Never Kiss a Krampus: A Cozy Holiday Monster Romance (Wrong Move, Right Monster) by Honey Phillips

Author:Honey Phillips [Phillips, Honey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

The morning rush had been brutal.

Three tour buses had somehow coordinated their arrival times, depositing what felt like half of Albany into my tiny shop. I’d sold out of snowman mugs, nearly depleted my stock of artisan ornaments, and personally witnessed a bidding war over the last hand-painted nativity set.

Bastian had watched the chaos with the expression of someone observing particularly aggressive wildlife. When an elderly woman had asked if he was “part of the experience,” he’d simply stared at her until she bought two packages of premium wrapping paper and scurried away.

Now, in the blessed lull that followed, we were restocking. Or trying to. The storage situation in the stockroom had evolved organically over the years, which was a polite way of saying “complete disaster.” Boxes stacked on boxes, inventory shoved wherever it fit, and a labeling system that made sense only to my past self, who apparently hated my current self.

“This is chaos,” he announced from somewhere behind a tower of plastic storage bins.

“It’s organized chaos.”

“It is chaos that has defeated organization and now reigns supreme.”

I rolled my eyes, stretching up to reach a box on the top shelf. The label read “Ornaments—Maybe?” which was helpfully vague. “Not all of us have centuries of experience imposing order on the universe.”

“Clearly.”

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be helping, you’re being awfully judgey.” I stood on my toes, fingers brushing the edge of the box. Almost. Just a little higher.

“I am observing. It is different.”

“Observe less, help more.” I stretched further, my sweater riding up slightly. The box was just out of reach, taunting me with its proximity. “Or get over here and grab this for me since you’re ridiculously tall.”

I heard him move, his footsteps quiet despite his size. He appeared beside me, reaching up easily. His arm extended past mine, and I had to shift sideways to give him room.

I turned, meaning to step back and give him space. Instead, my hand came up for balance and brushed against something solid and warm. The base of his horn, right where it curved from his skull.

He went completely still. Not the casual stillness of someone pausing mid-action. This was the frozen immobility of a predator that had just spotted prey. Every muscle locked. His breathing stopped. The box in his hand hovered in midair, forgotten.

I yanked my hand back. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to⁠—”

He set the box down with exaggerated care. He didn’t look at me. He just placed it on the shelf with the kind of precision that suggested he was focusing entirely on that action to avoid focusing on anything else.

“Bastian?”

“It is nothing.” His voice came out lower than usual. Rougher.

“It’s clearly not nothing. You just turned into a statue.”

“Your observation skills are exemplary.” He still wasn’t looking at me. His hands gripped the shelf edge, knuckles pale beneath the fur. “The box you requested. Take it.”

“I’m not taking anything until you tell me what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why are you acting weird?”

He finally turned his head, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes.

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