Then someone placed a crown on his head—larger than mine, gold and crimson—and the spell shattered.
The coordinator was pulling him away, leading him down the stage steps, and the crowd surged forward to congratulate him.
I stood frozen, my fingers pressed to my lips, my heart racing.
He'd kissed me.
And I'd felt it.
He felt it too.
Why else would he have looked at me like that with those damn penetrating eyes and an expression that said he wanted to do it again?
And I no longer felt any of the anxiety or fear.
What I felt was ungodly.
This man was twice my age—my boss, for Christ's sake.
Something had broken loose inside me.
Inside both of us.
I had no clue what just happened, but I prayed I wasn't fired for it.
2
NATHAN
What a day it was.
I shuffled into my office hot and sweaty, carrying the old brass key that had symbolized the honor of being Lightkeeper for several generations now.
It was probably one of many props the committee used, much like the crowns Ms. Harrison and I wore and the robes they decked us in for the announcement and photo shoot.
But as the Lightkeeper I was responsible to hold onto it and bring it along to the tree lighting ceremony later this year.
I organized a space for it on my overflowing bookshelf and stepped back to admire its placement while Ms. Harrison stood in the doorway, still pale as a sheet.
She'd been that way since I appointed her my counterpart in the custom, and though I knew it came as a shock, I didn't understand why it appeared so tragic for her.
She clutched that tote and her phone like she was holding a life preserver in a raging ocean.
Only three days in as my new assistant and I got the feeling this one wouldn't stick, either.
I turned from the shelf and pulled my tablet from my desk drawer, already flicking through my calendar to make some sense of things.
But I was thankful she'd caught the emails about today and reminded me or I'd have been an hour late. "We need to go over the schedule for the next five months. The Lightkeeper duties are extensive, and I'll need you to coordinate with the festival committee to ensure nothing conflicts with my hospital obligations."
She blinked at me with unfocused hazel eyes.
That dumbfounded expression made her look like a deer in headlights, slightly charming, but totally unacceptable for the assistant to the dean of medicine at one of the largest hospitals in the world.
"Ms. Harrison?" Lifting an eyebrow, I made a full stop and looked right at her.
"Yes. Sorry. Schedule. Right."
She fumbled with her phone, nearly dropping it before catching it against her hip.
