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“Don’t sell yourself short.” Devra thought he should be celebrating his achievements, not downplaying them. She could only imagine what it would take to beat back an addiction, to finally be in control after so many years of feeling helpless. She wanted that too. Deeply admired him for it. It was like he couldn’t see himself the way she did, in all his beauty, both inside and out. “You’ve come so far.”
“I know.” Bradley tucked a strand of Devra’s hair behind her ear. “But it’s complicated.”
“How so?”
His mouth did a strange dance, fighting between the tug of a smile and the pull of a frown. The smile won. “Well, for example, it seems my poor choices have only shifted. Instead of chugging from the bottle, I’m now chasing terrified women around storefronts.”
She laughed.
“Anyway, the point is, if my luck is supernaturally good in December, there’s a chance it’ll balance out your curse. So there’s nothing to fear as long as you stick close to me.”
“Alas, one good thing happening does not make a pattern.”
“Ah, but don’t you see?” He curled a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head upward, his gaze burrowing into hers. “December is also when I met you.”
When he leaned in, her lips met his, just as desperate for the kiss.
BRADLEY
A woman in an elf costume approached, beckoning them toward the North Pole, where Santa was apparently ready and waiting to take a picture with the lovely couple, and Devra’s body seized like she was being approached by a man in a ski mask in a dark alley. She clung so close to Bradley that he experienced every muscle twitch with her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “No one is going to hurt you.”
“Says someone who has never had an elf follow them home from the mall late one night and rob them at gunpoint.” She gripped his forearm tighter. “He took my allowance, all the presents I’d painstakingly picked out for Papa and David. I stopped going to the mall after that.”
Okay, so his mental ski mask analogy had been a little too on point.
The mall was packed and lively with holiday spirit despite the late hour. Another elf approached, and even though Bradley knew he should steer them away from the performer, he was drawn in by a sensation he couldn’t quite explain.
“ ’Twas the night before Christmas…” This one was dressed as a bard. “Not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse.”
“Not even a mouse,” Bradley corrected. “ ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a—”
“Bradley!” Devra hissed, gripping tighter.
“Sorry. Right. Not important.”
They gave the North Pole a wide berth, keeping to the edges of the aisles to avoid the rows of trees decorated in silver garland and sidestepping any customers daring to wear a festive red-and-white hat.
“And it isn’t just the elves,” Devra said. “It’s…well, I don’t do well with crowds, in general.”
Bradley could tell. The more people they pushed through, the more rigid she became.
“When did that start?” he asked, wanting both to know her better and to keep her mind occupied as they wove toward their destination—the seedy mall corner by the smoke shop and dollar store.
“It’s difficult to remember exactly.” A man carrying a bulk supply of wrapping paper smacked into them, and Devra dug her nails into Bradley’s skin. “I remember being a somewhat anxious child, nervous in unfamiliar settings, terrified to be picked last for dodgeball. But I don’t think that’s abnormal. Then each Christmas season, the list of things that scared me began to grow. Soon I was afraid of trees, afraid to decorate with red and white, afraid to drink hot chocolate or drive a car. My best friend, Sally, ditched me to move across the world, and I stopped going out. Stopped trying to make friends.”
“Her name was Sally?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I was just thinking. Sally. Squally.”
“That’s just a coincidence! I told you, I’m not responsible for every single element of the Squally Project. In fact, the name originated from an early acronym. S-Q-A-L-E,” she spelled out. “StormNetix’s Quality Assistant for Living and Entertainment.”
He’d only meant to tease her, to distract her from the ominous looking candy cane pillar they were walking by, which was tilting ever closer to a forty-five-degree angle as they approached, like it might just topple over. But the vehemence with which she protested made him wonder.
“Anyway. The point is, the scary things kept piling up until they were everywhere. Soon the only place I felt safe was my home, where I could control exactly what it was I saw and heard and even smelled.” She smiled and loosened her grip—Bradley resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. “Until this incredibly unreasonable man moved in next door and ruined my peace and quiet with a shit ton of tacky lawn decorations.”
