Chapter 11
Telling myself I wasn’t nervous, I followed Bastian downstairs. He led me through the shop and straight to the main Christmas tree. The one that had started this whole mess with its dying strands of lights.
In the unexpected rush of the previous day, I hadn’t had time to fix it and in the morning light, it looked even sadder than before.
In addition to the dead strands of lights, some of the ornaments were missing, and the tree itself tilted slightly to the left, held in place by sheer stubbornness and wire.
“This is inadequate,” he said.
“Tell me about it.”
“It does not honor the season.”
“I know.”
He turned to look at me, his amber eyes thoughtful. “The tree should be the centerpiece. The heart of the shop. Currently, it is… depressing.”
“Wow. Don’t hold back.”
“If we are hoping to restore the Christmas spirit, this tree does not help. It is sad.”
He wasn’t wrong. The tree had been beautiful once.
When Gran ran the shop, it was always the first thing you saw when you walked in.
Covered in lights and ornaments and tinsel, topped with a beautiful vintage star.
People would come just to see it, to take pictures with their kids.
Now it looked like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree on a bad day.
“Fine,” I said. “What do you suggest?”
He tilted his head, considering. “You have more ornaments in storage?”
“Some. In the stockroom. But they’re for sale, not for display.”
“Irrelevant. If the shop fails, they will not be sold anyway.” He moved towards the stockroom before I could argue. “Show me what you have.”
“Bossy,” I muttered under my breath as I followed him, but he had a point. What was the use of keeping ornaments pristine and boxed if nobody ever saw them?
Most of the ornaments in the stockroom were older stock, things that hadn’t sold in previous seasons. He sorted through the haphazard collection and began opening boxes, carefully examining the contents.
“These are adequate.” He pulled out a box of glass ornaments in deep reds and golds. “These as well.” Another box, this one filled with delicate snowflakes. “And these.” Tiny silver bells.
“That’s a lot of ornaments.”
“The tree is large. It requires proper adornment.”
He continued sorting, creating a pile of approved decorations and a pile of rejected ones. I watched, fascinated by his intensity.
“You’re very invested in this,” I said.
“The season should be honored properly.”
“Even by humans?”
He paused, a silver bell in one clawed hand. “Especially by humans. You are the ones who need the reminder of light in darkness. Of celebration in the cold. Of joy when everything seems bleak.” He gently set the bell aside. “Your tree should reflect that.”
Something in my chest went warm and soft.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s make the tree beautiful.”
His mouth curved, just slightly. “An acceptable plan.”
We hauled the approved boxes out to the main floor.
He had selected enough ornaments to decorate three trees, but I didn’t argue.
If we were doing this, we might as well do it right.
I plugged in the lights first, checking each strand.
Most worked. The ones that didn’t, I replaced with new ones from stock.
He watched me work, his tail flicking with what I was sure was impatience.
“You are doing it wrong,” he said.
“I haven’t even started decorating yet!”
“The lights are uneven. The distribution is inefficient.”
I stepped back, looking at the tree. “They look fine to me.”
“They are clustered too heavily on the left side. The right needs three more strands to achieve proper balance.”
Oh my God. “Are you seriously critiquing my light placement?”
“I am offering constructive guidance.”
“You’re being a perfectionist.”
“There is a difference between perfectionism and basic competence.”
I grabbed a strand of lights and threw it at him. He caught it without looking, one eyebrow raised.
“If you’re so concerned about proper balance,” I said, “then you do it.”
“Very well.”
He approached the tree, and suddenly I was watching a Krampus arrange Christmas lights with the focus and intensity of a master craftsman. He wove the strands through the branches with surprising delicacy, his clawed fingers gentle. Within minutes, the tree glowed with perfectly distributed light.
Damn it. “Okay, fine. It looks better your way.”
“I am aware.”
“You don’t need to be so smug about it.”
“I’m merely stating the truth.”
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed an ornament—a red glass ball with golden filigree—and held it up. “Where does this one go?”
He studied the tree, then pointed to a branch on the left side. “There. Third tier, between the lights. It will catch the glow and reflect it outward.”
