Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Nick pushes me back into the diner, closing the door as he steps back outside. My mouth falls open in disbelief at the sheer nerve of the vampire, watching his brooding silhouette disappear into the snowy night. He thinks he’s playing the hero, but I refuse to be a damsel in distress.
I storm back outside. Nick is nowhere to be seen.
The rumbling has stopped and the cold nips as snow flurries across Main Street; fairy lights bead the eaves like frost, and the café’s windows glow butter-warm behind me.
Somewhere, a cinnamon bun is achieving sainthood.
The streets are quiet except for the soft crunch of my boots on the snow and the faint jingling of distant Christmas music drifting from a nearby shop.
That’s when I hear it again.
Another rumble.
It spreads through my chest and crescendos as a wall of gray dust materializes at the far end of Main Street.
A rolling wave of debris kicked up by whatever’s inside.
I squint, trying to make out the dark shapes inside—antlers, fur, and a blur of chaos barreling toward me at a speed that should not belong to anything associated with Christmas.
Reindeer.
A herd of reindeer.
An exceptionally large herd of reindeer.
Blitzen and bother. Nick was right.
I yelp and dive into a forgiving snowbank. Cold goes down my collar; my dignity goes up in smoke. The reindeer thunder past, hooves striking sparks against the cobblestones, their bells jingling wildly. They’re huge—draft horse huge—and they’re not prancing or dancing. They’re charging.
I drag myself out of yet another snowbank and scramble to my feet, brushing snow off me as I watch reindeer wreak havoc on Main Street.
They’ve splintered off into groups, filling the streets like water from a burst dam.
One crashes into a lamp post, sending garlands and lights cascading to the ground.
Another snags its antlers on a string of Christmas lights, dragging them like some kind of unhinged holiday banner.
“Is this happening?” I ask the night. The night, unhelpfully, jingles.
But I know this is real, because like everything else that’s happened in the past few days, it is ridiculous and completely out of my control.
Willow Creek’s Christmas gala has become an unmitigated disaster, and instead of organizing the festival of the decade, I’m presiding over a catastrophe that could ruin this town.
Reindeer scatter, some darting into alleys while others charge into shop windows, leaving cracked glass and startled patrons in their wake.
One particularly massive buck stops in the middle of the square, snorting and pawing at the ground like it’s preparing to challenge Santa to a duel.
Another smaller buck emerges from a bakery before running away from the larger male, taking its antlers and the stolen holiday cookies with him.
Marcy barrels out of the Knit and Kettle, clutching a paper bag full of holiday beignets, staring at the scene like she’s walked into the wrong Hallmark movie. When she spots me, her face lights up.
“Holly! What on earth is going on?” she yells over the uproar.
“Reindeer,” I say, still trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “Stampede. Christmas chaos. You know, normal middle-of-the-week stuff in the run-up to the gala.”
Marcy scampers across the road, dodging a reindeer before she skids to my side, panting. “Are things okay with Nick? Did he summon them? Because this feels like the kind of prank you’d pull if you were someone who wanted to get one over on you.”
“No, Nick didn’t send them. Why would he—?”
I stop myself because, honestly, it does feel like something he might do. But no. Even he isn’t this dramatic. Or ridiculous.
“Are you sure?” she presses. “You two have been spending so much time together lately. I mean, you’re practically inseparable now. Maybe this is his way of keeping you on your toes? Or livening things up?”
“Are you suggesting that the standard repertoire of vampire skills includes hippiatry? What’s next? Softball?” I snort so hard that the snow considers changing direction. “Now isn’t the time for whatever this is.”
She shrugs and gestures toward the mess. “Well, what are we supposed to do about that?”
The reindeer buck lets out a loud bellow—do reindeer even bellow?—and charges toward the gazebo in the center of the square, splintering one of its wooden posts. The roof stays up somehow, an act of structural defiance that no one saw coming.
Marcy and I stare at the gazebo, its garlands now hanging limply as the buck continues its assault, antlers smashing through the decorations with wild abandon. Around us, the reindeer scatter through the square like furry missiles, upending trash cans, and snagging lights.
I’ve frozen. Too shocked to know how to react.
