I beam up at him from inside my kitten-soft new scarf. "It's called retail therapy. You should try it sometime."
"You bought the same hat in three colors," he deadpans.
"I sure did," I chirp, absolutely delighted with myself.
His eyes narrow at me, but I catch the way the corner of his mouth twitches. Just barely. Like he's fighting a smile and losing. That big grump is just begging me to tease him!
I point excitedly at a chalkboard in front of The Wandering Gnome diner promising the best chowder in the state. The windows of a home decor shop called Primrose Pristine Home Decor twinkle with tiny twinkling lights, and I make plans to visit the shop before this is over. Plans that I keep to myself. It’s adorable, and I can't help but skip a little on the sidewalk with shameless joy. The town feels like something out of a movie, with all brick buildings and old-fashioned streetlights, bundledtownspeople hurrying between shops with their arms full of shopping bags.
“You bought enough clothes for someone living in the Arctic,” Darhg mutters as he somehow manages to pull me away from the frosted window of an adorable little bookshop. “No one needs this much.”
"I still need a flannel shirt." I list the items I still have to buy as we walk. "Earmuffs, leg warmers. At least I had the foresight to get us an emergency cinnamon roll for morale."
Darhg's voice is bone-dry. "That last one isn't even a winter supply."
I lift the bakery bag from Darhg’s finger and inhale the sweet, spicy scent escaping through the paper. "It is now. Sir."
The look he gives me could melt the snow off the sidewalk as I hand it back to him.
The morning air is crisp and clean in my lungs, carrying the salt scent of the nearby ocean mixed with woodsmoke from chimneys and the green smell of pine. Everything feels fresh and new, like the world has been washed clean by the snow. For the first time since yesterday's nightmare began, I feel like I can breathe properly.
No one is going to find me here. No one here knows me or cares. It’s freeing in the best of ways.
Maybe it's the fresh air. Maybe it's being away from the city and all its complications. Or maybe it's the way Darhg keeps positioning himself between me and the street, like he's shielding me from invisible threats with hismassive body.
His massive, incredibly hot body.
I’m definitely not thinking about that kiss in the kitchen this morning. Nope. Not thinking about how his hands felt in my hair or the way he pressed my body against him like he could barely control himself. Like what he felt was dark and dangerous and utterly irresistible.
And I’m certainly not focusing on the thought of him making good on his threat to spank me.
Focus, Rona.
We’re just past a cute little flower shop called Monster Heart Florals when the bell over the door jingles. Suddenly, an ogre woman bursts out of the shop like a cannonball. She has white tusks protruding from her lower jaw, long black hair styled in war braids on one side of her head, high cheekbones, and a rounded face with dark-ocher skin. She’s smiling so broadly it looks like her face might split in half.
I stand there with my mouth open as the burnt-orange eyes of the statuesque creature land solidly on my big, broody bodyguard. My eyes dart to Darhg, who freezes like a deer in headlights, the bakery bag still dangling from his pinkie.
"Darhg Rooke?"
Her voice carries like a church bell across the entire block. She barrels toward us with the unstoppable force of an avalanche, arms spread wide for a hug that Darhg clearly sees coming and can't escape because his hands are full of my shopping bags. Theearth literally shakes as she crushes Darhg in the kind of embrace that bruises ribs.
I watch the exchange with a morbid kind of fascination.
"Inside voice," he rumbles, but there's no real irritation in it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Darhg looked… resigned, as strange as this might be.
"I can't believe it's you!" the ogre woman says at exactly the same volume. "How long has it been? Two years? Three?"
Another woman appears in the doorway behind her. She’s human, petite, with honey-brown hair and a sort of calm energy that suggests she's used to hurricane-level displays of affection. She smiles at the ogre woman with a patient expression and obvious adoration.
“Jennifer! Look who’s here!” the ogre bellows to the human woman.
On the other side of the street, a troll couple walking hand in hand shoots a nervous glance over their shoulder at the commotion, then walks away just a tad faster. The ogre woman doesn’t seem to notice. Or to care.
"Elga! You'll alert the entire street shouting like that," Jennifer says, tugging gently at the ogre woman's arm. "Now let him go before you crush the poor man to death."
But the ogre woman, Elga, is having none of it. She's already grabbing Darhg's elbow and half dragging him toward the shop entrance, much to my delight. Watching someone boss around my grumpy bodyguard is better than cable television.
"Well, come in, then," she continues as loudly as before. "It’s freezing out here!"
