Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Brooke
I could tell from his expression that Sylvik didn’t think the four-foot tree needed anymore decorations, and that made me want to giggle again. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d clearly made me hot chocolate by melting M just being here with Sylvik made me want to smile and spin around and hug myself…but I’d probably knock something over with my hyperactivity, as Ethan would say, and thus I was doing my best to play it cool.
But when I impulsively reached out and grabbed his hand?
Sparks, I’m telling you. Sparks ran up my arm, the same way they had that afternoon at the diner, when he’d touched me.
It made me want to touch him again.
Made me want to press myself against his chest and run my hands up his ridiculously impressive arms and hold on to his shoulders and see if my lips could fit between those tusks as neatly as that spoon had done…
“Brooke?”
I blinked, dragging myself away from my fantasy, and smiling up at him. “Yes?”
“What kind of decorating do you want to do to the tree? I thought the lights were nice.”
I squeezed. “They are. And the tree doesn’t need anything else, but it’s a fun tradition, and I thought…”
Oh crap. Oh crap, maybe orcs didn’t decorate their trees. My eyes widened, afraid I’d offended him. “I mean, we don’t have to decorate it just because that’s what humans do. It’s really sweet with just the lights and the chain and—and it’s right here in the window, and that’ll be nice—”
His other hand reached around to close around mine, so my hand was clasped between each of his, and I immediately bit down on my blabbering. He tucked his chin down to hold my gaze.
“I’d love to decorate it further, Brooke. With you. I’m just not sure I have anything to decorate it with.”
Exhaling in relief, I felt my shoulders slump and offered him a smile.
“Well, that’s easy. The best ornaments are handmade.
Like salt dough ornaments or ribbons or nuts and twigs from outside.
” I remembered quite a few childhood holidays where I instructed Riven on how to create ornaments for the little tree in our rooms. “Do you have any ribbon? Or even string?”
I watched him blink, and I could see how his gaze turned thoughtful for a moment, as if he was trying to remember something…and I loved that I could tell that about him. As if we’d been friends for years.
Or more than friends.
“I think I do.” He grinned down at me, back in the present. “Want me to get it?”
“First, show me your kitchen supplies, and I’ll see what I can whip up for some dough.”
He didn’t release my hand as he led me into the kitchen, and I had to admit that it felt good. No, more than good.
Right.
It felt right.
So did the way we laughed and teased as I snooped through his kitchen, adding flour and salt and oil to a bowl. “This would have been easier with applesauce, but I didn’t think to ask if you had any.”
“Why would I have applesauce?” Sylvik winked. “I’m not three anymore.”
“Awww, did your mom feed you applesauce?”
And that’s how we began a conversation about our childhoods. I had a million questions for him about growing up in Alaska—by now I’d cornered Tarkhan to find out why it was such a big deal that Sylvik had been raised secretly here in our world—and his family. I interrupted him only once.
“Do you have any cinnamon?”
He stopped abruptly, wincing. “Uh, maybe. Why?”
Well that was suspicious, wasn’t it? “These ornaments always smell better with cinnamon, and I need it to soak up the extra liquid.”
Moving slowly, almost reluctantly, Sylvik pulled down a shaker from the spice cabinet and handed it to me. I lifted a brow. “It’s still sealed.”
“Uh…yeah. I…” He glanced away. “I don’t use it often.”
Was he blushing? Could orcs blush? Why would it make him uncomfortable?
I shrugged. “Well, then I guess you won’t mind if I use it all today. I’ll replace it.”
“It’s okay,” he croaked, and I studied him curiously as I peeled the seal from the container and dumped the entire contents into the bowl.
Was it my imagination, or did he sway slightly and wrinkle his nose at the smell? Well, maybe he just didn’t like cinnamon or something. Hmm, maybe I should have asked him about that…
Before I could, he cleared his throat and asked me a question about my family’s Christmas traditions, and I decided it wasn’t that important. I stirred, and we talked, and then I sent him off to find the ribbon as I carefully rolled the dough out on a cutting board.
I was cutting out the shapes—free-handing, because he didn’t have cookie cutters—and really enjoying letting my creative side out, when he returned with what turned out to be red string.
“Will this do?” he asked, holding it up. “I needed it to fix something at my old house, and must’ve thrown it in when I was packing up.”
