Chapter 9 #3
Heat burned her cheeks as she nodded. “It’s tradition. My mom always made a special breakfast on Christmas morning. Sweet bread and... I know it’s not really Christmas here, and the bread no doubt tastes weird because the flour’s different, but I wanted...” She trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“It’s perfect.”
The certainty in his gruff voice made her throat tight. He crossed to the table and sat in his usual chair. She poured kasta with shaking hands, watched him notice the spice, and the way his eyebrows rose a little at the first sip.
“This is good.” He took another sip, slower. Savoring it. “Different, but good.”
“For Christmas, everything should be a little special.” She cut the sweet bread, and gave him the larger piece. Then held her breath as he bit into it.
He took a second piece without her offering.
Relief flooded through her, spreading warmth from the center of her chest. They ate in comfortable quiet, the scent of til’vaash mixed with sweet bread and spiced kasta filling the air. His gaze found hers across the table, held for a heartbeat before sliding away.
She fidgeted, the snowmen burning a hole in her pocket. Before she could lose her nerve, she pulled them out.
“I made you something. For Christmas.” The words tumbled out too fast. “It’s tradition to exchange gifts and I know it’s probably silly but I wanted to make something. For you.”
She set the three little figures on the table between them.
He stared at them and then picked one up, the tiny thing looking absurd in his massive hand. Turning it over, he studied the stitched face, the seed pod buttons, and the way she’d shaped the body.
“What are they?”
“Snowmen. It’s a Christmas tradition. When it snows, you roll snowballs and stack them, make a figure. Give it a face, buttons, sometimes a hat. My mom and I made them every year until...” She was babbling, couldn’t help herself. “These are just fabric because there’s no snow yet, but I thought—”
“Why are they white?”
She blinked in surprise. “Because that’s what color snow is?”
He frowned at the tiny snowman. “Snow is purple.”
Her brain stopped working. Just stopped. “What?”
“Snow is purple. These should be purple.”
“No. Snow is white. Errr… frozen water vapor that falls from the sky? White and fluffy and—” She stared at him but he just looked at her flatly. “Wait… what? Are you serious? Your snow is really purple?”
“All snow is purple.” He folded his arms, looking between her and the little white snowmen.
She shook her head. “No, Earth snow is white. Pure white like clouds or—” She gestured at the snowman. “Like that.”
“There’s no such thing as white snow.”
They stared at each other across the table and then she laughed. They were from different worlds, she knew that, but it hadn’t actually hit her until—
“How is your snow purple?”
He shrugged. “Atmospheric composition, I guess?” He waved a hand. “Science. I’m a rancher, not a scientist. But it’s purple. Always has been.”
“And you’ve never seen white snow? Ever? Not in holos or—”
“I thought it was just very pale purple in Earth recordings.”
A laugh bubbled up. They were arguing about snow color.
He set the snowman down, lining all three up in a row. “I like them. Even if they’re the wrong color.”
“They’re not wrong, they’re Earth snowmen.”
“Wrong.” But his lips quirked at the corner, that almost-smile that made her stomach flip.
Standing suddenly, he left the room. She looked after him, panic rolling through her. Did the color of snow matter that much to him? She heard him in his bedroom, drawers opening. When he returned, he carried something wrapped in soft cloth.
“Your turn. A present.”
Her hands shook as she took it. The weight was substantial, solid. She unwrapped it slowly, afraid of what she’d find. It was probably practical—a tool or supplies or…
It was a hair comb.
Her breath caught. It wasn’t just a hair comb, it was a beautiful hair comb. The handle was carved from dark wood into the shape of intertwining winter branches, and there were tiny crystals inlaid along the handle that caught the morning light and threw tiny rainbows across her palm.
“Goraath...” Words failed her.
She traced the smooth wood, the delicate crystals. This must have taken hours. No… days. The teeth were perfectly spaced, each one carved and sanded until they were silk-smooth. This hadn’t been bought.
This had been made.
By hand. For her.
“This is... when did you make this?”
“Late.” He watched her with an intensity that made her skin heat. “After you went to bed. Most nights since you arrived.”
Oh shit. While she’d been lying awake thinking about him, he’d been sitting up carving this. Working by lamplight after long days of ranch work. His hands—those massive, scarred hands—creating something this delicate.
“It’s for your hair.” His voice was low and rough. “Human females wear their hair down more than ours did. Thought you might need something to keep it back when you’re working.”
She bit her lip and had to blink hard against the sudden burn of tears. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever made me.” Her voice cracked on the words. “No one’s ever... made me something like this.”
His expression changed. Heat and want and something almost vulnerable that made her brave.
“Will you help me put it in?” The question was out before she could stop it. “I want to wear it right now. Show me where it goes? How would a latharian woman have worn it?”
He moved behind her chair and she caught her breath.
Every nerve ending lit up at once as his hands slid into her hair.
He gathered up the wayward strands that she could never tame and pulled her hair back and up.
Did something complicated with the comb that she could feel but not see.
His breath stirred the hair at her neck as he leaned closer, positioning the comb just right.
“Here.” His fingers brushed her neck, lingered against her skin. “Like this.”
A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with cold. He was so close. She could feel his chest almost touching her back.
“There.” His voice was rough and low. “It suits you.”
She turned her head to thank him and found him right there. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his amber eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth and held.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She started to lean in, to close that last inch between them—
“It snowed last night.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Snow. It snowed.” He stepped back and she felt the loss of his heat. He was already moving to grab her jacket… his jacket, the oversized one. “You should see it. Real colony snow. Not weird white Earth snow.”
Her brain stalled. He’d been about to kiss her. She was sure he had. But now he wanted to show her snow? “Now?”
“Now. Before it melts.” He held the jacket out, waited for her to slip her arms in. “Come on.”
Part of her wanted to grab him, pull him down, and finish what they’d started. But his excitement—actual excitement from her grumpy, gruff Goraath—was infectious.
He led her outside and she stopped dead on the porch.
Purple. Everything was purple.
Not just a little purple. Not lavender or mauve or some pale shade she might have expected.
This was purple—deep violet and rich plum and every shade between.
It coated everything. The ground, the fence posts, the barn roof.
The whole world had transformed overnight into something from a fairy tale.
Each flake caught the light from the twin suns and sparkled like tiny amethysts.
“Oh my god.”
She stepped forward, and it crunched under her boots, sounding like Earth snow just the wrong color. A laugh bubbled up.
“Holy shit, you were right. It’s purple. It’s really purple.” She spun in a circle, arms out, face tilted to the sky where light flakes still drifted down. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Purple snow landed on her eyelashes, in her hair, melting slow on her skin. She stuck her tongue out to catch a flake.
“It tastes different too!” She laughed again, giddy as a child. “It’s a bit sweet. Earth snow doesn’t taste like anything except cold and pollution.”
She dropped to her knees, not caring about her bandaged hands, and scooped up a handful. It was cold and perfect and… so purple she couldn’t stop staring. “Can you make snowmen with purple snow? Does it pack the same way?”
When she looked up at him, her thoughts scattered.
He was staring at her with an expression she’d never seen before. Intense. Hungry. Like he wanted to devour her whole. His hands clenched at his sides and that muscle in his jaw jumped.
“Goraath?”
He crossed the distance between them in two strides and yanked her up against his bigger, harder body.
Her words died on her lips and she tilted her face up.
This was it, he was going to kiss her.
And God… she wanted him to.