Chapter 9
The box was way heavier than it looked.
Juni dragged it across the main room floor, and tried not to think about the kiss. About crying in his arms while he murmured words she didn’t understand.
In an effort to distract herself from the stinging in her palms, she’d dragged the box from beside the door and started to unpack it.
Then she’d dropped back on her ass on the floor in surprise. The box wasn’t full of the normal supplies she’d seen in Goraath’s storage cupboards.
It was filled with decorations… String lights. Little plants with silver leaves and soft red fabric. There was even a whole box of carved wooden ornaments that someone must have made by hand. She stroked a reverent finger over them… each one was different, each one was perfect.
She bit her lip. He’d bought these for her. After telling her that her Christmas was ‘false cheer’, he’d still gone and bought her Christmas supplies.
It made her want to scream. Or kiss him. Maybe both.
She untangled the lights first, working the knots free with careful fingers so she could hang them up.
They were different from Earth lights… each bulb was a tiny crystal.
The instructions were in Latharian but she figured it out, pressing the small button at the end of the string.
Golden light bloomed, warm and alive, in the center of each crystal. They were beautiful. Utterly beautiful.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
She jumped, almost dropping the lights. Goraath stood in the doorway, filling it. He’d showered—his dark hair was damp, pulled back in that leather tie, and he’d changed into clean work clothes that did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders.
“I’ve strung lights before.” She lifted her chin, defensive. “Many times.”
“Not those lights.” He moved into the room and she had to work not to step back. After earlier, being in the same space felt dangerous. “The crystals are photosensitive. You hang them backwards, they won’t charge properly.”
He took the string from her hands, their fingers brushing. Heat raced across her skin. His hands dwarfed hers, all scarred knuckles and careful competence as he showed her how each crystal had a flat side that needed to face the windows.
“Oh.” Her voice was breathier than intended. “Okay, that makes sense.”
He grunted and started hanging them without being asked. Just reached up and began securing them along the beam that ran the length of the room. No chair needed. The man was so tall he could reach things she’d need a ladder for.
“What are these?” She asked, pulling a plant from the box, the leaves rustling. They smelled faintly of something she couldn’t name—crisp and clean like a winter morning.
“Skeel’via.” He looked over his shoulder as he secured another section of lights. “Winter herbs. We use them during Midwinter. They represent new beginnings.”
“New beginnings.” She turned the branch over, watching silver catch the afternoon light streaming through the windows. “I like that. How do you use them?”
“Wreaths, mostly. Hung on doors to invite fresh starts.” He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. “You braid them with nil’taari vine. The red ones there.”
She looked where he pointed and found coils of deep red vine she’d thought was ribbon. “Show me?”
For a moment she thought he’d retreat back into his gruff distance. Then he crossed to her, took the silver branch and red vine, and demonstrated with those big hands.
“Look… Twist, wrap, secure.” They were simple movements that created something beautiful. He held it out to her. “Your turn.”
She tried to copy him but her fingers fumbled and the vine slipped. He moved behind her, his chest almost touching her back, and reached around to guide her hands.
“Like this.” His voice rumbled near her ear. “Firm but gentle. Too tight and you’ll break the leaves.”
His breath stirred her hair. This close, she could smell him… soap and that warm earthy scent that was pure Goraath. Her concentration shattered.
Somehow she managed to finish the small wreath, hyperaware of every point where their bodies almost touched. When she turned to show him, proud of her work, she found him watching her with a warm expression that made her stomach flip.
“Good.” The word came out rough. He stepped back, putting distance between them. “Hang it there, by the window.”
They worked together after that. Him hanging lights, her creating wreaths and arranging the silver plants.
Every so often their paths crossed… as they reached for the same ornament, or passed each other in the small space.
Each near-miss sent more tingles over her skin and charged the air between them.
“On Earth,” she said, needing something to fill the loaded silence, “we’d put up a tree. An evergreen, brought inside and decorated.”
“Seems wasteful. Killing a tree for decoration.”
