Page 100 of Blood and Bells

“You mean it?”

She nods, a soft smile breaking over her face. “I think I realized it somewhere between being captured by rogue elves and being suspended over a vat of boiling caramel.”

“A classic progression,” I say. “Kidnapping. Peril. Emotional clarity.”

“Standard,” she agrees.

Something in me settles in a way that is both unfamiliar and dangerously permanent. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this…much and still remain upright. But here I am. Defying the laws of metaphysics.

“I want to kiss you,” I say, certain subtlety has clearly abandoned me for the evening. “More than anything. But not here. Not while I’m dressed like a cautionary tale.” I gesture at my attire. “You deserve better than slush, glitter, and overalls that have seen at least one war.”

Holly blinks—then, thankfully, laughs. The sound fixes several structural issues I hadn’t realized I had.

“It has nothing to do with the cocoa,” I add, quieter now, my voice catching slightly as I lean in. “You look—” I stop, recalibrate. “You look like yourself. Which is, unfortunately for me, devastating.”

That earns me another laugh, softer this time.

“When I kiss you,” I say, brushing a stray curl back from her face, “it’s going to be deliberate. Possibly intoxicating. Definitely memorable.” I pause. “I’d prefer not to have it upstaged by festive debris.”

I pull her into my arms before I can overthink it, holding her close. Holly fits there easily, like this was always the plan and no one thought to inform me. She exhales against me, something in her finally unwinding, and I rest my chin lightly against her hair.

I close my eyes and, for once, don’t think about leaving. I think about staying. Through the clean-up. Through the next disaster. Through whatever comes after that.

“You’re an idiot,” she murmurs, her voice warm against my chest.

“I’ve built a reputation,” I say.

She pulls back just enough to look up at me, her eyes holding mine, not letting me look away.

“I really do like you like this,” she says. “All of it. The chaos, the terrible decisions, the dramatic speeches you pretend you didn’t rehearse.”

I open my mouth to object to that last point.

She stops me.

“And you,” she adds, “are coming with me to the Willow Creek Winter Wonderland tonight.”

I blink. “Isn’t that now?”

“It starts in an hour.”

I glance down at the overalls, then back at her, weighing the situation with all the seriousness it deserves. There are, as far as I can tell, no viable alternatives that don’t involve leaving her. For now.

“…I’ll need to change,” I say.

“Oh, I recall your very specific conditions. Vividly. Which is why you should probably run. Fifteen minutes.”

“Cruel.”

“Efficient.”

Her fingers lace with mine as if this is simply the next logical step, and I realize, not for the first time, that I have been comprehensively outmaneuvered by an event planner. And at this point, the only sensible course of action is to stop arguing and go where she leads.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The aftermath of battling an evil Santa should probably leave me ready to crawl into bed and hibernate until New Year’s Eve, but instead, I’m standing in front of my closet, trying to decide if the sequined dress is too much. My hair is a mess. My arms ache from hurling snowballs. I’m fairly certain there’s still rogue elf glitter embedded somewhere in my scalp, plotting a long-term residency.

But none of that matters right now.