Chapter 8 Christmas Spirit Restoration Activities
Christmas Spirit Restoration Activities
Islapped at my ringing alarm three times before my hand connected with the snooze button. The morning sun sliced through the gap in my curtains as if it had a vendetta against my eyelids.
Five more minutes. Just five.
When I next opened my eyes, thirty minutes had passed. I dragged myself upright, squinting at my phone. No missed calls from work. Small miracles. After yesterday’s magical reindeer intervention and impromptu “herd meeting,” I’d put in for a sick day.
I probably needed a sick week.
The bathroom beckoned with promises of hot water and temporary escape from my reality. I shuffled across the room, my brain still booting up its systems.
I flipped on the light, reached for my toothbrush, and caught my reflection.
“What the actual fuckity fuck?!”
My toothbrush clattered into the sink as I leaned forward, nose practically touching the mirror. Two inches of silver roots blazed like a neon sign against my carefully maintained black hair. Two. Entire. Inches.
I grabbed a handful and held it away from my scalp to see it better. It wasn’t from bad lighting or sleep deprivation. My natural color was making a very unauthorized comeback tour.
It was physically impossible to grow two inches overnight. I ran my fingers through my hair, frantically checking the length. It wasn’t longer. It was... reverting. Like my body was rejecting the dye the same way it had rejected my spray tan.
I grabbed my measuring tape from my drawer and held it against the roots. Exactly two inches. Hair grew half an inch per month, max. This was four months of growth. Overnight.
“Okay, Neve. Let’s review.” I braced my hands on the counter. “You’ve got inexplicable ice powers. Your skin rejected industrial-grade spray tan. Your hair is magically un-dyeing itself. And nine men who transform into reindeer will neither confirm nor deny that your father is Santa Claus.”
A broken laugh slipped free, tangled up in nerves. I threw the measuring tape back in the drawer and slammed it closed before marching toward the kitchen. Coffee. I needed coffee before I could wrap my head around any more reality-breaking revelations.
The smell of brewing coffee greeted me halfway down the hall, along with the sound of male voices and clinking dishes.
I rounded the corner to find Dane standing at my coffee maker while Dash organized a spread of pastries on my kitchen table. Both men looked up with identical expressions of innocence.
“Good morning, princess!” Dane lifted a mug in salute. His smile widened as his gaze fixed on my two-toned hair.
Dash set down a plate of Christmas-themed donuts. “The transformation is progressing nicely.”
I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms over my sleep shirt. “What did you do to my hair?”
“Nothing.” Dane held out a mug of coffee toward me. “That’s all you, sweetheart. Or rather, all original you, coming back out to play.”
“No nicknames,” I grumbled as I cautiously approached the offered coffee like it might bite. “If my hair spontaneously turns into tinsel, I’m shaving all of you bald while you sleep.”
“Threats of violence already?” Dash’s expression remained entirely too pleased. “And here I thought we had such a productive bonding session yesterday.”
I grabbed the mug and took a sip. It was the right strength, temperature, and amount of my coffee creamer. Unnervingly perfect. “How do you know how I take my coffee?”
“Magic.” Dane gave me a look so smug it might as well have been a wink.
These men were horribly frustrating, and it was precisely the wrong time to notice how their broad shoulders seemed to fill my kitchen in a way that wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
Dash pulled out a chair. “We’ve got your whole day planned. Light Christmas spirit restoration activities to ease you back in.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve got what?” The coffee suddenly tasted like betrayal.
I stared at the pair of them, setting my coffee down with a definitive clink. “Look, I’m not great at being handled. Not even before my life went full meltdown.”
Dane leaned his hip against my kitchen counter, the morning light from the window making his amber eyes practically glow. “We could work on that.” His voice dropped to a murmur that seemed to vibrate.
Something warm pooled low in my stomach. Nope. I would not become attracted to these reindeer men.
Instead, I glanced at the elaborate breakfast spread, then at the hall to my bedroom. If I moved fast enough, I could barricade myself in there for at least a few hours.
“Don’t even think about it.” Dash’s voice held an amused warning.