“Yeah. Well, it would be if they were real trees but only the rich people can afford those now. Most people use artificial ones.”
“But why?” He looked skeptical. “Trees belong outside, not inside.”
She shrugged. “I read a book on it once. Originally it was about bringing life inside during the darkest time of year. Proving that green things still existed even in the depths of winter.”
He paused in his work, considering. “We have the eternal flame.”
“The what?”
He nodded toward the big fireplace that dominated the middle of the wall in the main room.
“During Midwinter, we set a fire that burns through the festival. We feed it with woods that represent what we want to release and what we want to invite. It never goes out, no matter the wind or snow.” He hung another section of lights.
“The colony will have a large one in the square, but families also keep their own.”
“That’s beautiful. Maybe we could—” She caught herself. “I mean, if you wanted, we could do both? Have a fire with your traditional woods and also the decorations?”
He looked at her for a long moment. She held her breath, waiting.
Then he nodded. “The wood’s in the shed. I’ll get it later.”
Relief flooded through her, warm and sweet and she smiled. “Tell me more about Midwinter. Your traditions like the eternal flame.”
So he did, voice gruff but warming to the subject as they worked. Telling her about the ceremonial foods—hearty stews and sweet breads that sustained people through long nights. The exchanging of small gifts at dawn, proof you’d survived another year’s darkness.
“You’ll see at the celebration,” he said, then caught himself like he’d forgotten he’d agreed to take her.
“I’m looking forward to it.” She stretched to hang an ornament on a high hook, going up on her toes. Even at full extension she couldn’t reach. “Um, could you—”
Instead of taking the ornament, he gripped her waist and lifted.
She squeaked, grabbing at his shoulders for balance. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, those massive hands spanning her ribs. She hung the ornament with shaking fingers, feeling his strength, and how easily he held her.
“Good?” His voice had gone deeper.
“Yeah.” The word was breathless.
He lowered her slowly. Too slowly. Her body dragged along his, every inch of contact sending sparks through her.
Her hands slid from his shoulders to his chest and his grip on her waist tightened.
For a moment they stayed frozen, her feet touching ground but their bodies still pressed close, his hands still on her.
His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide. She felt his heart hammering under her palm, matching the wild rhythm of her own. If she went up on her toes again, if she just leaned in—
He released her and stepped back, jaw tight. “The red fabric. What are we doing with it?”
Right. Decorating. Not standing here wanting him to kiss her again, to press her against the wall and—
“Table runner. Or wall hanging. Whatever works.” She moved to the fabric, needing something to do with her hands. “Red is traditional for Christmas. Joy and warmth and—”
She turned to find him holding one of the wooden ornaments, studying it with an unreadable expression. It was a star, carved with intricate patterns that looked almost like snowflakes.
“These were Grall’s mate’s.” His thumb traced the delicate carving. “She made them for Midwinter. She died in the plague.”
Juni’s throat tightened. The plague that had killed all the Latharian females. She’d read about it and couldn’t imagine what they’d all been through.
“They’re beautiful,” she said gently, moving to his side.
“She was talented.” He set the star down carefully, like it might break. “Grall shouldn’t have given these away.”
“Maybe he wanted them to have a home. To be used, not just stored.” She picked up the star and turned it so it caught the light. “We could hang them where they’ll catch the morning sun? Give them pride of place? Maybe she’ll see them where she is, and smile knowing they’re being used. Loved.”
Something shifted in his expression and he nodded. “By the east window. The light’s best there.”
They strung the ornaments together, working in comfortable silence now. Their hands brushed reaching into the box and each touch made her breath catch.
The room transformed around them. What had been stark and cold became warm and inviting. The lights cast golden shadows that danced on the walls. The silver plants caught every beam of sun. The red fabric turned the rough wooden table into something festive.
“It needs evergreen.” She surveyed their work, hands on her hips. “The smell is important. Pine or fir or—”
“There’s til’vaash outside.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll cut some.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll wear your jacket. The big one.”
His lips quirked at the corner. Almost a smile. “Stubborn female.”
“Grumpy male.”