Chapter 3
Three
“I thought they’d never leave.”
The voice in her empty apartment made Clem jump. Hand to her heart, she whirled to face the intruder. Standing in the kitchen, surrounded by the chaos left by the party, was a woman.
Clem blinked in shock. Her head swam, and she closed her eyes. She must be far more drunk than she had realized. Silently, she counted to ten, then opened her eyes again. Surely the woman would be gone at that point.
One.
Two.
Thr —
“Um, are you okay?”
Clem squinted one eye open. “You’re still here.”
The woman spread her arms. “Where else would I be?”
Now both eyes were wide open. “I have no idea, but not standing in my tiny kitchen. My tiny, messy kitchen,” Clem amended as she took in the scene.
Flour and sugar dusted the countertop. Eggshells had somehow not made their way into the trash, and instead littered the sink.
Three wine bottles, each at a different level of consumption, stood open wherever the last person to pour had set them down.
One of them sat in a puddle of red wine that Clem knew would stain.
She should be tackling the chaos, putting her space back into order.
Instead she was talking to some apparition of her tipsy mind.
Said apparition looked around with a smile. “I rather like your kitchen. It’s homey.”
“Homey. Right.”
The woman was entirely at odds with the mess surrounding her.
She was taller than Clem, though that wasn’t exactly challenging.
But Clem guessed she never had to stretch to reach the highest shelf or the items stored on top of the refrigerator.
Her hair was honey blonde and curly in a way that Clem had experienced, but somehow on this stranger it looked alluring, whereas Clem always felt unkempt when her hair did that.
The woman had warm, chocolate eyes, and her golden skin glowed with a luminescence that bordered on shimmer.
She was wearing — Clem narrowed her eyes.
“Is that a sparkly green teddy?”
The woman looked down, bemused. “I suppose it is. That was what you ordered, right?”
“I what? Ordered? I didn’t order anything.
” The scent of orange and cardamom and vanilla surrounded Clem and clouded her mind.
She shook her head to clear it. “And none of this is important. What are you doing in my apartment?” She reiterated as she slashed a hand through the air. “How did you get here?”
The woman shrugged. “You made me.” She wrinkled her nose, then corrected herself. “Well, you summoned me.”
“I summoned you.” There was no response beyond a decisive nod. Clem’s answering nod was less certain. “…How?”
“When you made the cookies, of course.” The woman lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “It was the magical sugar.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s the secret ingredient.”
Clem stared blankly until realization dawned. “The secret ingredient,” she repeated. “You mean the Secret Santa gift?” She stared at it where it sat open on the counter. The strange woman followed her gaze, clucking her tongue in disapproval when she saw it had been left open on the counter.
“You really should be more careful with this.” She admonished.
She picked up the lid and gently set it on the canister.
Clem wasn’t sure how she felt about this stranger touching her things, but she could not seem to make herself move.
Once the sugar was safely covered, the woman turned back to face Clem.
“Where were we? Oh, right. I’m the cookie you made. ”
And there it was: confirmation that this woman, beautiful though she may be, was totally off her rocker.
Clem considered her options. She could call the police, but something kept her from reaching for her phone.
Sure, the woman might be disconnected from reality, but she didn’t seem to be dangerous.
So that left finding out where she lived, then helping her get there.
Clem sighed as her hopes of relaxing on the couch slipped away.
“So,” she said, trying to make her voice lighter than she felt. “You’re a cookie?” She was proud that she had barely stumbled over that. “Wow. That must be a very interesting life.”
The stranger’s eyes lit with humor. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I do!” Clem’s voice was far too high.
“Clementine.” The woman’s voice was indulgent.
“Just look at the cookie sheet.” She gestured to the pan, where sure enough the cookie Clem had so lovingly designed was no longer visible.
Clem’s stomach jumped, but she made herself stay calm.
Just because a cookie was missing from a pan didn’t mean anything.
The woman could very well have eaten it.
Something clicked in Clem’s mind.
“Wait. What?”
The woman had said her name, but Clem was positive she hadn’t introduced herself. Besides, she never called herself Clementine, not unless she couldn’t avoid it. She took a step back. “How do you know my name?”
The woman twisted her hands behind her back, a look of innocence overtook her features. “Oh, well, that’s part of the magic.”
The sigh that left Clem was heavy. All she had wanted was to sit on her couch and drink some wine and maybe watch a competitive baking show. Was that too much to ask after the day she’d had?
