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Every time he uses the word “mate,” I melt a little more. I think I’m starting to fall. Starting to have real feelings for Cyran.
Quickly, I throw on my pajamas that are drying on a screen near the massive fireplace, and I notice it when Cyran gives me an approving gaze despite my fumbling and hopping.
“I will seek help from the Uncommon Elves to sew some finer, more suitable clothes for you,” he says.
I’d hate for anyone to go to that much trouble for a visitor, but I wouldn’t say no to something to wear other than these pajamas.
I join him at the cooking area, and he hands me a strange utensil to push a spicy-scented meat around on the cooking surface over the fire. “Not exactly a Kitchen Aid stove, but I’ll manage. You stoke the fire.”
He chuckles as he deftly picks up the poker, the same one I dropped on the floor earlier in my feeble plan to fend him off.
How insanely quickly I went from threatening him, my captor, to lust, to catching feelings.
And what will become of us? Me and a Christmas elf, for Pete’s sake.
Sometime soon, I’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement in Santa’s lawyer’s office and be on my way, never to speak of this encounter again. Probably.
“Was it you who made the cookies for Santa?”
“I did,” I say. “My grandmother taught me to bake and cook. I don’t do half as well as she used to.”
He chuckles again and reminds me, “You must be good at it since Santa didn’t even get a single cookie this year.”
“What?”
“You ate them all.”
“I did not!” I say with a laugh.
“You most certainly did. There was a plate of nothing but crumbs on the floor next to you when I found you.”
“Lies. All lies,” I say.
“I can’t lie, but I will try if it allows you to keep your pride, my mate.”
There’s that word again. Don’t swoon, Ivy. It doesn’t mean anything.
I laugh a little too forcefully as I bottle up my feelings. “It would save me my pride, thank you very much,” I say as I watch him slice chunks of fluffy, seeded bread.
He butters the bread, skewers the slices, and places them over the flame. “I don’t see how it matters. You should be proud to have such an appetite. I’m going to enjoy feeding you. I’m sure the cookies were as delicious as you are.”
I feel myself blush. “They were pretty good.”
“Will you make them for me next Christmas?”
Hmm. Does this imply a yearly booty call? I’m down for that. I’m down for anything that gets me away from the Frosts. I bristle then as I realize that I most likely will not have a job with the Frosts after this disappearing act, whether I was kidnapped or not.
“It’s a deal,” I say.
Moments later, I’m back in the easy chair where he’d first fed me that terrible tea.
This time, he pulls up a seat next to me and places a tray of delicious-smelling foods between us. Besides the buttered, toasted bread, there’s a pungent hunk of cheese that Cyran assures me is fine to eat even though it’s green. There’s a cup of dried fruits and nuts. Something that looks like roasted purple and yellow carrots sits in a bowl, and I smile.
“What is it?” Cyran asks.
“Mrs. Frost said that leaving carrots out for the reindeer is so cliché,” I say.
Cyran laughs. “They do like their carrots, but they prefer radishes and beets.”
