Chapter 12
The garlands were perfect. Not just pretty, but flawless.
Each one an exact mirror of the others across the windows, the deep green of the fir boughs dotted with stars and cranberries and tiny, unlit candles he insisted were “a necessary traditional touch.” He was a tyrant with tinsel, a despot about decorations, and the shop had never looked better.
I climbed the stepladder again while he supervised from below. His hands stayed carefully on the sides of the ladder this time, but I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and unnerving. Every time I reached too far or twisted at an awkward angle, he’d make a low sound of disapproval.
“You’re going to pull a muscle,” he said.
“I’m perfectly flexible.”
“Flexibility is not the same as proper mechanics.”
“Are you going to critique my posture all day?”
“Until you learn proper body mechanics, yes.”
The tree blazed with light and color. The windows were framed in elegant swags. The air smelled of pine and cinnamon. It felt… hopeful.
“You know,” I said, straightening the last of the silver ribbon on a display, “I think you missed your calling. You should have been a holiday decorator.”
“I am a holiday decorator.” He adjusted an angel on the tree until it was tilted at a precise, perfect angle. “I simply prefer a more dramatic aesthetic. Chains. Despair. The weeping of the wicked.”
“Same skill set, different materials.”
“Precisely.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said quietly, stepping back to admire our work. “It hasn’t looked this good since… since Gran was here.”
“You did most of the work,” he said.
“You directed. Criticized. Judged.”
“Observation is not judgment.”
“It’s exactly judgment.”
He didn’t argue, just studied the shop with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Better,” he said finally. “The balance is restored.”
The bell above the door jingled, and Mrs. Carmichael entered, stopping dead in her tracks.
“Oh my,” she breathed. “Noelle, it’s… magical.”
My chest swelled with pride. “Thank you. I had some help.”
She looked at Bastian, who was standing beside the tree as if he’d been there all his life. “Your consultant has an excellent eye.”
“He has many talents,” I said, and the look Bastian gave me made my face flush.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of customers. Each one who entered commented on the transformation of the shop, the way the new displays seemed to breathe life into every corner. Sales were good—better than yesterday, even. By lunchtime, I’d had to refill the cash register three times.
Bastian remained by the tree, a silent, imposing presence that had somehow become normal to me.
He watched everything, his amber eyes missing nothing, but he didn’t interfere.
He just observed, a living judgment in horned, furry form.
Every time I glanced his way, I found him watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, but there was definitely heat there.
Focus. Shop. Customers. Not the tall, dark, and horned male currently reorganizing my display shelves with meticulous precision.
Shortly after noon, the shop door burst open and Jenna, my best friend and owner of the town’s only bookstore, rushed in. She looked like she’d been in a wind tunnel, her dark hair escaping its usually tidy bun and her cheeks flushed from the cold.
“You will not believe what’s happening,” she said, ignoring Bastian entirely, which was a testament to how distracted she was. “Main Street is buzzing. Everyone’s talking about your ‘marketing consultant.’”
“I told you I’m trying something new. It’s just until Christmas.” And why was that starting to bother me so much.
“He’s amazing, Noelle. The kids are calling him the Alpine Avenger. Someone started a hashtag. #KrampusOnMain.”
I winced. “Oh, dear God.”
“He’s bringing in business,” Jenna said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve had more people in my shop this morning asking about the ‘demon guy’ than I’ve had all week. I sold three books on Alpine folklore. Three!”
“It’s a costume,” I said weakly.
“Best costume I’ve ever seen.” Jenna finally turned her attention to Bastian, giving him a slow, deliberate once-over. “I’m Jenna. Noelle’s long-suffering friend and business consultant.”
“The one who advised her to invest in a ‘social media presence’?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the contempt in his tone.
Jenna’s eyebrows shot up. “She told you about that?”
“I am aware of many things,” he said. “Including that your advice led to a number of poorly lit photographs and a series of posts that garnered exactly seventeen likes, ten of which were from her own family.”
Jenna stared at him, then at me, and then burst out laughing. “Oh, I like him. He’s brutally honest. It’s a refreshing change from all this.” She waved a hand around the shop. “All the cheerful, relentless optimism.”
“It’s not relentless,” I protested. “It’s… consistent.”
