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1
Christmas Eve
Ivypausedonthesidewalk to adjust her grip on the two bags of baked goods her boss had given to her when they closed early for the winter holidays. Two pies, three loaves of olive-and-rosemary bread, a dozen-and-a-half bagels, and some gorgeous mini fruitcakes that hadn’t sold well, along with a jar of house-made fig jam and another of hazelnut butter weighed them down. Perfect provisions to take up to the rental cabin for lazy, no-cook breakfasts and Christmas treats.
This year, instead of facing the decision about where to celebrate the holiday—with his noisy, argumentative family or her small, somber one—Ivy and her boyfriend were avoiding the question and retreating to the mountains, just the two of them, for a long weekend of hot-tubbing and hiding out. Waking up to birdsong, fresh snow, and bagels for three days in a row?Bliss.
Ivy closed her eyes for an extra-long moment as she trudged up the familiar route toward home, enjoying the vision. She and James needed this time together to reconnect after a hectic autumn. His work schedule as an admissions officer at Otherworld Academy was nearly opposite hers. He held evening information nights and weekend orientations, while she worked bakers’ hours, leaving before he woke and often falling asleep, exhausted from a day rolling dough and pinching pie crust, before he returned home.
They only had Saturday nights and Sunday mornings free to spend together, and lately not even those. This semester, James had a special project, some collaboration within the admissions department that made him short-tempered and distant when he was home and kept him at work even later than usual. Sometimes he even slept at the office.
He’d promised the project would end before their winter vacation, though, so she’d been patient and tried to stay out of his way. His career was on an upward trajectory, and he needed to focus. Ivy felt lucky that she already had her dream job.
She reached the last block, the part where the hill was steepest, and paused again to catch her breath. Despite the freezing temperatures, a bead of sweat rolled down her back underneath her quilted jacket. She tugged off her wool hat, exposing her red, braided pigtails, and shoved it into the pocket of her coat before resuming the trek.
“You don’treallywant to go home yet, do you?” a voice came from the opposite corner of the intersection.
Ivy instantly flushed at the familiar drawl. It was Tairon, of course. A muscular dragon with broad shoulders and horns, he sat astride his shiny, black motorcycle like he was the king of 39th and Rosewood. He had green tattoos vining between the red scales on his forearms and a rakish, toothy grin that made all the other bakery girls giggle when he stopped in to buy his daily bagel.
Over the past few years, he and Ivy had struck up the friendly kind of relationship that occurs between a counter clerk and a regular…meaning he flirted shamelessly with her, teasing her when she had a smudge of flour on her nose and dropping compliments if she wore her hair a different way. He’d even slipped small gifts into her tip jar along with his change sometimes: a blue jay feather or pretty river rock or, once, a note asking her out.
She’d taken him aside the next day and explained that, while flattered, she had a boyfriend. He’d been good-natured about the rejection, backing off just the right amount so it was clear he wasn’t offended or put off at all. He was toeing the line. Behaving, even if a powerful current of naughtiness ran underneath. She had a feeling he was like that all the time, though, and never took his flirtation personally.
He jerked his head toward the bike between his muscled thighs and swung a human-sized helmet in an arc, holding it out to her. “Come for a ride with me. You know you want to.” His flat, flexible tail swept over the seat behind him like he was cleaning it off for her, though the supple black leather was spotless.
Why did she have the sudden impulse to drop her bags right there on the slushy sidewalk and straddle the bike behind him, wrap her arms around his leather-jacketed torso, and squeal into the frigid wind when he sped through town? He was too young for her, maybe five years younger than her thirty-two. Too tall and handsome and monstrous to be truly interested in regular old human like her. Andeek, James. That was the real reason a ride with Tairon was off limits.
She forced a smile. “I can’t, sorry. I have to get home. My fiancé is expecting me.”
Tairon stiffened, his yellow gaze flicking to her hand, and, laden down as she was, Ivy didn’t have time to hide her empty left ring finger. It was a fib, but only a small one. James had his grandmother’s ring stashed in his sock drawer, and she was sure he was going to propose at the cabin.
Tairon didn’t call her on it, just nodded and stowed the human helmet, but she felt his eyes on her sweaty back all the way up the rest of the hill.
She should have offered him the bagels from her bag. They were everything-flavor bagels, his usual order. It would have been neighborly to offer. He definitely lived or worked around here, because she often spotted him prowling the streets on his bike, and he’d stopped by the bakery every damn morning for the last three years. It was a good bakery, but it didn’t cater to monsters and wasn’t the kind you went too far out of your way for even if you were human.
The front door of the house swung shut too quickly, banging Ivy in the butt on the way in. She heard James groan in the bedroom, a long-suffering sound. He must be packing for the trip. Packing was the worst, especially winter gear, and they’d both procrastinated the task until the last minute.
She’d need a whole suitcase just for coats and boots and gloves for playing in the snow. And then another one for hot-tub bikinis, because she planned to spend the entire weekend in it. Actually, the cabin was so private, swimsuits weren’t required. She grinned to herself as she hefted the bags onto the kitchen counter.
James groaned again, this time more pained. He sounded like he might be sick.
“Honey? Are you okay?”
A loud thump came, and her concern grew. She hurried down the short hall to the bedroom and pushed open the door to offer him help. She stopped short in the doorway when she spotted him inside.
James was stuffing his suitcase all right…if by suitcase you meant the Jansen’s twenty-year-old babysitter, Chelsea, who was, now that Ivy thought about it, an intern in the admissions department. She had her feet in the air while James went at it, hips twisting and pale buttocks clenching.
Ivy cleared her throat. “Is this the special project you’ve been working on?”
James rolled off the girl like his dick had touched a hot oven and clutched his chest. “Shit, Ivy, you scared me. I thought you were the mail carrier.”
“You’re the only one delivering a package. I’m just your live-in girlfriend.” She should be screaming. Ranting. Something. But she only felt numb. Stupid and numb and dumpy in her novelty Christmas sweater that had a row of snowy trees knitted across her tits.
Chelsea pushed up on her elbows to grab the sheet and glared at James, her blonde hair mussed and lavender lace bra askew. Even with her lower lip pouted out, she was pretty. “Girlfriend? You told me you took care of her!”
“I was going to this afternoon. She’s early,” he flared defensively. “Tell her, Ivy. You weren’t due for two more hours.”
He really wanted her to defend him? Ivy laughed out loud.
