Page 13 of Jack Frost
I can't think of anything to say. It's obviously him, and Karyl canseehim.
So heisreal. He's appearing in—what did he call it?—human aspect.
Dazed, I wander to Karyl's trunk and heft my duffel bag inside while she lifts the suitcase.
"You didn't tell me about him," she whispers reproachfully. "He said you guys met in Antarctica? That he was with another research team?"
"I—yeah—"
"Damn, girl, he fine! You hit that?"
I stare at her. "No!"
"No!" She mimics my horrified tone. "You don't have to say 'no!' in that prissy little voice, babe. It's been way too long since you got some. Maybe now that you're both Stateside—and he says he's working in North Carolina, too—"
"Oh he is, is he?" Tension knots in my temple, pulsing behind my eye. Between the long days of travel and this new development, I've got the beginnings of a killer migraine. Maybe some caffeine will help. "Let's grab that coffee and he can tell us more about this 'work' he's doing in North Carolina."
As I slide into the front passenger seat, I studiously avoid Jack's gaze. Clearly he took tangible form and introduced himself to my friend so I would have no choice but to believe he's real. A smart move, because I can't reason this away. And I'm pissed, because now I have to re-adjust my entire worldview to include magic and frost-wielding men and whatever else is out there.
He stays quiet while Karyl and I discuss my trip. She asks him a few questions, like what he was studying in Antarctica, to which he replies, "Weather patterns. Did you know that Antarctica clocked a record temperature this year? 64.9 degrees Fahrenheit, or 18.2 degrees Celsius. That breaks 2015's record of 63.5 Fahrenheit."
Karyl whistled. "Global warming's a bitch, huh?"
"Yes, she is," Jack agrees fervently. Why do I get the feeling that he's talking about a specific entity, not just a global effect?
"It's weirdly cold in the car though." Karyl bumps up the vehicle's heat a couple notches. "You chilly, Emery?"
"I'm fine."
"Right, I guess you're used to the cold now."
When we reach the coffee shop, Jack leaps out of the car like a piece of bread from a hot toaster. I guess he's not a fan of warm, enclosed spaces. Too bad, because the coffee shop is also toasty warm, scented with rich coffee beans and chocolate, cluttered with overstuffed bookshelves.
Karyl and I order espressos and slices of quiche, and then I grudgingly turn to Jack. "Do you have a wallet, or money?" I mutter under my breath.
He slides a leather wallet out of his back pocket. The interior is stuffed with bills, not all of them U.S. currency. "I'll take care of it."
"That's not what I meant. I wasn't asking you to pay—I thought you might needmeto pay foryou. You know, since you're—" I stop, because Karyl is watching us quizzically. She's definitely within earshot. "Never mind."
Jack sidles past me and drums his fingers on the counter. Where his fingertips land, tiny circles of frost appear and then vanish, so quickly I might have imagined it.
"What's your coldest coffee?" he asks the barista.
She frowns slightly. "We have a nitro cold brew—"
"That's the one. Thanks!" He pays, stuffing a twenty in the tip jar.
Karyl catches my arm and steers me toward a table. "Good Lord. The man is certainly generous. But why do I get the feeling you don't like him too much?"
"He's—difficult. Cocky."
"Doesn't seem so to me. And I'm an excellent judge of character."
"Girl." I shake my head at her. "You're not."
"Okay, I'm not. But I'm getting a real good vibe from him. He's classy, smart, handsome, clearly got money to burn—ooh, you're gonna haveFun. With. Him." She pokes my shoulder three times for emphasis.
"Yeah. Lots of fun," I say dryly.
