Chapter 3 #2
“That’s great, but to create buzz and excitement, we want to create that feeling that they have to buy it now. I know what I’m talking about when it comes to sales.”
“Things will be different this year,” he said.
“Of course, but a perception of scarcity will drive demand. If everyone can have it, it’s not special.”
“If not every kid can have it, then it creates anxiety in children. That’s not the spirit of Christmas.”
Cora had spreadsheets and actual analytics to prove her point, but she sensed this wasn’t something she was going to win with facts and figures.
“‘The spirit of Christmas’ sounds like a slogan that the old department stores used,” she said dismissively. “Will you have a mock-up of one I can take with me on Friday?”
Better to keep him focused on the product, they could argue about sales later.
“Have you ever had a real conversation? You have to take a break so the other person can respond. It’s a back-and-forth.”
If he was teasing her, he must be softening up.
She might get her way after all. She had to play the game his way for now, but once he saw how many units she could shift, he’d change his tune.
His plaid-shirt charm might work on some people—like the woman he’d carved—but Cora was unaffected.
The chances of her falling under the spell of a man was like pigs flying. Or Santa being real. As if!
“Why don’t you tell me about the lady you sculpted? That’d be a nice conversation,” she said, and then watched, transfixed, as he rubbed his hand through that thick chestnut hair of his and it fell back into place looking rumpled and messy and way too sexy.
What would it feel like to push her own hands through his hair? Would those pieces fall over his eyes in exactly that same coyly bashful way?
There was absolutely no way he was going to discuss Ana with Cora Quill, of all people. And yet, the way she was looking at him, was new. There was a question in her eyes that hadn’t made it to her tongue. A look in her eyes that, unless he was much mistaken, was hot. Like … hot, hot.
“She’s my sister.”
“She looks so … ethereal. I had no idea you were so talented. With your hands, I mean. No, wait, that’s not what I—”
“I definitely am,” he said, not sure whether he was covering her awkwardness or adding to it.
She flushed. The latter then.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she mumbled.
“I’m happy to show you,” he said, walking over to her. She smelled of peppermint and pine. No doubt the pine came from his workshop but the peppermint, that was all her.
He had a weakness for the stuff. She sucked in a shaky breath as he stopped right beside her. Tipping her head to the side, his eyes were drawn to her mouth. Her full lips were a warm pink color.
They parted and her tongue dashed out to moisten them. He had an immediate, visceral reaction. His blood felt heavier in his veins, pounding through the base of his throat. His pulse started to thump. And then his cock stirred.
This was a dangerous game.
He was in the market for a wife. A wife for all eternity. Not this sudden rush of physical attraction that signaled the desire for a one-off, hot hookup. He had to put a stop to this.
Instead, he leaned toward her.
Cora’s eyes widened. Her hand came up to rest against his chest. The heat of her palm burned through his shirt. She wasn’t pushing him away. She grasped the fabric in her fist, pulling him closer. He lowered his head.
One kiss… One taste of her…
It would probably be marshmallow flavored and a major turn-off.
Her warm breath against his face tempted him to press his lips to hers. He glimpsed a sudden hint of vulnerability in her eyes that stopped him. He had no idea what he was doing, but he knew helplessness when he saw it.
He swerved and instead picked up his whittling knife, sliding his body past her.
He coughed and took several steps back, hoping that would be enough to douse the fire she’d ignited inside of him.
He picked up a block of wood that revealed the beginnings of an arctic fox he’d seen while out walking in Frostfall Forest.
Cora turned her back and swept some wood shavings off the bench. When she turned back around, her face was coolly neutral and entirely composed, as though nothing had happened.
Nothing had happened, Nick reminded himself.
“You start with an ordinary block of wood?” she said pointedly.
“Most beginners start with a soft wood, like walnut or balsam. This is cherry.”
“How long have you been carving?” she asked.
Given that he was 132 years old, he had to be careful how he phrased his answer. “My dad taught me. Did your dad teach you anything?”
She chewed her lower lip.
He forced his gaze to the emerging figure of the arctic fox in his hands instead of staring at her mouth. He wasn’t interested in her. He couldn’t be. No matter how many times he reiterated that to himself, his dick didn’t get the message.
“He taught me nothing’s more important than being good at your job.”
That explained things a bit. “Was he an event planner like you?”
“He worked for a large multinational and traveled a lot. He doesn’t like staying in one place,” she admitted.
“But you do.”
She shrugged. “When you’ve never had a permanent home growing up, you make your own as an adult.”
She tried to make it sound impersonal, but had her childhood been lacking magic? Was it too late for her to start to see the magic that was all around her?
No wonder she prized owning new items for the holiday season. She bought things to replace the connection her father should have provided. “What about your mother?”
“Not so fast. What about yours?” she countered. “Conversations are a back-and-forth thing, remember? Not all one-sided.”
Laughter burst out of him. “Fair enough. She taught me to lick cookie dough from the beaters, to launder my darks and lights separately, and that laughter always makes you feel better.”
“Sounds delightful,” she said. “Now that we’ve had a conversation … let’s get back to the packaging for the WonderHaus.”
At least it was a start.
“I’ll get a box design to you tomorrow.”
“Great.”
And that was that. Discussion over.
They left the workshop. He used a bit of Yulekind to keep her warm as he hurried her along. When they entered the portal and passed through, Nick breathed a sigh of relief they hadn’t run into any of his elves.
The evening could have gone worse.
And then it did.
Pete Krampus lounged against the wall next to the portal that led to Thornreach.
Pete was six foot six and sported a buzz cut on the sides with longer hair on top which he styled straight back, revealing the tattoos on the side of his neck.
He wore a suit jacket, no shirt, and black ripped jeans with a pair of combat boots.
There were more tattoos on his chest, each one a warning about punishment and the price of consequences in different languages.
“Nicholas.”
Cora put her hand on Nick’s elbow for a moment. She gave herself a nearly imperceptible shake, withdrawing her hand.
“Pete.”
Pete looked big, dark, and intimidating. It was part and parcel of who he was. He wasn’t looking at Nick.
“I’m Cora Quill,” she said into the silence, offering Pete her hand.
“Pete Krampus,” he said, grazing his thumb along her knuckles.
Cora shivered and looked at a spot on his chest where his jacket hung open. “Does your tattoo say Be Good for Goodness’ Sake?”
“Nick has a matching one,” Pete said with a smirk.
Cora pivoted quickly back to him. “Drunk night out? Oh, I need to hear the story. Want to join us?”
“Love to,” Pete said.
Cora opened the door into Frosty Jack’s, but Nick stepped in front of Pete. “We’ll join you in a minute.”
Cora looked between them and then shrugged and disappeared into the bar.
Nick turned to face Pete. His presence here was no accident.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”