This is insane. Ridiculous.
And it’s ruining my Christmas gala.
“Well, we can’t just let them keep...doing this,” Marcy says, gesturing vaguely to the carnage as another reindeer crashes into a snowman, sending its carrot nose flying.
“Oh, really? I thought we’d stand here and wait for them to finish before offering them a rubdown and some oats,” I snap, dodging a rogue reindeer that streaks past, jingling like it’s auditioning for the world’s loudest carol.
“Any brilliant ideas, Marcy? Other than knitting them an apology scarf?”
“Have you tried singing Silent Night? Or calling Nick?”
I groan, dodging a rogue wreath that one of the reindeer has managed to fling off its antlers.
The thing bounces off a stack of nearby presents, and I hear a soft squeal as it knocks into a stack of mistletoe.
A jingle bell somehow detaches mid-flight, twirling through the air like a missile.
Flying holiday decorations are the very last thing I need today, and I watch the metal bell arc through the air and roll down the street after it lands with a thump.
“Could you stop talking about Nick and start helping me stop this?”
Marcy shrugs. “I’m just saying, Holly. You two have been awfully cozy lately. He’d probably come running if you called.”
I don’t dignify that with a response, mostly because my focus is on the reindeer now trying to eat the town’s nativity display. And where, precisely, is Nick? I duck into the diner for five seconds. Did he use me as a festive diversion?
“Now? Now, Marcy? Is this really the best time to discuss Nick?” I pantomime picking up a phone. “Hey, Marcy, phone call for you. It’s the cast of the musical, Stomp. They’d like their timing back.”
“Let’s see if they need a snack,” she says, rummaging in her shopping bag. “Who doesn’t love a good gingerbread bribe?”
Before I can point out how dangerous gingerbread can be, she tosses a cookie toward one of the smaller reindeer. To my astonishment, it pauses, sniffs the snow-dusted treat, and then snatches it up and starts chewing noisily.
“See? Brilliance!” Marcy declares, tossing another cookie toward another reindeer.
“You got enough to feed the whole herd?”
I grab a handful of gingerbread, flinging pieces toward a cluster of reindeer. A few more stop their rampage, and I start to think we might be onto something.
“Scatter them far apart,” I say. “We’re luring them in. Not baiting a buffet.”
It’s working. I allow myself a single breath of relief before the realization that it’s working too well dawns on me.
The massive buck—the one that’s been terrorizing the gazebo—snorts loudly as he clocks the cookie economy and declares inflation.
He charges toward us, scattering the smaller reindeer like skittles in a bowling alley.
“Uh, Holly?” Marcy squeaks, backing up as the buck closes in, its antlers glinting menacingly in the faint Christmas lights.
“Run!” I shout, grabbing her arm and dragging her behind me as we sprint toward the nearest side street.
We don’t make it far before a blur of black and red streaks past us, cutting off the buck’s charge with a sharp, almost lazy, movement. The reindeer skids to a halt, its hooves digging into the snow, as Nick steps into view, looking infuriatingly calm despite the chaos surrounding him.
“Always a pleasure, ladies,” he says, flashing his signature smile. “Delighted to see you have everything under control.”
“Don’t just stand there. Do something,” I demand, panting as I glare at him. “This isn’t under control.”
He’s still insufferable. Still annoyingly tall, dark, and handsome. Still looking at me like he wants something, and I still can’t figure out what that is.
Nick shrugs, flexing his fingers against the cold.
“I’ve corralled most of the herd in the children’s playground.
A buck that looks suspiciously like Rudolph seems to have taken a liking to the merry-go-round.
It’s really quite amusing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and Marcy swoons like a woman who’s read The Vampire Lestat and taken it far too seriously.
“I thought I’d check you hadn’t gotten trampled. Looks like I was just in time.”
The buck snorts again, pawing at the ground, and Nick turns to it with an arched brow.
“Easy there, big fella,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “No need to make this personal.”
The reindeer hesitates, its ears flicking back as though considering whether to listen.
“Is there anything he can’t charm?” Marcy whispers, staring at Nick like he’s a reindeer whisperer. “At this point, I’d let him talk me into alphabetizing his wine fridge.”