Apparently it was.
Instead of a clean kitchen and couch time, Clem was faced with a strange woman claiming to use magic. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s insanity.
Although — Clem had to admit the fact that this woman knew her name had thrown her. More likely was that she heard one of Clem’s friends saying goodbye earlier. Regardless, Clem decided she needed wine to deal with all this.
“Hey, before we go any further with this, why don’t you come and sit at this table here while I get myself something to drink.
” She pointed at the dining table that had been shoved in the corner of the room the apartment pamphlet had generously called “open concept.” It was easy to have an open concept when the entire unit was less than 700 square feet.
The woman looked at the dark wood of the table, then back up to Clem, who had to resist the urge to shift from foot to foot under her gaze.
Then the woman nodded and moved toward the table.
She brushed against Clem as she passed, sending a jolt of electricity through her even as she enveloped Clem with the aroma of cookies.
Yeah, Clem definitely needed that wine.
She waited for the stranger to seat herself at the table, then moved into the kitchen.
“Okay, you know my name, because of magic. What’s your name?” Clem asked over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure she wanted to turn her back on this strange person claiming to be a cookie come to life. The woman could not expect her to believe that wild statement about being a cookie come to life.
“Hazelnut Frostington, but you may call me Hazel.” She dipped her head in an affectation of a bow.
“I’m sorry.” Now Clem turned around. This woman was decidedly unserious, and Clem felt better facing that head on. “Come again?”
“Hazel - short for Hazelnut?” Hazel’s warm brown eyes were impossibly big. Her mouth had settled into a pout that kept pulling Clem’s attention. Clem caught herself staring and bit her own lip as she tore her gaze away.
“Sure. But Frostington? What kind of a name is that?” She shook her head. “You sound like you’re trying to be one of Santa’s elves.”
“I beg your pardon?” Hazel jumped up from her seat, offense radiating off her in waves. Clem took a step back and put her hands up in defense.
“Was that the wrong thing to say?”
“I would never let myself be taken advantage of by that horrible man!”
“Santa?”
“He exploits his workers and takes all the credit for their hard work.” She shook her head and gestured decisively. “I had the chance, and I refused it.”
Clem stared at her. “So you are an elf?”
“A sprite, to be accurate. A North Pole Sprite, to be extremely accurate.”
“A sprite.” Clem couldn’t keep up. She looked at the glass she had set out on the counter.
Maybe she didn’t need more wine. She could be tipsy — or fully drunk — and that’s why she was standing in her apartment in conversation with someone who claimed to be a sprite.
Maybe she should go for water. She looked at the woman before her, who stared with wide eyes and the hint of a smile on her face.
Clem shook her head. No, this called for something far more potent than water.
She snatched up one of the open bottles of wine on the counter and poured its remnants into the water glass, then took a fortifying gulp.
She focused on the warmth the wine left on its way down, trying to stay grounded in the moment, in her body.
Although — She looked up at where Hazel stood across the kitchen.
Being fully in her body was proving to be a distraction.
She could already feel her heartbeat quicken as she took in Hazel’s blonde hair that fell in soft curls around her shoulders.
Her eyes were pools of warmth that called out to Clem.
Her body … Clem looked away. Hazel might as well have been plucked straight from her daydreams. All softness and curves, her skin glowed and shimmered, just begging to be touched.
As much as Clem hated to admit it, the woman was as stunning as she was unserious.
Clem took another large gulp of wine and shook her head.
She needed to get a hold of herself, remind herself of the facts.
This stranger had somehow gotten into her apartment and was claiming to be a cookie who was also a sprite from the North Pole.
This was not healthy or sane. “Okay,” Clem said.
“You are a North Pole Sprite named Hazelnut Frost —” she stumbled over how ridiculous the last name was.
“Frostington. And you are in my apartment, taking up precious moments of my couch time … why?”
Wickedness lit Hazel’s features, making Clem’s stomach flip. “Pleasure.” She stood and took a slow step toward Clem, who felt warmth settle in her belly and make her limbs feel heavy.
“Pleasure?” she squeaked. She watched breathless as Hazel flicked her tongue out to lick her lips. Clem licked her own in response, then tore her gaze up to meet Hazel’s. The smug look she saw there made her mouth go dry.
“Pleasure,” Hazel repeated.