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“Oh. Right.” He knew it was some kind of seasonal flavor. His cheeks grew warm.
Belinda patted him on the knee. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hammond. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”
“Let’s hope so,” he heard the elf mutter.
James couldn’t have agreed with her more.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT MORNING James woke to what had to be the best-smelling candle in the universe—sweet with traces of allspice and cinnamon—which was odd since he didn’t normally buy candles. Maybe the smell had something to do with the stinging sensation on the back of his head and the vague memories of dark hair and kitten eyes dancing on the edge of his brain.
And orange blossoms. For some reason, the first thought in his mind was that as delicious as the candle smelled, it wasn’t orange blossoms.
Slowly, he pried open an eye. What the...?
This wasn’t his Back Bay condo. He sprang up, only to have a sharp pain push him back down on the bed.
Sofa, he amended. He was lying facedown on a leather sofa, his cheek swallowed by a large memory foam pillow. Gingerly, he felt the back of his skull, his fingers meeting a patch of gauze and tape.
The drone. This must be Noelle Fryberg’s living room. Last thing he remembered was leaning into her warm body as she led him through the front door. Explained why he had orange blossoms on the brain. The memory of the smell eased the tension between his shoulder blades.
Once the vertigo abated, he surveyed his surroundings. Given her slavish devotion to Fryberg’s vision, he pictured his hostess living in a mirror image of the Christmas Castle, with baskets of sugarplums and boughs of holly. He’d been close. The house definitely had the same stucco and wood architecture as the rest of the town, although she’d thankfully forgone any year-round Christmas motif. Instead, the inside was pleasantly furnished with simple, sturdy furniture like the large pine cabinet lining the wall across the way. Brightly colored plates hung on the wall behind it. Homey. Rustic. With not a chandelier or trace of Italian marble to be found.
“You’re awake.”
A pair of shapely legs suddenly appeared in his line of vision, followed seconds later by a pair of big cornflower-colored eyes as the elf squatted down by his head. “I was coming in to check on you. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t fall into a coma while sleeping,” she said.
“I haven’t.”
“Obviously.”
As obvious as her joy over having to play nursemaid.
She looked less elfish than yesterday. More girl next door. The red dress had been shucked in favor of a white-and-red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt and jeans, and her short hair was pulled away from her face with a bright red headband. James didn’t think it was possible to pull back short hair, but she had. It made her eyes look like one of those paintings from the seventies. The ones where everyone had giant sad eyes. Only in this case, they weren’t sad; they were antipathetic.
He tried sitting up again. Slowly this time, making sure to keep his head and neck as still as possible. He felt like an awkward idiot. How was it that people in movies bounced back from head wounds in minutes? Here he was sliding his legs to the floor like he was stepping onto ice.
“How did I end up here?” he asked.
Her mouth turned downward. “Do you mean the house or the sofa?”
“The sofa.”
“Good. For a minute I was afraid you didn’t remember anything.” She stood up, taking her blue eyes from his vision unless he looked up, which didn’t feel like the best idea. “You collapsed on it soon as we got through the door last night,” she told him. “I tried to convince you to go upstairs to the bedroom, but you refused to budge.”
That sounded vaguely familiar. “Stairs were too much work.”
“That’s what you said last night. Anyway, since you refused to move from the sofa, I gave you a pillow, threw an afghan over you and called it a night.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw a flash of bright blue yarn piled on the floor near his feet. Tightness gripped his chest at the notion of someone tucking a blanket around his legs while he slept. Cradling his head while they placed a pillow underneath.
“Wait a second,” he said as a realization struck him. “You checked on me every few hours?”
“I had to. Doctor’s orders.”
“What about sleep? Did you...”
“Don’t worry—I didn’t put myself out any more than necessary.”
But more than she preferred. He was but an unwanted responsibility after all. The tightness eased, and the familiar numbness returned. “I’m glad. I’d hate to think you had to sacrifice too much.”
