Season Of Sparkles: 12 Days of Christmas by Elice Nange

Author:Elice Nange [Nange, Elice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elice Nange Books
Published: 2024-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

13

ODETTE

For the rest of the night and some of the morning, I keep to my room — or rather, Santa’s least favorite guest’s room — alternating between scribbling on sheet music and staring blankly at the walls because it’s easier than facing him. But I can’t hide forever, and the smell of fresh coffee is my undoing. It sneaks under my door and curls into the room like a siren call. My stomach growls, a traitor.

I crack the door open and peer down the hall. The coast is clear. I shuffle down the stairs, following the scent like a moth drawn to a flame. Once I have coffee in my system, I’ll feel human again.

When I turn the corner, there he is, standing at the stove with his back to me, humming softly as he flips something in a skillet. The sight of him — apron tied loosely around his waist, sunlight catching in his blonde-gray hair — gives me pause.

Damn him for looking so domestic.

“Morning,” he says, bright and unbothered, as if we’re not trapped in some unresolved emotional quagmire.

One-night stands are supposed to be just that, a one and done. They aren’t supposed to waltz back into your life after a decade and make you wish for things you can’t have.

Sunlight pours in through the window, illuminating his profile in this annoyingly perfect way, as if mornings were created just for him.

Then again, he did say he was an early riser.

“Morning,” I mumble half-heartedly as I make a beeline for coffee.

“You sleep okay?” he asks, oblivious to my glaring.

“Like a baby,” I lie, pouring myself a cup and inhaling the rich aroma like it might give me the strength to deal with him.

It doesn’t.

“Hungry?” He gestures to the counter, where plates of pancakes, eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and a jug of orange juice sit waiting.

I glance at him suspiciously. “You’re still feeding me?”

He grins. “Figured I’d lure you out of hiding with coffee, then keep you down here with food. Worked like a charm.”

I scowl but grab a plate anyway. The smell is too much to resist, and there’s no use pretending I’m not starving, not with my traitorous stomach growling so loud. I sit at the island like we did yesterday morning, and he joins me, far too pleased with himself. One bite in, and I can’t help the involuntary sigh.

“Thanks,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.

“For the food or for de-Christmas-ing the place?”

“That’s not a word…” I blurt out, only to find there’s a stack of taped up boxes on the other side of the island. At second and third glance, the space does look less like the North Pole, and more… normal. I turn to face him. “You did that for me?”

He shrugs, his grin softening into something gentler. “The piano is too heavy to carry up the stairs, and it won’t fit in your room.”

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s thoughtful of him. Too thoughtful, really. I swallow around the lump that forms in my throat and shove more pancake in my mouth to avoid responding.

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