Page 9 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
When I step outside into the December air, the cold hits my face, sharp enough to cut through the fog in my head. The town square buzzes with activity and volunteers setting up for tonight's carol singing event with strips of white lights being tested along the gazebo.
And there's my mother, working alongside Evelyn Primrose at the temporary skating rink they've set up in the square's center. Smiling and chatting away at everyone. Of course she is.
Martha notices me immediately, her gray eyes crinkling with warmth as she waves me over. She's wearing another one of her hand-knitted sweaters, this one featuring what might be a snowman or possibly a very round penguin. It's hard to tell.
"All finished?" she asks as I approach, gesturing toward the town hall behind me.
"Yeah. The mantel's solid now. Should last another hundred and fifty years." I scan the parking lot and the skaters gliding around the rink. My eyes go from face to face, lingering on every young woman until I catch myself. I’m not looking for her. I’m really not.
"I'm heading home now. Got the Seawater’s estimate to finish and some invoices to send before calling it a day."
"Don't overwork yourself, sweetheart. It's almost Christmas."
I mutter something that sounds like an agreement, but my attention keeps drifting to the families scattered around the square.
Martha notices my wandering gaze and steps closer, lowering her voice.
"You know, you don't have to wait for chance encounters. You know where she is. Go to her."
My jaw tightens. Martha knows me too well. She also knows too much, although we never really sat down to talk about what happened. I always suspected she knew Lucia was my fated mate, but she knew better than to push. Guess some things are better left unsaid.
"I already saw her." I don’t mean to sound so gruff, so I exhale and add, “At the Hallowell Farm. She was there with her family.”
Martha blinks in surprise and smiles so brilliantly at me, it hurts my eyes.
"And how did that go?"
"Not great."
Martha's expression softens with that particular blend of sympathy and stubbornness that means she's about to meddle in my life whether I want her to or not.
"Gideon, you don't have to spend your whole life alone."
“Just drop it.”
Before she can argue, I bend down and heft one of the wooden benches positioned around her volunteer station, the one she asked me to move closer to the ice skating rink. The weight feels good in my hands, solid and manageable, unlike everything else in my life right now.
I carry it to the back of the ice skating rink, where a trio of decorated spruce trees, courtesy of Hallowell Farm, corner a fake reindeer. That’s as good a place as any to set up the bench, so I lower it in the center of the display and turn to leave.
That's when I see her.
Lucia, wobbling onto the ice in borrowed skates from the rental stand, being dragged forward by her nieces like she's learning to walkall over again. Her laugh carries across the rink, bright, self-conscious, familiar enough to punch the air right out of my lungs.
She's wearing a cream-colored wool coat that makes her dark hair shine, and even from here I can see the way her cheeks flush pink in the cold. The twins skate circles around her with the fearless grace of children, calling out encouragement while her arms are spread eagle in an attempt to keep her balance.
My heart thuds against my ribs, and my skin temperature spikes. Every instinct I have screams at me to disappear before she notices me, but my feet stay planted like I've grown roots.
Ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.
She waves the twins on, telling them to skate alone while she catches her breath, then starts making her way toward the edge of the rink. Toward where I'm standing like a statue.
Shit. I have maybe a second or two before she sees me.
Panic floods my system. If I walk off now, she'll see me and think I’m running from her again. If I stay, she'll definitely see me and think I was lurking. Because Iamlurking, like some pathetic, creepy stalker.
The spruce trees catch my eye. Yeah, that might work. They're positioned against the brick wall of the town hall, part of the holiday decorating committee's efforts to make the square look festive. Dense enough to provide cover.
Before I can think about how utterly insane this plan is, I step backward into the evergreen shelter. Branches scrape against my shoulders, needles catching on my jacket as I try to make myself invisible, which is quite a feat for a six-foot-eight golem. The rink boards, the town hall wall, and the trees pin me in like a trap, but at least she won't see me.