I sank into the chair with a groan. “I hate Christmas.” I hunched over my coffee like it could shield me from Christmas spirit intervention. “I’m guessing ‘leave me alone’ isn’t going to work with you two?”
“Not a chance.” Dane dropped a chocolate croissant onto my plate. “Look at the bright side. At least we’re feeding you first.”
Dash pushed a bowl of fresh berries toward me. “Consider this your official herd onboarding. Day one.”
I took a reluctant bite of the croissant. The buttery layers melted on my tongue with chocolate perfection. Damn them. “I didn’t agree to be onboarded.”
“Yet here we are.” Dash’s eyes tracked over my face, lingering on my hair. “The silver hair suits you.”
My hand shot up to my silver embarrassment. “I’m dyeing it back today.”
Dane snorted. “Good luck with that. Your body’s rejecting anything that masks your true nature. Plus, it helps with camouflage…”
I stared at my coffee, a childhood memory washing over me like an icy wave. “Camouflage...”
Six-year-old me, crouched in a snowdrift, my silver hair and pale skin making me practically invisible. The other kids called it unfair, especially when a boy wearing his mom’s furry white jacket as a makeshift nibbleknot costume kept getting spotted while I remained hidden for nearly an hour.
I blinked, the kitchen coming back into focus.
“What the hell is a nibbleknot?”
“You just remembered something?” Dash leaned forward, his broad shoulders tensing with interest.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I was hiding in the snow, and my hair made me invisible. There was a boy pretending to be... a nibbleknot?”
Dash exchanged a quick glance with Dane, something unspoken passing between them.
“A nibbleknot is a snow creature.” Dash’s voice was slow, and his tone remained careful, like he was testing the words.
I knew they couldn’t tell me things directly, but he at least was trying.
“It’s a… folklore thing among children. They’re said to look like a giant knot of yarn.
” He looked at Dane, eyebrows arched in question.
Dane shrugged, setting down his mug. “I’ve never seen one. They leave blankets and cuddle people who need comfort.”
“And the nibbling part? Please tell me they don’t nibble on children’s toes.” I shuddered at the thought of a giant furry creature making a snack of my pinky toes.
“When they eat, they nibble.” Dash broke apart a blueberry muffin. “If you’re curious about them, ask Rudy. He’s the only one of us who’s ever seen one.”
My brain stuttered to a halt. “Wait. Why would Rudy have seen one?”
Dane’s coffee mug froze halfway to his lips. His eyes darted to Dash with an unmistakable oh shit look.
Dash cleared his throat and stood abruptly. “Donut? You should try the red velvet.”
“You just said they leave blankets for people who need comfort.” I planted my elbows on the table, leaning forward. “What happened to Rudy?”
Dane pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “So about those Christmas spirit restoration activities! We have a whole itinerary.”
“I’m not moving until you—”
A sharp knock at the front door startled us all.
“Perfect timing!” Dane practically bolted for the door, relief washing over his features.
I shot Dash a look, waiting for him to explain.
“Just some light festivities.” Dash’s poker face was excellent. Too excellent.
Twenty minutes later, I stared in horror at my transformed living room.
The knock on the door had been from a delivery service that had set up folding tables.
Every surface was covered with baking trays full of gingerbread cookies.
Piping bags of frosting were arranged between sprinkle containers, candy bits, and an absurd amount of edible glitter.
I should never have left the two men unattended while I went to get ready for the day.
“What the hell happened in here?” My voice came out higher than intended.
“Christmas magic.” Dane gave me a slow, dramatic blink that said, “You’re welcome,” as he tied an apron around his waist. Sleigh My Name, Sleigh My Name was written across the chest.
Dash held out an apron toward me. “You might want this. Things are about to get messy.”
“I don’t do messy.” I took a step back, eyeing the chaos. “And I definitely don’t do gingerbread.”
“Today you do.” Dash stepped forward, the apron still extended. “Just try. For an hour.”
“Think of it as exposure therapy.” Dane was already squeezing green frosting onto a cookie with concerning enthusiasm.
I snatched the apron from Dash’s hand. “One hour. Then you both leave.”
