Page 32 of The Grumpiest Elf

“I’m sorry,” I say again, sounding calmer than before I left. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have—”

She waves away my apology, giving me a wan smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

The way she says that doesn’t sound like she’s fine.

Standing, she brushes her hands down the backs of her legs like she’s brushing off dirt, even though nothing in here is dirty. She seems more nervous than she did earlier, though, and I once again have the urge to kick my own ass for messing up the easy truce we’d reached over the course of the night. We were allies against the overbearing adults in the parties, keeping the kids entertained with inadequate supplies and preparation, then in finding ways to be comfortable during our night—hopefully it’s just one night—stuck here.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she says quietly. “Then we should try to sleep.”

“Okay.” The word scrapes out of me, and I clear my throat, trying again. “Sounds good.”

Another wan smile as she slips past me.

I busy myself nudging the couch cushions closer together while she’s gone—they’d separated a little from us climbing around and getting up and down on them—resettling the blankets so they’re smooth and inviting. I place the extra tablecloths and wool blankets we’ll be using as covers at the foot of the bed. I normally sleep in minimal clothing—boxers or workout shorts and nothing else—but it’s chilly enough in here that I’ll be leaving on my hoodie, pants, and socks tonight, even with the blankets. We’re in no danger of hypothermia or freezing to death, but when I checked the locked thermostat, it read fifty-nine degrees, so it’s not exactly comfortably warm.

Lydia returns, rubbing her nose, her fingers just peeking out from the arms of her sweater.

I gesture toward the bed. “Which side would you like?”

She glances at me as though startled, then looks at the bed, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Oh, uh, this side’s fine.” She gestures at the side closest to her, then climbs onto it.

Standing at the foot of the bed, I pick up the tablecloth-turned-top sheet and shake it out.

Startled, she props herself up on her elbow. “What are you doing?”

I spread it out over her, turning the gesture into a bow. “Your covers, mademoiselle.”

She giggles, and the sound eases the fist around my heart that demands I make her feel better. She doesn’t protest as I spread the wool blanket over her as well, then she watches me as I spread my own covers on my half, then climb underneath them.

Shifting around to face me, she tucks her hands under her face. “Thank you,” she says in a small voice after a moment. When I quirk a brow in silent question, she gestures with one hand, making a circle over us. “For the blankets. For making tonight bearable. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d gotten stuck alone.” She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “Sorry for going off on you about the school thing. My dad’s been harping on me about it. He’s mad, and like you, he doesn’t get it, and nothing I say seems to matter.” She pauses, pressing her lips together, her eyes staring past me as she considers her words. “It’s like he doesn’twantto get it.” Her eyes refocus on mine. “Does that make sense? And I’m just so tired of going around in circles about it, trying to make myself understood to someone who refuses, and the prospect of rehashing everything again just made me mad. While you did sound a bit more judgmental than I’d prefer”—her voice has an edge, but she shoots me a grin to alleviate the sting—“you didn’t deserve the level of response you got. I appreciate your apology, and I’m sorry too.”

I take a moment, considering her words and the best way to respond before saying anything. The last thing I want to do is put my foot in it again, though I’m relieved that I didn’t screw up everything. Finally, I reach out a tentative finger, brushing it over her wrist. “I could tell I’d touched a nerve, and, as you said, I was being judgmental. It seemed like your response was due to something more than that, though. Thank you for telling me.”

She nods, covering her nose with her hand, moving away from my touch with the motion, and I pull my hand back. “My nose is so cold,” she whisper-wails.

“Awww,” I say in a big show of sympathy, pulling her blankets up higher. “Poor thing. Cover your face with your blanket and try to sleep. Hopefully we’ll wake up to good news.”

Nodding, she tugs the blankets up high over her shoulders and around her face, turning onto her other side. “Dylan?” her soft voice floats back over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I whisper, her words warming me as I listen to her breathing grow deeper and more even, the sound of it eventually lulling me to sleep as well.

* * *

I wake to a loud beeping sound outside and awareness of low light filtering in through the windows. Making a grumbling sound of protest at being woken up, I also become aware that my hip hurts, but I’m otherwise in a warm little cocoon with Lydia pressed up against me, her ass nestled against the morning wood straining to get to her through my boxers and pants.

I should move, I tell myself, but despite the fact that we’re lying on the floor, the couch cushions having apparently separated in the night so that we’re both in the gap between them, I don’t want to move.

I’ll move when she wakes up, I promise myself, deciding that if she’s sleeping through what sounds like a snowplow in the parking lot, she clearly needs the rest. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s bright enough that it’s obviously daytime, and the plow getting here is a good sign. That means the road is clear too.

That shouldn’t make me sad, but it does, because that means that once Lydia wakes up and realizes we can go home, the magic of the last night will dissipate like a puff of smoke, and possibly our truce with it.

So no, I’m not going to move. I’m not going to risk waking Lydia up. Not when I’m reasonably confident that we’ll go back to stilted politeness once this is all over.

But then she’s moving, shifting around in my arms so she’s facing me, blinking up at me with sleepy eyes.

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