"See? Already dancing with winter," it praised. "Again!"
I watched them, the patient teacher, the determined student, and felt something crack inside me. A hairline fracture in the careful walls I'd built around my heart.
My family had never been like this. Had never provided the safe harbor that these parents created for their children. My father, with his perpetual disappointment and eventual abandonment. My mother, present in body but absent in every way that mattered, retreating into bottles rather than facing the wreckage of our family. There had been no patient teaching, no celebration of small victories, no hands steady on my back as I learned to navigate uncertain ground. I'd taught myself everything, how to cook meals that wouldn't make me sick, how to forge a parent's signature on school forms, how to smile so convincingly that teachers stopped asking uncomfortable questions. I'd become an expert at self-sufficiency before I was old enough to drive.
And now, outside the small community I'd built at the café, I had no one. No family holiday gatherings to attend. No childhood friends who checked in regularly. No romantic partner waiting at home. Just empty rooms and systems designed to keep me too busy to notice the absence of connection.
Silas and Bramble knew pieces of me. Regular customers recognized my face and remembered my name. But no one, at least until Krampus, had seen through me and tried to ease my burden. And I had pushed him away. The moment he'd asked for more I'd fled. Because wanting too much, needing too deeply, meant risking loss again. And loss, as I'd learned too young, could hollow you out until nothing remained but a shell going through the motions of living.
I closed my eyes and let myself feel everything I'd been running from, the bone-deep loneliness, the exhaustion of constant performance, and fear that without my usefulness I had no value. My body released years of tension in small increments. First my shoulders dropped from their defensive hunch. Then my spine softened against the bench. Finally, my hands unclenching to rest open on my thighs, palms up like I was waiting to receive something I'd denied myself for too long.
I'd been on my own for so long that I'd forgotten a fundamental truth: surviving wasn't the same as living. I'd kept myself alive, kept the café running, kept smiles on customers' faces. But I'd denied myself the messy, wonderful fullness of actually being alive, with all its risks and vulnerabilities and possibilities. The realization washed over me like a wave, leaving clarity in its wake. I deserved more than mere survival. Deserved to be cared for, not just to care for others. Deserved to be loved, not just to give love away until I was empty.
And I wasn't alone, not really. Silas, with his prickly exterior and fiercely protective heart, loved me in his way. Bramble, sharp-tongued and surprisingly wise, saw through me and stayed anyway. The café regulars who brought me little gifts on my birthday or saved articles they thought might interest me, they cared too.
And Krampus... he had seen the darkest, most hidden parts of me and hadn't turned away. Hadn't tried to fix me or silence my pain or pretend it didn't exist. He'd simply acknowledged it, held space for it, and asked to be let in.
A sound escaped me then, something between a laugh and a sob. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I laughed, truly and deeply, the sound carrying across the snow-covered park and drawing curious glances from nearby parents. The laughter felt like something breaking open inside me, years of carefully contained emotions finally finding release.
When tears followed, hot against my cold cheeks, I didn't try to hide them or wipe them away. I let them fall, each one carrying away a small piece of the armor I'd wrapped around my heart for so long.
A family of foxes, actual foxes, not shapeshifters, darted across the frozen pond, their red coats vibrant against the white. The children squealed in delight, momentarily abandoning their skating to watch the wild creatures. Even magical beings could be captivated by ordinary wonders when they allowed themselves to truly see.
I stood, brushing snow from my coat, feeling lighter than I had in years. Not because my pain had vanished, it hadn't, and perhaps never would completely, but because I'd finally acknowledged it as part of me rather than something to hide or deny. My steps carried me back toward the wrought-iron gates, but I wasn't returning to my apartment. I was going to the café, to the people who had become my chosen family, to the place where I was most myself. And maybe, if I was brave enough, to the monster who had seen through every defense and still wanted me.
I wanted to see what our relationship could become. To discover who I might be when not defined solely by service to others. Finally experience the pleasure he offered so freely, without the guilt or fear that had always accompanied acceptance.
As I walked, snow crunching beneath my boots and holiday lights reflecting in puddles of melted ice, a thought crystallized with perfect clarity:
I deserved to be loved. And I wanted him. I wanted this. I wanted more.
Chapter eighteen
Simone
The café door jingled as I pushed it open, the familiar scent of espresso and cinnamon wrapping around me like an old friend's embrace. Snow melted on my shoulders, dripping onto the welcome mat in lazy puddles. I stepped inside my heart lighter than it had been in years. The revelation in the park still hummed through me. That warm certainty lasted exactly three seconds.
"I SAID ANOTHER!" A voice like gravel in a wood chipper shattered the moment. My gaze snapped to the counter whereBramble was backed away from a massive gray-green figure hunched over the counter.
An ogre. Drunk, if the reek of fermented mushroom ale that hit me from twenty feet away was any indication. His enormous fist pounded the counter hard enough to make the holiday garlands twitch in alarm. Red and green sparks rained down where they were coming loose from their hooks.
"S-sir, you've had enough," Bramble stammered, her wings fluttering as she tried to keep calm despite the underlying anger I could see ready to bursts through. "Perhaps some coffee to—"
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I'VE HAD!" The ogre's voice boomed through the café, sending a hush across the tables. Regular customers froze mid-sip, their eyes darting between the threat and the exit. A mother werewolf pulled her cubs closer to her side, ears flattening against her head. Silas glanced at me from where he stood protecting the smaller creatures, who trembled behind him, he shook his head at me.
But I couldn't do nothing. "Hey there, big guy," I called, sliding behind the counter with practiced ease. "Why don't we take a moment to—"
The ogre's bloodshot eyes swiveled to me, narrowing to slits of pure belligerence. Up close, he was even more imposing, shoulders wide as a doorframe, biceps thick as my thighs, breath that could strip paint off walls. His teeth were yellowed tusks, pushing against cracked lips in a permanent snarl.
"Pink girl thinks she can tell Grug what to do?" He leaned closer, the counter creaking under his weight. "Nobody tells Grug what to do."
I squared my shoulders, planted my feet. "Well, Grug, I'm telling you to back up and cool down." My voice came out steady, surprising me with its calm authority. "This is my café, and we don't tolerate that tone with my staff."
Bramble’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a silent 'oh' at my intervention.
"Your café?" Grug laughed, a wet, hacking sound like rocks in a washing machine. "Stupid human. This belongs to Krampus. Everyone knows that."
"And I run it for him," I countered, holding his gaze despite the fear screaming through my veins. "So when I say you're done for today, you're done."