“Sure, princess.” Dane didn’t even look up as he gave his gingerbread man obscene biceps.
I tied the apron with sharp, angry movements. “And stop calling me…” My words failed me as I glanced down at the text on my chest: Sleigh Queen.
It felt like a tug of war was going on inside my brain, trying to decide whether or not to let me claim the nickname. It felt right, but at the same time, it made me want to kick Dash and Dane out.
“Decorate a few. That’s all.” Dash guided me with his hand on the small of my back to the seat between them. It pulled me away from whatever mental battle was about to pull me under.
“Fine.” I reached for the white frosting, determined to get through this with minimal participation.
Dane held up his creation: a gingerbread monstrosity with a frosting six-pack and what appeared to be green sprinkle chest hair. “This is me in my peak December form.”
“Horrifying.” I couldn’t stop the slight smile tugging at my lips.
Dash worked with methodical precision on his cookie. “I’m making you.” His eyes flicked up to my face, then back down as he added two dots of blue frosting.
“That looks nothing like me.”
“The scowl’s not quite right yet.” His finger dabbed a tiny adjustment to the frosting mouth, his own lips curved in amusement.
Did the man want me to dump sprinkles in his eyes?
I focused on my gingerbread, intending to slap some random frosting on it and be done. But as I squeezed the piping bag, my hands seemed to move with a rhythm I didn’t consciously direct. White lines swirled into intricate patterns, creating a snowflake across the cookie’s surface.
My fingers hovered over the design, a strange déjà vu washing over me. I’d made this exact pattern before. Many times.
“That’s beautiful.” Dash’s voice was soft beside me.
I stared at my work. “I don’t know how I did that.”
For a heartbeat, the frosting gleamed with an inner light, pulsing once beneath my fingertip. I jerked my hand back as if it had burned me.
Dane and Dash exchanged a quick glance over my head.
“What was that?” My voice came out as a whisper.
“Your connection.” Dane’s usual playfulness had vanished. “To the... the Jingle.”
I grabbed another cookie, focusing intently as I repeated the pattern, this time adding tiny crystalline details with silver sugar. My breathing slowed. The tightness that had lived between my shoulder blades for as long as I could remember eased slightly.
“I’ve never decorated cookies before.” The lie tasted strange on my tongue, but was it a lie if I didn’t remember?
“Hmm.” Dash’s noncommittal hum spoke volumes.
Three cookies later, I’d relaxed into the rhythm, annoyed to find myself enjoying it. Dane’s commentary on his increasingly ridiculous creations made it impossible not to laugh.
“You have to try one.” Dane nudged a finished cookie toward me.
“I don’t like cookies,” I replied. Which was a lie, considering chocolate chip had already staged a coup in my brain.
“Try this one.” Dash’s eyes held a challenge as he picked up one of my creations and held it up. “Open.”
The cookie hovered inches from my mouth, and the air between us hummed with something I didn’t want to name.
“I don’t even like sweets,” I muttered, yet leaned forward anyway.
My lips parted, and Dash’s thumb brushed against my bottom lip as he fed me the cookie. My eyes fluttered closed, both from his touch and the flavor that hit me like a physical force.
Ginger and cinnamon bloomed across my tongue, but it wasn’t just the taste. It was the warmth spreading from my chest outward, rushing through my limbs.
A half-formed memory shimmered at the edge of my consciousness: laughter echoing off high ceilings, the smell of baking everywhere, small hands covered in flour, and a deep voice telling me it was the best cookie he’d ever seen and that he’d seen billions, if not trillions.
When I opened my eyes, Dash was watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with heat.
His thumb traced the corner of my mouth, catching a stray crumb. “Tell me again how you hate cookies, Neve.”
I licked my lips, and his eyes tracked the movement. It would be so easy to close the distance between us and kiss him.
Wait. What?
I stood, untying my apron, which felt like it was tied too tight. “I think that’s enough Christmas spirit restoration for one day.”
There was only so much one woman could take, and realizing that I wanted to kiss not just Dash but also Dane and the rest of the men was too much.