“You’re drowning in tinsel and denial,” she said, then her expression softened. “I heard about Grinchly. I’m so sorry, Noelle.”
“It’s fine.” The lie felt heavy on my tongue. “I’m handling it.”
“No, you’re not,” Bastian said simultaneously. “She is actively avoiding the problem in favor of rearranging glitter.”
Jenna looked from him to me and back again. “Okay. This is going to be an interesting two weeks.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered. “He has… very strong opinions about inventory management.”
“I’ll bet,” Jenna said, grinning, then dashed back towards the door. “See you at the meeting tonight.”
The rush continued all afternoon and by four o’clock, I was running on fumes and caffeine. By five, I was ready to collapse. The last customer finally left at 5:23, and I turned the sign to CLOSED with a sigh of relief that came from my toes.
Bastian stood near the counter, looking even more intense in the shop’s dimmed lights. “A successful day.”
“A weird day.”
“Successful and weird are not mutually exclusive.”
“In this case, they’re basically synonyms.” I moved to the register, starting the closing routine. Count the cash, print the report, and reconcile the numbers. Normal things. Grounding things. “I made more today than I have in the past two weeks combined.”
“Because of my presence.”
“Because people are curious and nosy and wanted to see what the fuss was about.” I pulled out the cash drawer. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I am merely stating facts.”
“Facts delivered with a side of ego.”
“I do not have an ego. I have an accurate assessment of my value.”
I looked up, finding him closer than I expected. When had he moved? “That’s literally the definition of ego.”
“Is it?” He leaned against the counter, his posture casual but his eyes sharp. “Or is it confidence earned through centuries of experience?”
“Definitely ego.”
“Confidence.”
“Ego.”
“You are being contrary for the sake of argument.”
“And you’re being smug for the sake of—” I bit off the rest of the sentence, but it was too late.
“For the sake of what, Noelle?”
Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.
“For the sake of annoying me,” I snapped.
“If I wanted to annoy you, I would do far more than simply state facts.” He straightened, moving around the counter with that predatory grace. “I would mention, for instance, how your heart rate increases whenever I stand too close. Or how the bond flares every time our eyes meet. Or—”
“Okay, point made.” I held up a hand, not looking at him. “You’re very observant. Congratulations.”
“I am also very patient.”
“Great. That’s great. Super helpful quality.”
“But my patience has limits.”
Something in his tone made me look up. He was watching me with an intensity that sent heat sliding down my spine. Oh no.
“You have been looking at me all day.”
My brain short-circuited. “I have not—”
“You have.” Another step. “Your gaze lingered on my hands, my shoulders, my mouth.”
My traitorous eyes immediately dropped to the tempting fullness of his lips before I yanked my gaze away.
“I was making sure you weren’t scaring customers!”
“Lying is very naughty,” he said softly, and the words slid over my skin like warm honey. “And your heart rate is accelerating. Again.”
“It’s been a long day. I’m tired. And you’ve been watching me too!”
“It is my function to observe.”
My throat was dry as dust. “And what are your conclusions?”
He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was a wall of impossible heat and muscle and dark fur that smelled of snow and spice and winter forests.
“My conclusion,” he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones, “is that this binding is more complicated than I anticipated.”
His amber eyes were swirling pools of molten gold. I wanted to look away, but I was trapped.
“Complicated how?”
“Complicated in that,” he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, and my whole body tensed, “despite your infuriating optimism and your questionable taste in festive sweaters…”
His knuckles brushed against my jaw, sending an eclectic jolt through me, pure and potent.
“…I find your proximity… distracting.”
My mind went blank. All the witty comebacks, all the denials, all the deflections—they all vanished. There was only the feeling of his skin against mine, the heat of him, the intense, focused way he was looking at me.
“Distracting,” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.
“A significant flaw in the binding.” His thumb stroked along my jawline, and I shuddered. “I am meant to be observing your transgressions. Instead, I find myself observing other things.”
“What things?” I was proud of myself for forming a coherent question.
“The curve of your neck.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “The shape of your lips.”
His words were a slow, deliberate seduction. Each one a stroke against my senses. I was melting. I was on fire. I was going to do something incredibly, spectacularly stupid.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”