“That’s perfect.” I grinned at him without straightening from my task. “You could even braid it together for garland on the tree! But first we’ll use it to tie loops on these ornaments. Does this look like a candy cane to you?”
When he picked up a knife and came to stand beside me, I gladly moved over—this was his tree we were decorating, after all—and had a blast teasing him about his lopsided star.
“Well what about that?” he asked indignantly, pointing his knife at the shape I was working on. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“It’s a snowman! See his little hat?”
“Oh that’s a hat?” He smirked in challenge. “I thought it was a walrus with a goiter.”
Shrieking in indignation, I bumped my shoulder into his playfully. Well, that had been the intention; since he was so much bigger and stronger than me, I ended up just sort of nudging him.
Our bantering continued as we worked, and I realized how comfortable I felt with Sylvik. I mean, I’d shown up unannounced to discuss work, and instead had just sort of unilaterally decided we’d be Christmasing instead. What? It’s a verb.
You can verb anything if you try hard enough. See what I did there? I verbed verb.
Anyhow.
By the time the dough ornaments were in the oven, perfuming the air of his home with the most delicious cinnamon scent, I’d remembered my whole reason for dropping by uninvited.
As I sipped the reheated hot chocolate—it really was pretty delicious, and more traditional than the Mistletoe Mistake—we flipped through the binder, and I pointed out the new ideas and additions.
“Garrak’s going to do some digging for me,” Sylvik told me, one long finger tapping the photo of the greenery arrangement I’d chosen for inspiration, “but this looks ideal. Korrad told me he remembers one wedding where there was an archway, but made with flowers.”
“Oh, an arch,” I gasped happily, flipping back a few pages to point to one I’d seen from a wedding in Hawaii. “That could work beautifully with her colors and really lean into the winter theme. I can ask Riven—”
“I’m sure she’d say yes,” Sylvik interrupted with a grin. “She trusts you.”
A warm feeling spread through me. Different from what happened when our hands brushed, and different from when my mom told me she was proud of me…but equally wonderful. Knowing this male—this successful, organized, Type-A male—believed in me? Well, it was a heady feeling.
And so, as the evening lengthened, we discussed the wedding plans, and different ideas for how to incorporate orcish traditions.
Sylvik pulled out a hand-carved wooden tray and began to lay out an impressive charcuterie board—what kind of single guy kept brie and prosciutto and mixed olives and baguettes just…
on hand? He poured us some wine, and he apologized for not having a summer sausage—apparently his brother ate it all this afternoon—and we waited for the ornaments to cool and swapped stories of formal events we’d attended.
I had plenty of experience with weddings of all sorts, of course, but it turned out that he’d often attended formal events in place of his reclusive boss, Abydos. I asked questions and marveled at his thoughts about succeeding as an orc in the human’s world.
“This afternoon, we decided we’d like to bring one of our traditions to Eastshore,” he confessed almost shyly. “It’s an outdoor—well, I suppose you’d call it a bonfire. The night of the solstice. I think I got volunteered to host, since my house is the only one ready so far.”
I peppered him with questions, and while he readily described what he knew of the ceremony, I had the feeling he was avoiding part of the explanation. But I was too fascinated by his descriptions of the traditions to worry.
By the time I finished showing him how to braid long lengths of the red string into garlands, the cinnamon ornaments were ready to decorate the tree, and we moved into the living room once more.
Most of the houses on Eastshore had been built around the same time in the same design, but his was refreshingly modern, with an open floor plan for entertaining.
He’d already given me a proud tour—his bedroom, office, and a spare utilitarian bedroom—and we’d had a long chat about the use of space in design.
I really enjoyed his insights, and my mind was sparking with ideas when it came to entertaining.
“That’s a great idea,” he said, when I suggested a hot chocolate cart for the back patio as he finished draping the garland around the tree to complement the paper chain. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to volunteer you to help organize the Solstice Circle.”
Chuckling, I laid out ornaments and the cut string in front of the tree. “I would be delighted to. That’s next week, right?”
We’d only managed to get two of the dough ornaments hung up when my phone—in my back pocket—buzzed. I gasped, then winced and reached for it. “I should have let Mom know I wasn’t going to be home for dinner.”
Except, when I swiped up on the screen, it wasn’t to see a text from Mom. It was an email notification. From an address I knew well.