under her perusal. “Are you having trouble controlling your magic, Nolan?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Hmm.” She trails one finger across the edge of an oak nightstand with a peacock painted on it, then wipes the dust away on her tailored black pants with a faint look of disgust. “Let me tell you my observations, and then you can tell me yours.”
“All right,” I agree reluctantly. I’d rather fling myself from the window and walk through the inlet, but I don’t think that was a suggestion so much as an order.
“My receptionist tells me that you appeared in a frenzy, rambling about trips to your past and wayward dreams. Then when she appropriately suggested a different course of action, you abruptly changed your story.” She takes another step closer.
I press back in my chair, shoulder blades tucked tight against the plush material.
“I figured I’d stop in and check on you personally, given how long it’s taken you to close this case, and what greets me?
Clear evidence of magical extravagance.” She frowns up at the mistletoe again. “This is against the rules, Nolan.”
I slide my palm against the back of my neck, squeezing. “It was involuntary.”
“Involuntary,” she repeats. “Is your magic rebelling, Nolan?”
“I have everything under control.” At her arch look, I elaborate. “Now. I have everything under control now.”
“You have a bruise on your forehead,” she points out. “I know. I’m—I’m handling it.”
“You are not,” she snaps. “You are toying with forces you do not comprehend, Nolan. Do I need to remind you about your deadline? Christmas Eve is quickly approaching. You must pass Harriet on to her next ghost before then.”
I keep quiet.
“Let me remind you what happens if you miss it, since I can see you’re not concerned. The bruise is just the start. Things will continue to change. You won’t be the only one who will bear the consequences.”
Dread settles like ice in my gut. My magic plucks sharply at the back of my neck. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Isabella releases a short breath, frustrated. “I’ve told you. Harriet was assigned to you for a reason. The decisions you make will impact the both of you.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means as I said.”
“You haven’t said anything!” I manage through clenched teeth, careful to keep my voice low so we don’t attract the attention of Harriet. If Isabella is trying to coerce me into doing my job, she’s found a very effective way of doing it. “Are you threatening Harriet?”
“I’m explaining what happens if you fail,” Isabella replies calmly.
“It’s very simple. This is your job. If you don’t complete your job, you don’t move on.
” She tilts her head to the side, her hair a dark curtain around her face.
“Though I find it very interesting that the perception of a threat against Harriet is what finally garnered such a reaction out of you. You’re more attached than you should be, Nolan. Do you deny it?”
I drag both hands through my hair. “I—” The words stick and hold.
I want to deny it. I feel like I probably should, given how this conversation is going.
But I can’t. I’ve been orbiting around Harriet since that very first night.
Since she threw a television remote at my head and accused me of an entire suite of misdemeanors.
Amusement and intrigue have slowly melted into affection, and after this morning, I’m afraid it’s only the tip of the iceberg.
“No,” I finally say. “I don’t deny it.”
Isabella’s face turns thoughtful, lips twisted down in a frown. “I appreciate that you’re not lying about it.”
“Perhaps I should,” I grumble back, studying the floor instead of bearing the full weight of her judgment. I can hear low voices at the front of the store, Harriet and Sasha as they move things around. My stomach sinks. “If you intend to reassign me, at least let me say goodbye first.”
I don’t want to be another person who disappoints Harriet. Who leaves her behind. If I’m being forced out, I’d like the opportunity to explain things. To tell her—
Well. I’m not sure what I would tell her.
“She won’t remember you when you go,” Isabella says. I stare hard at my hands. “For me, then.”
I would like to have the opportunity to say goodbye.
Isabella rolls her eyes. “You can stop with the sad boy martyr act, Nolan. I won’t be replacing you.” My head snaps up. “You have your orders. You’ve received your warning. I expect you to adjust course accordingly. Channel your inner captain, or whatever it is you used to be.”
“That’s it?”
“Were you expecting something more dramatic?” She inspects her nails. “Shall I conjure some hellfire, just for shits and giggles?”
“Shits and giggles,” I repeat slowly. “I didn’t know you knew that expression.”
She grins at me. A shiver works its way down my spine. She really is terrifying. “I do enjoy these little phrases the mortals use.” She gestures at me, a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Now, come. Show me the girl.”
My relief trades places with trepidation. I’m going to have an ulcer by the end of this conversation. “Pardon?”
“Surely you didn’t think I’d come for a visit and not want to see her?” She tucks her hair neatly behind her ears and starts moving toward the front of the store without me. “I’d like to meet the woman you’re so hell-bent on breaking all our rules for.”