“Earth to Neve.” Mia waved her hand in front of my face. “You’re doing that weird zoning-out thing.”
I blinked. “Sorry.”
“Maybe the wine from earlier hasn’t worn off.” Mia’s tone was light, but her eyes were concerned. “Let’s check out the main showpiece and make fun of it before I have to go schmooze the potential buyers.”
She led me through a doorway draped with silver organza. The room beyond was circular, painted midnight blue, with a single spotlight illuminating an enormous canvas that dominated the entire back wall.
I froze mid-step.
The painting showed a man in a red suit, but not the jolly, cartoonish Santa from greeting cards. This version was tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and a silver beard. His eyes were painted with startling detail, glowing just like mine had. He stood atop a snowy mountain while the Northern Lights swirled through a sky full of stars.
This wasn’t a character or myth, but someone real.
It was my dad.
My champagne flute slipped from my fingers.
Mia grabbed it before it could shatter. “Whoa! You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes from the painting. The longer I stared, the more details emerged. The subtle pattern of intricate snowflakes on his suit seemed to swirl and move if I looked at them at the right angle.
The snowflake pendant around his neck was identical to the snowflake logo for Joint International Nordic Glacial Logistics and Ecology.
My legs felt rooted to the spot, the world tilting slightly as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
Mia gestured toward the painting with her glass. “Another romanticized Santa. They’ve turned him into a sexy Norse god. Like, pick a lane. Is he bringing presents to children or starring in a Viking calendar featuring silver foxes?”
I wanted to defend the painting. Defend my father. Which was ridiculous since my dad wasn’t Santa. He was a researcherwho studied... something about magnetic fields. And ice cores. Important, boring science stuff.
“And those eyes. So over-the-top dramatic.” Mia snickered behind her hand. “Like he’s some kind of zombie ice king.”
My cheeks burned hot while my fingertips went numb with cold. The contradiction of sensations made me dizzy, my emotions swinging between confusion and an irrational urge to place myself between Mia and the painting.
“Total hack job.” I forced the words out, each one tasting like pennies on my tongue. “Probably commissioned by the Christmas industrial complex to make everyone buy more crap.”
The lie felt like a betrayal, though I couldn’t articulate why. I’d spent my entire life avoiding Christmas, mocking the commercialism, rolling my eyes at sentimentality. This shouldn’t be different.
So why did I feel like buying the painting?
“Right?” Mia laughed, then shrugged. “He said it’s about strength wearing thin and how magic can still look powerful even when it’s burning out underneath. It hits harder than I expected.”
Burning out underneath? My heart stopped, then restarted at double speed.
A throat cleared behind us, the sound like ice cracking on a frozen lake.
I turned and found myself staring up at a man with wind-tousled brown hair and a grin that suggested he’d just outrun a natural disaster and was already looking for the next one. His fair skin had the faintest pink undertone, like someone who’d spent too long in the cold.
One of the men from the restaurant.
I stepped backward, bumping into Mia, who steadied me with a hand on my elbow.
“Sorry if I interrupted your art critique.” The man’s eyes practically twinkled with amusement. “Though I wouldn’t call the artist a hack to his face.”
Of course he was the artist. Because my life wasn’t weird enough already.
Chapter 5
Distribution Logistics and International Shipments
