Page 16 of The Naughty List Agreement

She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“There’s nothing everyday about you,” he said, cocking his head to one side and eyeing her intently. “Has no one ever told you how special you are?”

She almost wanted to believe him, but she knew better. Cora Quill wasn’t special.

She spent so much of her time focusing on metrics, but he’d glimpsed the magic inside her. Christmas wasn’t about metrics, but he wasn’t going to convince her with words. He’d have to show her—once he got her working in his booth at the Winter Wonderland, she’d come to see the true meaning of the season. He just knew she would.

His phone, which was lying face-up on the table between them, pinged with notifications from the True North dating app. She glanced down, and he saw her flush.

Damn.

“Oh God, are you on that dating app?” Was she teasing him? He couldn’t tell.

“Clearly. Also, reading other people’s notifications isn’t cool.”

“I’m a big reader. It’s force of habit.”

“All habits can be changed with a little effort and commitment.”

She shrugged. “It’s hard because reading was my escape as a child. It’s ingrained. Surely you have some habits that are rooted in your childhood.”

“What—?” he began to ask, but she stopped him by raising her forefinger.

“No. We’re done talking about me. Your turn. Isn’t True North the app that promises to find your soulmate? That’s a big ask for an algorithm,” she said.

“It is,” he admitted.

She leaned back in her chair, handing her half-finished bowl of chowder to the server who hovered nearby. She pulled out her compact and lipstick and reapplied it, watching him watch her over the top of her mirror. “Is that what you’re looking for? A soulmate?”

“Yes. I’d like to get married,” he said. This month, ideally. But Cora didn’t need to know that. “My family business requires that I be married to continue in my role as the CEO.”

“That’s weird.” She frowned at him. “Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Like so many illusions we buy into, eventually reality sets in and then someone leaves. Someone always leaves.” She snapped the lid back on her lipstick and clicked her compact shut.

“So no plans to⁠—?”

“God, no! I’m never getting married.” The fierceness of her delivery left him in no doubt she was serious.

This was the first time it occurred to him that loneliness could be at the root of the tangle in her knot in the Yearweave. Maybe she needed someone to share her life with? Not him, but someone who could make her believe in love and the innate goodness of people.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience…” he said, trailing off to entice her to tell him more.

“My parents. They got married because my mom was pregnant with me.” Cora reached for her cocktail glass and took a sip. His eyes were drawn to the perfect image of her lips now pressed to the rim of the glass, when he finally managed to tear his eyes away, she stared blankly over his shoulder. Was she looking into her past?

“And … it didn’t work out?” he asked to break her painful reverie.

“Famously. They despise each other. My father managed to marry again with no better result second time around. Watching them grow to hate each other has convinced me to stay single. I’m way happier than they are.”

The woman who was basically a stranger to joy was … happy? He didn’t believe it for a second.

“What is it that makes you happy?” he asked. This was what he’d been hoping to uncover tonight. Everyone was a product of their childhood. Those early memories shaped every adult he knew. His had been bathed in Christmas magic and the joy of giving. His delight in making toys that brought pleasure to children on Christmas morning was a direct result of how his parents had raised him in love and warmth and harmony with all the souls on Earth. Perhaps she hadn’t been fortunate.

“Happiness to me is security. No loud arguments. My own home. My own space. Being able to afford to eat dinner every night,” she said.

She shook her head and twisted the stem of her cocktail glass between anxious fingers. “I never talk this much about myself or my past. What is it about you, Nick? Have you put a spell on me or something?”