“Very…precise, sir.” I chuckle as he unlocks his front door and pushes it open.
The lights flicker on and the fireplace roars to life as we step into his living room. His brown leather couches sit in perfect symmetry to each other with a wooden coffee table nestled in front of them. His honey-brown wood floors glisten in the light.
“Oh, wow. You probably thought my apartment was a shithole compared to this place. There is literally not a speck of dirt to be found around here. How do you even keep it this clean?”
“Berry, I’m pretty sure you can guess how I keep it this way?” He gives me a look, the kind that says remember what I said.
“So you have a maid. Wow, it must be nice to have someone to clean up after you.” I smirk as I slowly stroll through his home. Although the outside was gingerbreadesque, the inside gives more woodland lodge. With wood beams spanning across the living room ceiling and the large hearth roaring with a blazing fire, all it needs is the creepy animal head mounted above with a couple guns to finish it off.
Granted nothing about Ryatt screams he hunts for sport or even at all. There are only a handful of family picturesthroughout the space, otherwise it feels almost more like a showcase and less than a home.
My apartment might not be as fancy, but at least it feels lived in.
“Sit anywhere you’d like. I’ll go make us some hot cocoa…with whipped cream and chocolate.”
I don’t sit down, but I do move towards the fire as I shed off some of the layers he gave me. There’s only one explanation for how he did it, even if I can’t believe it. Magic.
But if he is using magic, then what else can he do? Or what else has he done? How is any of this real?
When I peel off the jacket, I find he even changed my clothing beneath. Instead of my cream shirt, I’m now wearing a burnt orange knit sweater. Where my jeans once were is a black skirt and tights with fluffy white socks sticking out of the tops of my boots. This isn’t even the same outfit he switched me to before.
How much magic does he have? Also, an endless wardrobe for the win!
Ryatt walks back into the living room with two steaming cups of hot cocoa and a bag of popcorn tucked under his arm.
“I wasn’t sure if you were hungry or not. So I thought I’d bring a little snack for now until we can go to the diner.” He walks over, setting the cups down on coasters before sitting down in the arm chair next to the sofa.
“I’m starving but I need answers. A lot of them.” I say when I sit down on the sofa. The hot cocoa’s warmth feels amazing against my skin as I take a sip.
He sighs as he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you. I thought I’d have more time.” He mumbles.
I’m not even sure he’s talking to me until his eyes snap open with a weariness I’ve never seen before.
I reach across the space, resting my hand above his knee. “It’s going to be okay Ryatt. I’m sure once you explain everything, I’ll get it and we can move on.”
“You say that because you think I’m going to say we are all just really into Christmas. Not that we are the holiday. The things you’ve grown up reading about. That you actually met the real, legit Mrs. Claus that’s at least a millennia old but nobody dares to ask.”
“Ryatt, seriously—what is going on with you?” I demand, folding my arms. “You keep dodging things like you’re hiding a secret identity. If we’re going to keep… whatever this is… going, I need honesty. Not weird metaphors about training and mysteries and… Reindeer Games.”
His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at me, something raw flickering in his eyes.
He takes a breath.
“I’m a reindeer.” “Not just any reindeer.Thereindeer. My last name is Dasher because I come from a long line of shifters who’ve carried Santa’s sleigh across the sky for centuries.”
My brain flatlines.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. My thoughts fizz and crash like static. Did he just say… shifter? As in… animal? As in the stuff my Kindle app tries to recommend whenever I read too many Christmas romances?
My mouth works before my brain catches up.
“Okay. Sure, Ryatt. I know you’re obsessed with the holiday, but that’s a bit much.” I gesture vaguely at him. “What does being a shifter even mean? Like those books where the guy turns into a wolf?Like that?Because I was hoping for serious answers, not—whatever this is.”
But he isn’t smiling. Not joking. Not even blinking.
And a cold little ribbon of fear slides through my stomach.
He doesn’t say a word more. Or laugh like I thought he would after making his joke. No, instead my eyes round in fascination as something shimmers in front of him. It’s almost distorting his features.