I can’t help but be grudgingly impressed as Nick steps forward and gently guides the buck away from both us and the wreckage of the gazebo.
The darn thing follows his instructions, its large antlers dipping low as if in shame.
Nick’s hand rests on its snout, and the reindeer, despite its previous apparent rage, settles under his touch.
I watch, feeling a mix of awe and irritation.
“How does he do that?” I mumble under my breath.
Nick shoots me a glance over his shoulder, that same smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Years of practice. And maybe a little charm. I could show you sometime—”
I scoff and plant my hands on my hips. Nick, meanwhile, rounds up a few more stray reindeer and guides them into a neat line, their hooves skidding slightly on the icy ground.
“The trick, Frost, is to ask nicely.”
Nick clicks his tongue once—soft, certain—and the buck’s ears tip like sails catching wind.
He pats the reindeer on its neck and gives it a sharp tap on its flank.
It jumps and then trots off, with the rest of the reindeer following behind in an orderly procession.
I watch, silently impressed, as the chaos vanishes like it was never there.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he calls out as he walks over.
“Yes. Thank you for saving us from the Christmas apocalypse.”
Nick’s expression softens just enough to catch me off guard. “Anytime. Whatever you need.”
Marcy giggles and nudges me with her elbow.
I make a point of ignoring her, although I can’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Nick’s offer hangs in the air like a promise, and I can’t help but wonder what else he’s willing to do—or what he’s hiding behind that devil-may-care grin.
When I glance up, Nick is already looking at me. For a fleeting second, his eyes glimmer. His usual cocky smirk falters, replaced by something quieter. Warmer. Something that feels like it’s only for me.
It’s a look that makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t explain. Heat creeps up my neck all of a sudden, while my face flushes, inconveniently.
“Really,” Nick says, his voice gentler than before, “it’s no problem. You make it very easy to want to help.”
I try to hide my reaction, but it’s useless.
Nick watches me for a beat longer, his expression shifting, as if he’s caught in the strange moment, too.
And for a brief, wonderful second, it’s just us, standing in the quiet aftermath of chaos, the world fading away as I forget about everything except the way his words settle in my chest.
My mouth opens to say something—anything—but before the words come out, Marcy’s voice cuts through the quiet, bright and cheery as ever.
“You know, there’s a reindeer farm a few miles outside of town.
North Star Reindeer,” she says, glancing between us with that knowing smile of hers.
“I bet the stampede started there. Nick should probably make sure they get home safe, and there might be more clues about who stole the Christmas tree. These events must be related. This can’t be a coincidence. ”
I blink, the moment shattered, and glance back at Nick.
His eyes glint with amusement, that signature smirk returning. “Not a bad idea. How about it, Frost? You think you can endure another trek through the woods with me?”
I nod, wondering about my decision to go into event-planning as a career.
“Great! I’ll grab my hat and gloves. Back in a second,” Marcy says, clearly pleased with herself. She doesn’t wait for us to respond before she’s off, practically skipping towards her flat above the chocolate shop she owns.
“Grab hand warmers,” I yell at her. “And the good scarves. We’re doing this politely.”
Nick exhales and watches his breath fog in the air. “Guess we’re going on another adventure.”
A small smile sneaks onto my face. This is ridiculous. It’s with him. And somehow, I’m committed to it.
“Guess so.”
As Marcy’s footsteps crunch through the snow ahead, I find myself wishing it wasn’t the three of us going.
If it were just Nick and me, maybe that strange, quiet moment from earlier would have stretched a little longer.
Maybe I wouldn’t be quite so flustered now, wondering if he’d seen the way my cheeks flushed—or if he’d felt that weird pull like gravity bending between us.
Nick adjusts his scarf and slips his hands into his pockets.
“You cold?” he asks, his voice softer now, more like it was a minute ago when it was just us.
“No. I’m fine.”
I shake my head quickly, but the thoughtfulness in his tone makes me warm all over again. We fall into step together, the quiet stretch of snow between us feeling heavier than it should. For just a second, I wish the night were ours alone, without interruptions or reindeer to round up.