Page 41 of Blood and Bells

“The trick, Frost, is to ask nicely.”

Nick clicks his tongue once—soft, certain—and the buck’s ears tip like sails catching wind. He pats the reindeer on its neck and gives it a sharp tap on its flank. It jumps and then trots off, with the rest of the reindeer following behind in an orderly procession. I watch, silently impressed, as the chaos vanishes like it was never there.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he calls out as he walks over.

“Yes. Thank you for saving us from the Christmas apocalypse.”

Nick’s expression softens just enough to catch me off guard. “Anytime. Whatever you need.”

Marcy giggles and nudges me with her elbow. I make a point of ignoring her, although I can’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Nick’s offer hangs in the air like a promise, and I can’t help but wonder what else he’s willing to do—or what he’s hiding behind that devil-may-care grin.

When I glance up, Nick is already looking at me. For a fleeting second, his eyes glimmer. His usual cocky smirk falters, replaced by something quieter. Warmer. Something that feels like it’s only for me.

It’s a look that makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t explain. Heat creeps up my neck all of a sudden, while my face flushes, inconveniently.

“Really,” Nick says, his voice gentler than before, “it’s no problem. You make it very easy to want to help.”

I try to hide my reaction, but it’s useless. Nick watches me for a beat longer, his expression shifting, as if he’s caught in the strange moment, too. And for a brief, wonderful second, it’s just us, standing in the quiet aftermath of chaos, the world fading away as I forget about everything except the way his words settle in my chest.

My mouth opens to say something—anything—but before the words come out, Marcy’s voice cuts through the quiet, bright and cheery as ever.

“You know, there’s a reindeer farm a few miles outside of town. North Star Reindeer,” she says, glancing between us with that knowing smile of hers. “I bet the stampede started there. Nick should probably make sure they get home safe, and there might be more clues about who stole the Christmas tree. These events must be related. This can’t be a coincidence.”

I blink, the moment shattered, and glance back at Nick.

His eyes glint with amusement, that signature smirk returning. “Not a bad idea. How about it, Frost? You think you can endure another trek through the woods with me?”

I nod, wondering about my decision to go into event-planning as a career.

“Great! I’ll grab my hat and gloves. Back in a second,” Marcy says, clearly pleased with herself. She doesn’t wait for us to respond before she’s off, practically skipping towards her flat above the chocolate shop she owns.

“Grab hand warmers,” I yell at her. “And the good scarves. We’re doing this politely.”

Nick exhales and watches his breath fog in the air. “Guess we’re going on another adventure.”

A small smile sneaks onto my face. This is ridiculous. It’s with him. And somehow, I’m committed to it.

“Guess so.”

As Marcy’s footsteps crunch through the snow ahead, I find myself wishing it wasn’t the three of us going. If it were just Nick and me, maybe that strange, quiet moment from earlier would have stretched a little longer. Maybe I wouldn’t be quite so flustered now, wondering if he’d seen the way my cheeks flushed—or if he’d felt that weird pull like gravity bending between us.

Nick adjusts his scarf and slips his hands into his pockets.

“You cold?” he asks, his voice softer now, more like it was a minute ago when it was just us.

“No. I’m fine.”

I shake my head quickly, but the thoughtfulness in his tone makes me warm all over again. We fall into step together, the quiet stretch of snow between us feeling heavier than it should. For just a second, I wish the night were ours alone, without interruptions or reindeer to round up.

Chapter Fourteen

The drive to the North Star Reindeer farm takes about twenty minutes. Marcy supplies cheerful road trip chatter about laundry triumphs, cocoa rations, and something called ‘the great scarf debate.’ Neither Holly nor I engage in it deeply, but we try the best we can. I can’t pull my thoughts away from that brief moment we shared. They’re arriving more frequently, those brief moments, and I wonder about how I might make them last longer.

Before we left, I saw the real Holly, the determined and resilient event planner, on full display. She contacted half the town—her army of assistants—by group text, assigning them tasks before signing off with three snowflakes and a candy-cane emoji. Someone’s rebuilding the gazebo. Someone else is making sure the power grid isn’t damaged. Others are cleaning up the destruction on Main Street. Truly, she makes logistics look easy.

I sigh and look out the window, letting Marcy’s chatter wash over me. I barely catch the last of what she’s saying.

“I took three loads before I was done.”