Krampus was quiet for a long moment, long enough that I finally looked up to find him studying me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. Not pity, I would have hated that, but something equally unsettling. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
"You don't owe me anything, Simone." He reached across the table, one claw gently hooking under my chin to lift my face. "That's not how this works."
I swallowed, caught in his gaze, pinned by the simple truth in his words. Because that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? I didn't know how to exist in a space where care flowed freely without expectation of return. Where affection wasn't currency to be earned through service or sacrifice. I didn't know how to simply receive without giving something of myself in exchange.
I gathered our empty plates in an attempt to end the conversation. The china clinked softly as I stacked them, my body on autopilot while my mind raced ahead, already planning my exit strategy. A quick thank you, a mention of errands to run, maybe a vague promise to call later, standard morning-after procedure, even though nothing about this situation was standard. I was halfway to the sink when Krampus's voice stopped me cold.
"Yesterday you asked me if grief puts people on the naughty list." His tone was casual, but the question wasn't. "You never told me why."
The plates nearly slipped from my fingers. I tightened my grip, forcing a smile as I continued toward the sink. "Oh, that? Just curiosity. Philosophical musing, you know how it is."
I could feel his gaze on my back as I rinsed the syrup from the plates, scrubbing harder than necessary. The dish soap produced miniature bubbles that hummed quietly before popping, their tiny musical notes filling the silence I desperately needed to maintain.
"Simone."
"Mmm?" I kept my back to him, focusing on aligning the plates perfectly in his drying rack.
I heard his chair scrape against the floor as he stood, but he didn't approach. Instead, he leaned against the counter several feet away, giving me space while still making it clear he wasn't dropping the subject.
"You don't need to protect yourself from me." His voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. I could handle commands, demands, even anger. But gentleness? That was dangerous territory.
I laughed, a high, brittle sound that bounced off the kitchen's sleek surfaces. "I'm not protecting myself. There's nothing to protect from." I waved a soapy hand dismissively, flicking bubbles into the air where they popped with small, discordant notes. "It was just a random question. I ask lots of questions. Part of my charm."
Krampus remained silent, patient, his golden eyes steady on my profile. The silence stretched between us, elastic and uncomfortable, demanding to be filled. I grabbed a dishcloth and began drying my hands with unnecessary thoroughness, focusing on each finger as if the task required my complete attention.
"The holiday party is tomorrow," I said brightly, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a freight train. "I should probably check on Silas's baking schedule. He gets dramatic when timelines are tight, and—"
"Your staff has everything under control," Krampus interrupted softly. "Stop deflecting."
My shoulders stiffened, rising toward my ears in an instinctive defensive posture. "I'm not deflecting. I'm being practical. The café needs me. People are counting on me."
"And who do you count on?"
The question landed like a slap. I turned to face him fully, dishcloth still clutched in my hands. "I don't need anyone to count on. That's the whole point." My voice came out sharper than intended, the edges of my words suddenly jagged. "I take care of things. Of people. That's what I do."
"That's what you do," he repeated, his expression thoughtful. "Not who you are."
"Same thing." I tossed the dishcloth onto the counter with more force than necessary. It skidded across the smooth surface, leaving a damp trail before dropping to the floor. I didn't bend to retrieve it.
Krampus didn't move, didn't react to my growing agitation. His stillness only heightened my awareness of my own increasingly jerky movements. I pushed past him to collect my bags from where I'd left it in the living room, needing something to do with my hands.
"Why is this so important to you?" I demanded, rummaging through a bag for nothing in particular. "Why do you care about some throwaway comment I made?"
"Because it wasn't a throwaway. It was honest." He followed me at a careful distance. "And honesty from you is rare enough to be precious."
My hands stilled. The worst part was that he was right. The realization made me angrier, though I couldn't have explained why.
"Fine. You want honesty? Here it is." I straightened, facing him with hands clenched at my sides. "I don't need anyone. I've never needed anyone. I've been fine on my own since I was thirteen and my father walked out and my mother decided vodka was better company than her daughter." The words tumbled out faster now, sharper. "I take care of everything. I always have. Because no one else will. Because people leave or they stay butcheck out. Because counting on people is just setting yourself up for disappointment."
His face changed as I spoke, the confident facade slipping to reveal something that looked almost like pain. Good. Let him hurt a little. Let him feel a fraction of what I'd buried for years.
"So no, I don't tell people about my grief. I don't wallow in it. I don't use it as an excuse to slack off or break down." I was almost shouting now, the volume of my voice rising with each sentence. "I get up every day and I make other people happy because someone has to, and it might as well be me, and it's worked perfectly fine until you decided to—to—"
"To care?" he finished quietly when I faltered.
"To complicate everything!" I slammed my purse down on an end table, sending a small decorative bowl skittering across its surface. "I was doing just fine before you showed up with your evaluations and your punishments and your—your concern!"
Krampus stood very still, watching me. "I'm not asking you to need me, Simone," he said softly. "I'm asking you to trust me when I say Iwantto take care of you, be there for you and…be yours if you'd let me."
