She tilts her head, squinting her eyes in mock offense. “You sure? I could have sworn something whispered to me, you needed a friend.”
I’m certain that nobody whispered to her, and that she has never experienced rejection. She doesn’t look like someone who’s used to the word no.
“Just thinking,” I stare into her bright blue eyes, watching for her reaction. “When did everyone lose the meaning of Christmas?”
She blinks rapidly a few times, processes what I said for maybe a millisecond before she says, “Handsome. Deep. Broody and loves Christmas? Let me guess—you’re an artist of some sort?”
I almost scoff. As if she knows me, as if she can see beyond the handsome exterior that I was gifted with. “Something like that,” I grumble.
What I want to say is that I’m one existential crisis away from becoming the next tabloid headline: Reindeer Prince Destroys Christmas Display, Scaring All the Children.
Her perfume wafts over to me, smelling too strong, too floral, and everything wrong with this scene. It’s jarring. Back home everything smells of fresh pine, fallen snow, and baked goods. Here everything is artificial, overly chemical, or full on smog.
She steps closer…her gloved hand landing on the lapel of my jacket as she blinks her fake eyelashes at me. “Well, if you need a guide…”
That’s when I hear it. I don’t even know how I do over all the other sounds, but I hear the gentle tinkle of a bell as it bobs. At first, I think it’s my imagination. But then I hear it again, coming closer as it cuts through all the city sounds. It shouldn’t draw my attention, but it does as my heart beats a little harder.
And that’s when I see her.
The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen burst through the crowd like a comet covered in green felt and glitter.
For the briefest of seconds I see her entire outfit before the crowd swallows her again. Why is there an elf here? Are they here to bring me back to Sugarplum? I thought I’d been careful, covering my tracks the best I could.
I take a slight step towards her as the crowd parts again. Her cheeks are flushed, her amber curls tumbling loose from beneath her elf hat, as she clutches a tray of hot cocoa in her hands as if it holds her very existence.
Her skirt swishes, hugging her waist in the best way, flowing against curves that flex with each determined step. Those ridiculous rhinestones are catching the light as they attempt to distract me from the muscular legs beneath them. She’s soft in all the right ways, the kind that I want to feel beneath my hands as I pin her down. She’s radiant, the kind of woman built for long winter nights, laughter beneath a blanket as we cuddle in front of the fire. I already know she’s the trouble I want to get into.
The crowd parts for her, well, mostly. She elbows past a jerk in a suit who’s too busy on his phone to see her. She mutters an apology even though it’s swallowed by the city noise. Not that I can hear any of it. It’s as though my ears, my entire being, are consumed by this complete stranger. The bells tinkling from somewhere on her sound as if they are right next to my ear.
The world tilts.
Magic hums in my chest—something old, instinctive, pulls me toward her. My feet move before I can even process what’s happening. It feels close to the magic that drew me out of Sugarplum and onto the loud streets of NYC.
Then, her foot hits the edge of the curb.
Chapter Three
Cocoa & Chaos, Apparently
Ryatt
Iwatch in slow motion as the hot cocoa arcs above her, her arms pinwheeling as she falls towards the street, and oncoming traffic.
I don’t remember moving. The next thing I know, my arm bands around her waist, clutching her to my chest. Her warm, soft curves flush against my hard muscles. I know the second her eyes meet mine exactly why I’m here.
My skin hums as the northern lights flow through my veins, iridescent and beautiful.My mate. The very piece of my soul I am destined to find. She’s the piece of me I’ve been searching for.
Thankful I’m wearing long sleeves and a jacket, I stare down at her as she slowly blinks her eyes open. A look of confusion fills her eyes as she looks around, almost as if she thought she was dying, and is shocked by the turn of events.
The city blurs. The noise fades. All I can focus on is the woman blinking up at me, curls dangling towards the street, her felt hat lying limply in the snow slush beneath her. There’s a smear of whipped cream on the rosy apple of her cheek as it slowly slides down. Her eyes, the color of melted caramel, flick along my face before the cutest little crinkle appears between her eyebrows.
“Whoa,” she breathes, voice soft, but edged with mortification as she attempts to lean away from me. “I—uh”, she looks around us, I can feel the panic building inside her as her muscles bunch. “I think you just saved me from being street pizza.”
I blink, still processing the last few minutes as I stare down at her costume crushed between us. “You’re—” I glance between the costume and her eyes. “An elf?”
Her brows knit even closer together as she stares at me like I’ve announced I’m the Easter Bunny here to fill her basket. “Excuse me?” She squeaks, no longer attempting to get away, but none-the-less confused.
I flick my nose down towards the green felt dress still smashed against my jacket. I haven’t even attempted to loosen my hold on her, and she doesn’t seem to have noticed. Or she, like myself, likes how she feels against me. “You’re dressed like an elf.”