I hung it where he indicated.
“No. Two inches to the right.”
I adjusted.
“More.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“Do you want it to look correct or not?”
I moved the ornament two more inches to the right.
“Acceptable.”
We fell into a rhythm after that. I’d select an ornament, he’d tell me where to place it, and I’d either comply or argue about his obsessive attention to detail. Mostly I argued.
“It doesn’t matter if the red ones are evenly distributed!”
“It absolutely matters. Symmetry creates visual harmony.”
“Nobody’s going to notice if this snowflake is half an inch higher.”
“I will notice.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I am correct.”
But despite the bickering—or maybe because of it—I was enjoying myself.
There was something comfortable about it, something easy.
Like we’d been doing this for years instead of days.
I reached for the next ornament, a delicate silver star, and realized the best spot for it was near the top of the tree.
Too high for me to reach from the ground.
I dragged over the stepladder, an ancient wooden thing that wobbled even on a good day.
“That ladder is a safety hazard,” he observed.
“It’s all I’ve got.”
“I could simply place the ornaments on the higher branches.”
“And miss the chance to criticize my placement technique? I don’t think so.” I climbed onto the first step, testing its stability. It wobbled but held.
Second step. Third. The ladder creaked ominously.
“Noelle—”
“I’m fine.” I reached up with the star, stretching towards the branch he had indicated. “Almost got it.”
My fingertips brushed the branch. The ladder shifted beneath me, and then he was there, his hands settling on my hips, steadying me.
Oh.
His touch burned through my jeans, warm and sure and completely overwhelming. His body was close behind mine, solid and immovable, anchoring me in place.
“Steady,” he said, his voice low and close to my ear.
“I’m steady.”
“You are wobbling.”
“The ladder’s wobbling.”
“Then perhaps you should not be on it.”
His hands tightened fractionally on my hips, adjusting my angle. Pulling me back against him just slightly. I tried to focus on the task. On hanging the star. On anything except the feeling of his hands on my body and his breath against my neck.
“That branch,” he said. “Slightly to the left.”
I shifted, reaching. His hands moved with me, guiding my hips, changing my position.
He’s not steadying me. He’s holding me.
The realization sent heat flooding through me.
“There,” he said. “That angle is correct.”
I hung the star with trembling fingers.
“Good.” His hands remained on my hips. “Now the blue ornament. Top right quadrant.”
“You want me to stay up here?”
“Unless you plan to climb down and up again for each ornament? This is more efficient.”
Efficient. This is just about efficiency.
I grabbed the next ornament from the box I’d placed on the ladder’s top platform.
A delicate blue glass ball with white snowflakes painted on it.
His hands stayed exactly where they were.
I reached up, stretching towards the indicated branch, and his grip tightened, holding me secure as I rose onto my toes.
“Higher,” he said.
I stretched more, my reindeer sweater riding up, exposing a strip of skin above my waistband. His thumb brushed that exposed skin. Just once. So quickly I might have imagined it, except I felt it all the way to my bones.
The ornament slipped from my fingers, and time seemed to slow. I watched the delicate glass ball fall, tumbling through the air towards the hardwood floor and inevitable destruction. Then it stopped, suspended in mid-air, wrapped in a faint shimmer of frost and shadow.
Magic.
The ornament floated back up, settling gently into my palm.
“How did you do that?”
“I can impose my will on certain elements, mainly ice and shadow.”
I turned my head, glancing at him over my shoulder. “That’s… impressive.”
He gave an oddly human half-shrug. “It’s part of what I am.”
His hands were still on my hips. His body was still close behind mine. His amber eyes glowed with amusement and something darker.
“So you don’t even need me to decorate the tree. You could just float all the balls in place.”
“I could,” he agreed, and the rumble of his vibrated down my spine. “But then you would not learn your lesson.”
“Lesson?” I scoffed. “You’re holding my hips hostage to teach me a lesson?”
“I am ensuring your safety. And also… observing.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “You become flustered. Your breathing changes. Your pulse races. It is a fascinating reaction to proximity.”
