"You're the boss," I say, because somehow, inexplicably, that's exactly what she's become.
Ella stayed. After Aurora's birth, after the chaos and the terror and the absolute insanity of watching demons explode in my bakery, I figured she'd run screaming back to the mortal world. Instead, she looked around the North Pole, cracked her knuckles, and basically declared herself the unofficial operations manager.
The elves, creatures who've existed since before recorded history, took one look at this tiny human woman with her color-coded schedules and just... accepted it. Now she organizes events, streamlines workflows, and has somehow made millennium-old beings start using a shared calendar system.
It's impressive, honestly, and just a little bit terrifying if you think about it too long.
"Also," Ella continues, finally looking up, "Fitzgerald has some opinions about the new inventory system."
I catch the edge in her voice. "Opinions you don't care for?"
"Opinions he can keep to himself if he knows what's good for him." She taps her pen against the clipboard, and I recognize that particular brand of irritation.
Before I can respond, the door opens again, and Everett walks in. He's got that effortless elegance that all the elves seem to possess, but there's something sharper about him. More dangerous, maybe. Or maybe that's just the way he immediately scans the room, his gaze landing on Ella and staying there.
"Fitzgerald bothering you?" he asks, his tone casual in a way that absolutely isn't.
Ella's spine straightens. "I can handle Fitzgerald just fine, thanks."
"Never said you couldn't."
"Then why are you hovering?"
"I'm not hovering. I'm standing. There's a difference."
I have to hide my smile, busying myself with the rolls so they don't catch me grinning. This dance has been going on for months. The bickering, the circling, the way they act like the other is just a minor annoyance, even though they can't seem to keep away from each other for more than five minutes.
What Ella doesn't notice is the way Everett watches her when she's not looking. The softness that creeps into his expression before he remembers himself and schools it back to aloof amusement.
What Everett doesn't notice is that Ella finds excuses to be wherever he is, even when she pretends she'd rather be anywhere else.
It's equal parts adorable and maddening, depending on the day.
"Right," Ella says, grabbing a roll that definitely hasn't cooled enough and taking a bite anyway. "Well, I have things to do. People to organize. Inventory to revolutionize."
She sweeps out, and Everett watches her go, something unreadable flickering across his face.
"You know," I say carefully, "she's not as tough as she pretends to be."
Everett's attention snaps to me. "I'm aware."
"And you should probably keep at least a distance of about 20 feet from her at all times if you don't want her to realize that you're literally shadowing her."
His expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tension in his jaw. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't."
He gives me a look that's half warning, half plea, then follows Ella out the door without another word.
I lean against the counter, shaking my head. Those two are either going to drive each other up the wall or end up tangled in the sheets. Maybe both, if the universe has a sense of humor.
The rest of the day slips by in that easy rhythm I've come to love. Elves drift in for pastries and a bit of gossip. I prep dough for tomorrow, my hands moving through the steps like they've always known what to do. There's a little magic in my fingers now. It's nothing flashy, just a quiet hum under my skin. Nick says, with that look he gets, that every pregnancy will change me a little more, nudge me closer to something not quite mortal.
The thought makes my stomach flip, warmth pooling low in my belly. Another pregnancy. Another baby. More time with Nick, building this life we've carved out together.
Yeah. I could get used to that.
By the time I close up the bakery, the aurora has shifted to deep greens and blues, painting the snow in jewel tones. I makemy way home, past the workshop where hammers ring against metal, past the stables where reindeer snort and stamp.
