Chapter Four
Kendrick
Bal’s extra-long arm was stretched out, pointing the remote at the TV, as he desperately tried to either change the channel or turn it off.
Ending the call, I shut the door behind me. “You’d better not have been watching the newest episode of Bake Off, because I haven’t watched it yet.”
Balfour sat up, ruffling his long, gorgeous hair with one hand, looking slightly sheepish. “I found Canadian Bake Off. It’s from a few years ago, so I didn’t think you would mind.”
“What? There’s a Canadian Bake Off?” I plopped down on the couch next to him when he sat up, automatically reaching for a handful of the popcorn from the bowl in his lap. “How did we not know about this?”
“Don’t know. But Dan Levy is one of the hosts. At least in the first season.”
“Fuck off! Seriously! I do love me some Dan. Do we have time to watch an episode? I know you have your precious schedule to keep.”
“Actually,” he turned the TV completely off, much to my disappointment, “I needed to talk to you about something.”
Toeing my shoes off, I wiggled my feet. “This sounds serious. Do I need a glass of wine for this?”
“Maybe? I might have one too. Yes, I think wine is needed.”
“Now you’re really freaking me out,” I told him, getting up and moving into my galley kitchen. It had a pass-through window, and I watched him while I opened a bottle of red from my fridge. As I poured two glasses, I could see him nibbling on his thumbnail, one leg thumping up and down.
“Balfour,” I called from the kitchen, and his head snapped up to stare at me with wide eyes. “Calm down. You haven’t killed anyone have you? You don’t need me to help hide the body? I mean, I probably would help, but you’re way bigger than me. I can definitely drive the getaway car though.”
When he didn’t smile, or even say anything, I snorted. “I’m kidding. But you seriously need to chill.”
Handing him a glass, I watched as he gulped it down before I even had a chance to make myself comfortable on the couch. He set the glass down on the coffee table, his hand shaking.
Taking a sip of my own wine, I waited for him to tell me what had him in such a tizzy, then nudged his thigh with my foot.
Goddess, the man had some hard thighs. How did he even get thighs that hard when he pretty much sat behind a desk all day?
I was fairly certain whatever he did in the workshop didn’t account for those thighs of his.
People pretty much walked everywhere in the village, there were no cars, but still. I wasn’t sure just walking would give anyone thighs of steel.
And why the fuck was I thinking so much about Bal’s thighs? What was wrong with me? Bad, bad Kendrick.
Sure, Bal was sexy AF, with all that glorious, rock star hair of his and those light, silver eyes. And the way he smelled like a peppermint mocha latte all the damn time, making my mouth water, sometimes was a problem.
But, this was Bal.
I did not have sexy thoughts about Bal. Nope. Nada. He had been moved from enemy firmly into the friend zone. Where he needed to stay.
But something was up with him tonight. He was wound tighter than normal, and I didn’t think that was even possible. Because for one of Santa’s jolly elves, Bal was tense on any given day. Not that anyone would ever refer to him as jolly.
“Just spit it out!” I ordered, when after another five minutes all he had managed was to stare off into space, leg thumping, and chewing on his thumb nail.
“I made the mistake of answering the phone when my mom called today. They coerced me into coming to their house on Thanksgiving for dessert. They know I’m having dinner with the Kringles.”
Shrugging, I took another sip of my wine. “Okay.” I really wasn’t sure why he was telling me this, or why he was spinning out of control. “So you won’t have any of Pop’s pumpkin pie. Or you’ll have two desserts. It is a holiday. Calories don’t count. You’ll be fine.”
He gave me an odd look, his face all scrunched up. “Calories don’t count? What kind of logic is that? They most certainly do count.”
“It’s just something people say to make themselves feel better for overeating.” I waved one hand at him, to get him to move this–whatever this was–along. For someone who was always so worried about his stupid schedules, he was taking his own sweet time getting to whatever he wanted to ask me.
“They were trying to fix me up with someone they invited and I might have told them I was seeing someone. And bringing them with me.” He winced.
“You. I told them I was seeing you. Dating you. Well, not you exactly by name, but I told them it was a him, and I…I don’t really have anyone else I can ask.
At least not anyone that won’t cause more complications in my life.
You don’t live in the village, or even in our realm, and you’ll be gone after the holiday, and I’ll just tell them we broke up.
It didn’t work out. We’re too different. You’re…human, and–”
“And just when I thought you could say the word human without that sneer in your voice, you prove me wrong.”
He ignored me and continued with his babbling. Since Bal tended to use as few words as possible with most people, except for Nik and his family, and our texting chats, it was fascinating to watch.
“Look, will you just please go with me and pretend that we are–”
“Lovers?” I made the word two words, rolling it on my tongue with extra exaggeration.
“No.”
“Boyfriends? Boo thangs. Can I call you Daddy?”
“Do not even.”
“Ohhh, Candy Cane Daddy. That has a nice ring to it.” I teased, watching all the emotions cross his face at once.
He stood, looming over me, and I leaned back on the couch so I could peer up at him. “No! I have it! Imma call you my little peppermint mocha lovah!”
“I’m leaving,” Bal declared, stomping to the middle of my living room. “And I’m not taking you with me. Let Nik come fetch you. I’m done with being your…fetcher.”
Giggling, I sat up and took another sip of my wine. “Fetcher? I don’t know, that sounds a little dirty. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, elf boy. Sit. Let me see if I can decipher that word vomit you just barfed up.”
“I’m not sitting.” He said each word distinctly; arms crossed over his chest defiantly. I did love when he worked himself into a proper snit.
“Whatevs, stand then. Just stop hovering.” I ordered. “Your shadow is blocking all the light. Do you need more wine?”