Heat washed over me, and it had nothing to do with the effort of balancing on a ladder. I prided myself on my unflappable cheerfulness, but I was blushing because a seven-foot-tall horned demon was teasing me about my physiological responses.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accused.
“You are… intriguing,” he corrected, which was somehow worse.
“Right. Intriguing.” I placed the blue ornament on the branch with a little too much force, sending a shower of fake pine needles raining down. “There. Can I get down now?”
“Not until the red one is placed.”
Of course not. The red one was on the other side of the tree, which would require me to pivot on my precarious perch, turning within the circle of his arms.
I took a deep breath and did it, my back brushing against his chest as I twisted.
His hands remained steady on my hips, but I felt him go utterly still, the jingle of his chains ceasing entirely.
The air between us grew thick, heavy with a sudden, electric awareness that had nothing to do with decoration and had everything to do with the male caging me in.
Through the thin fabric of my jeans, the heat of his hands was a constant, branding pressure, and I could feel the faint prickle of his claws. My fingers trembled as I tried to hand the red ornament. I couldn’t get the hook to catch on the branch.
“Allow me,” he murmured. A faint shimmer of blue frost wrapped around the small metal hook, lifting it from my grasp and guiding it gently onto the branch. It settled into place as if moved by an invisible hand.
“There,” he said, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “Properly placed.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever decorated a tree this efficiently,” I managed.
“Efficiency is important.”
“So you’ve said.”
I expected him to release me then, to step back and allow me to descend. He didn’t. His grip remained firm, a cage of warm hands and undeniable intent.
“You may descend now,” he said, as if reading my mind. He probably is.
I fumbled for the ladder, my hands clumsy, my thoughts racing.
I took the first step down, then the second, and the whole ladder wobbled violently.
His hands tightened, pulling me back against him with a decisive tug.
My back was flush against the solid wall of his chest. My rear was pressed against…
something I was definitely not thinking about.
“Careful,” he said. “It would be inconvenient if you were to injure yourself before your judgment is complete.”
“Right,” I squeaked. “Inconvenient.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, foolish rhythm I was certain he could feel. This was a disaster. I was supposed to be proving my worthiness, not lusting after the being who held my fate in his clawed hands.
I finally made it to the ground, my knees feeling suspiciously like overcooked noodles.
I practically scrambled away, turning to face him and trying to look calm and composed and not at all like I’d just been imagining what it would be like to be turned around and properly kissed against the ladder.
He just watched me, one eyebrow slightly raised, a flicker of that predatory amusement back in his eyes. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft jingle of a single link in his chains as he shifted his weight. It was too much. Too intense.
“The tree looks much better,” I said, my voice a little too bright. “You were right. About the balance and everything.”
“Balance is fundamental,” he said, and I was not entirely sure we were still talking about the tree.
“So what was lesson two?”
“That it is important to complete the tasks you begin.”
I busied myself with gathering empty ornament boxes, folding them neatly and stacking them on the counter, doing my best to avoid thinking of husbands on my hips and his body against mine.
“So,” I said, without turning around. “What’s the verdict? Am I still a failing business owner with a disastrous decorating sense?”
“You learn quickly when corrected.” He moved to stand beside me, looking at the tree. “You are not a lost cause, little human. Merely… misguided.”
“I’ll take misguided over hopeless any day.” I finally risked a glance at him. The warm glow of the Christmas lights softened the harsh angles of his face and made the silver in his dark fur gleam. “Now what?”
The question came out more breathless than I intended, and I saw his tail flick before he glanced away. “We should finish decorating,” he said, his voice rough. “Before the shop opens.”
“Right. Yes. Decorating.” I grabbed the next box, grateful for something to do with my hands. “What’s next on your list of proper seasonal reverence?”
His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but was close enough. “Garland. The windows need garlands.”
“The windows need garlands,” I repeated. “Of course they do.”
“Symmetrical garlands.”
“Naturally.”
“With proper spacing and adequate greenery-to-ornament ratio.”
“Is there a mathematical formula for that?”
“Obviously.”
I’d summoned the world’s most perfectionist Krampus. Of course I had.