Did he regret the kiss? I wanted to ask him, but I was suddenly afraid of his answer. Because I didn’t regret it, and I wanted him not to regret it. In fact, I would be happy if more mistletoe magically appeared.
And now we were going to be stuck together in Balfour’s cottage, with only one bed.
My life had suddenly turned into every clichéd trope of my favorite rom-coms, and I was surprisingly on board with it.
Kendrick
Past…
Grumpy Elf:Kieran spit up on me today.
Me:That was rude of him.
Grumpy Elf:Baby spit up stinks.
Me:That it does. And that shit does not come out of clothes! It’s like some kind of alien spit up that stays forever.
Grumpy Elf:My shirt is ruined.
Me:It’s fine. You have a whole ass closet full of the same damn shirt. No one will know if one is missing. Would it kill you to wear something with color?
Grumpy Elf:I’d rather not find out.
Chapter Eight
Balfour
The sun glinted brightly off the deep red of Kendrick’s hair as I waved my hand at my front door, using my elf magic to unlock it. Holding it open for him, I waited while he stared at my cottage with wide eyes, before finally stepping over the threshold.
Placing his suitcase next to the door, I wondered what Kendrick would think of my home. When was the last time I had even dusted? I didn’t normally have visitors, other than Nik and Keegan occasionally. This was my sanctuary and I didn’t like to share it.
Yet, I had immediately offered for Kendrick to stay with me.
The memory of the kiss we had shared under the mistletoe–the mistletoe I knew Nik had conjured up–replayed in my head at the most inopportune moments the last few weeks. The softness of his lips, the taste of his tongue as it had tentatively touched mine, then grown bolder and explored. The way his much smaller body had fit so perfectly against mine, making me want to hold him close, protect him, but also strip him naked and have my way with him.
My cock twitched annoyingly in my pants, and I studiously ignored it.
Kendrick explored my living room, running his hand over the back of my extra long sofa. I watched as his fingers trailed across the spines of the well-read books that filled my bookshelf. He sniffed the air, turning to me curiously.
“Why does it smell like gingerbread in here?”
Dammit! I had hoped the scent from this morning's batch would have dissipated, but the rich spices still hung in the air, filling the room.
Grabbing his suitcase, I hurried past him, down the hall to my room. “It doesn’t,” I called, dropping his bag inside and rushing back before he could figure out where my kitchen was and go snooping in there.
He gave me a suspicious look, his brown eyes narrowed. “Bal, I was raised on the scent of gingerbread. Trust me when I say I have smelled all kinds, and I know what gingerbread smells like. I’m not complaining; it smells wonderful in here. It was just an unexpected surprise.”
“I…was burning a candle earlier.” Picking up the remote, I held it out to him. “TV’s there, we get pretty much all the streaming services thanks to some Kringle magic. Snacks are in the…ah…actually, I need to have groceries delivered. No snacks, sorry.”
I caught myself before telling him to help himself to whatever he found in my stocked kitchen. I really hadn’t thought this idea through when I had impulsively said he could stay with me.
He looked even more suspicious now, his eyes mere slits, one brow arched. “You were burning a candle?”
“What?” I sat the remote back on my coffee table, straightening my stack of magazines that didn’t need straightening. “It…relaxes me.”
He gave me a long look, then turned and faced my kitchen. Or what he could see of it anyway. Which was absolutely nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, I thanked past me for shutting all the doors when I had left for the workshop this morning.
After a minute of scrutinizing my kitchen area, he commented, “It’s very seventies retro.”