“No, I don’t need more wine,” he muttered, then whispered, “maybe.”
Holding my half full glass out to him, I didn’t even try to hide my smile when he took it from me and drank the rest of it. I wasn’t sure how well elves metabolized wine, so maybe since we were going back to the village, we should both slow down on the red.
“So…you spoke to your parents, which I’m guessing by the way you said that, and the fact that I didn’t even know you had parents, you don’t do that often.”
He scowled. “Of course I have parents. Why would you think I don’t have parents?”
“I don’t know what elves do. You could have hatched in the middle of the snow for all I know. Just appeared one day, all super tall and frowny.”
“I don’t frown.” He pursed his lips into one frowny line.
“You’re frowning now. Wait, do you have siblings? Are there more of you? Dear Goddess, that’s a frightening thought.”
He rolled his eyes, flicking his hair over one shoulder. “Yes, I have siblings. I am the oldest of…” he looked at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed and his mouth moving silently, “three hundred and…something. It could be four hundred by now. I don’t know. I lost count, honestly.”
I stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open, sure I had heard him incorrectly. “Three hundred?”
“More,” he shrugged, “but like I said, I lost count. My parents are stupid in love with each other, even after four hundred and fifty some years.”
“Imma need more wine for this conversation,” I whispered.
“Focus!” He snapped his fingers at me.
Arching one red brow, I snarked, “I don’t know who the fuck you are snapping your fingers at like that. Not someone you need to help you, I know that much. And I am focused. I’m focused on the fact that you are the oldest of a thousand siblings and there is more than one of you.”
“There is only one me,” he assured me, sounding quite proud. “And no one said a thousand. Hundreds, yes, but don’t exaggerate.”
“I feel like after the first hundred it’s all just overkill.”
He gave a very OTT sigh, his entire chest heaving with the effort. “Are you going to help me or not?”
I raised my slightly pointy chin up at him. “What do I get out of this? What are you going to do for me? Because you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend, right? For your family. That’s what you’re asking?”
“Yes, that is what I’m asking. Do you want me to get down on one knee and beg you?”
“Is that an option, because maybe? Yes,” I shook my head, “do that.”
“I’m not doing that. And I helped you earlier. With your date. So, technically you owe me. How was it by the way? The date?”
Dammit, he had helped me, even if he had been late in calling me. I’d sorta forgotten about my disastrous date. Coming home to find Bal stretched out on my couch, watching TV, looking relaxed and like he belonged here had made me forget all about my date.
“Okay, fine, I’ll help you,” I agreed. “And my date was awful. He wanted to come with me to Thanksgiving and meet my family. Since that seemed like the next step, since I was the type of omega he was looking for.” I used air quotes around the last part, followed by a deep shudder.
Bal blinked, confusion clouding his silver eyes. “Wasn’t this your first date?”
“Knew him barely an hour. Yeah.” I nodded, standing since Bal was indicating with his hand motions he was ready for us to get this show on the road. Shrugging into my winter coat, I zipped it snugly.
“Humans are odd creatures.”
“Says the guy with two thousand siblings.” I grinned when he opened his mouth to correct me. “And he was a shifter. Wolf, I think. But still, it was fucking weird. Creepy controlling stalker vibes for sure. I know lots of shifters, and they don’t act like he did. At least I don’t think they do.”
The majority of Sweet Alps was made up of shifters, with about a quarter of the population being full humans. Shifters didn’t bother me, and I had never discriminated in my dating life. I’d even gone through a couple of heats with shifter alphas, and they had been very satisfying.
Bal put his arms around me and I closed my eyes as his minty chocolaty scent filled my nostrils.
His steely arms tightened around my lower back, and I leaned into him.
My hands clung tightly to his muscled biceps, and I looked up at his face.
He was watching me intently, his jaw clenched tight, and he swallowed hard.
Had his arms always been this big? This packed full of muscles?
Why was I just now noticing?
“Well, I’m glad I could help rescue you from him, even if I’m still not sure what exactly I did.” His voice was low, rough, and I shivered from the sound of it.
“Are you cold?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“No,” I shook my head. How could I tell him I suddenly found his voice so sexy it made me shiver? I desperately tried to shake myself out of whatever the fuck was going haywire in my body. “His name was Chad, so I should have known then and there how the date was going to go.”
“Ew,” Bal agreed. “Chads are always, always on the naughty list.”
“Facts.”
Balfour
Past…
Nemesis: One of my students shifted for the first time in class today. So that was fun.
Me: Isn’t that kind of late for them to shift?
Nemesis: Yeah…late bloomer. Usually, they shift by age three or four.
His omega dad was human, so I think it was just assumed he wasn’t going to shift because he hadn’t yet.
I was not prepared to suddenly have a small crocodile in my classroom!
No one prepares you for that! I mean more than half my students are shifters, but they are well past their first shifts and can control it.
Me: Did you say a crocodile?
Nemesis: A crocodile. Yes. There were clothes ripping, snapping teeth, a tail he couldn’t control, desks getting knocked over, and so much screaming.
And tears. His, the other students. Maybe mine.
It was hard to tell over all the screaming.
The poor kid shifted two or three times before he either figured out how to control it, or it just stopped on its own.
Me: Are you okay?
Nemesis: No, I’m not okay! I had a crocodile in my classroom!
I do NOT get paid enough for this. Like teaching should come with some kind of alcohol stipend.
But my student is so cute and sweet, and he was so upset.
It wasn’t his fault. And I can’t act like any of it upset me, because I’ve already got a room of crying kids.
I’m just whining. Sorry to interrupt your work.
Me: You can interrupt me anytime.