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‘You don’t mind if I stay?’ He was hoping she’d say that. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go, but he didn’t want to invite himself to move in for a few days if she wasn’t happy with that.
‘Of course not. I was only planning on eating, drinking, and reading. So, how are you feeling? You don’t look as pale now.’
‘Bit tired, but yeah. Feeling more human.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’ She smiles at him and he can’t resist smiling back.
He keeps the goofy grin on his face for a few seconds longer than he had planned, before he kicks himself. ‘I’ll clear this away.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘I’m doing it,’ he insists. He needs to put some distance between them, before he does something he probably shouldn’t.
‘Okay, thanks.’ She takes her coffee into the living room, and sits on the couch, tucking her legs under her.
Nick tidies away the breakfast things and washes the dishes, taking his time to finish the job. He wants to spend time with her, but there are too many clothes on both of them for his liking.
He curses and angrily shakes his head. What the fuck is he doing? He needs to get his head out of the gutter.
But nope. Five minutes later, it’s still there. Firmly wedged in the gutter, where it’s going to stay as long as she’s near him.
He glances over his shoulder, catching her looking at him at the same time. He doesn't turn away, doesn’t back down. She must know he wants her. If it wasn’t for the storm, he’d have made a move on her earlier, instead of giving her what she wanted from another room. But if he does try something and she rejects him, it’ll make things so awkward for the rest of their time together.
This is her home. Of all the places she should feel safe, it’s here. There’s no way he’s going to make things uncomfortable for her.
Besides, he doesn't have time to look at her the way he is. It’s Christmas week! It’s the most important time of year for him. If he doesn’t get home for Christmas Eve, Christmas is fucked forever. There will be no recovering from that.
A tingle runs across his skin, sending a rash of goosebumps over his flesh. He clenches his right fist, as the tingle escalates to a sharp prickle as it moves down his arm to his hand. His magic is building in preparation for the Christmas run, and it’s only going to get stronger as the big day draws closer.
He flexes his fingers, trying to ease the bizarre sensations. Something is wrong. The build up is usually pleasant. Like a warm pulse across his skin. This time it’s sharper, almost painful. Thirty-five years doing this job and his magic has never hurt him before.
But this is the first time he’s been away from the workshop for longer than a few hours, at this time of year. His Santa magic is stabilised by the workshop, and vice versa. They need that link to survive, but what he doesn’t know is how his magic and the workshop will react to the separation.
And that’s the part that’s worrying him.
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