Page 15 of Mountain Man's Naughty Elf
We stood in sudden darkness, the only illumination coming from the oven's control panel and the faint glow of the fireplace from the living room.
"You were saying about successfully navigating?" Pax's voice came through the darkness, dry as tinder.
I laughed, then jumped at a loud mechanical clunking from outside. "What's that?"
"Generator trying to start." He navigated through the darkness with surprising ease, opening a drawer and pulling out a flashlight. Its beam cut through the kitchen. "Come on. Let's get the fire built up while we wait."
I followed him to the living room, bringing the schnapps and two shot glasses I'd found in the cabinet. Might as well make the best of it. The hearth cast an amber radiance throughout the room, highlighting the open staircase to his loft bedroom and the seasonal decorations I'd hung earlier, now dormant.
Pax knelt before the fireplace, stacking logs with the quick, deliberate movements of someone who'd built hundreds of fires. I couldn't help admiring the way his shoulders moved beneath his henley as he stoked the flames. The fire illuminated his profile—the strong line of his jaw beneath his beard, the intensity in his eyes. My mouth went suddenly dry, and I averted my gaze.
"Generator's not kicking in," he said after a moment, straightening up. "Probably ice in the line. I'll need to check it in the morning."
"So we're going full pioneer tonight?" I asked, settling on the thick rug before the hearth. The heat felt wonderful after the rapidly cooling kitchen.
"There are worse things." He sat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. "Power usually comes back in a few hours."
I held up the bottle. "Sounds like we need a drinking game to pass the time."
He eyed the schnapps skeptically. "I don't do games."
"Right—you don't do celebrations, don't do games." I unscrewed the cap, breathing in the sweet, spicy aroma. "Is there anything fun you do do, Pax Forrester?"
"Security consulting," he offered with a perfectly straight face.
I snorted. "Wild times." I poured two shots, the liquid glinting amber in the firelight. "Come on. Think of it as... tactical information exchange."
That got a tiny twitch of his lips. "Tactical information exchange."
"Exactly." I handed him a shot glass. "Here's how it works. Truth or shot. I ask a question, you either answer honestly or drink. Then you ask me. Simple."
He rolled the small glass between his fingers, considering. "What kind of questions?"
"Nothing classified or traumatic," I promised. "Besides, I'm trying to spread some holidaycheer, not ruin thespiritof Christmas." I grinned at my own pun, which earned me a blank stare. "Get it? Spirit? Like alcohol?" His expression didn't change. "Tough crowd. Don't worry, I've got a sleigh-load more where that came from."
"Is backing out an option?" he asked, but there was no heat in it.
"Nope. You're snowed in with Santa’s helper. Resistance is futile." I wiggled my eyebrows. "So... getting to know you questions. Considering we're trapped together for the foreseeable future."
He seemed to deliberate for a moment, then nodded once. "Fine."
"Excellent!" I grinned. "I'll start easy. What's your full name?"
"Paxton James Forrester."
"Paxton," I repeated, testing the name. It suited him somehow—solid, a little old-fashioned. "Your turn."
He thought for a moment. "What's your actual job? Besides... imp."
I laughed. "Event planning and management. I have my own small company, but I took the North Pole Village contract because Christmas events are my specialty. Now, what did you do before becoming a mountain hermit?"
He hesitated, then lifted the shot glass and downed it in one swallow.
"Hey! That was an easy one!" I protested.
"You said drink or answer. I chose drink." He refilled his glass. "How did you end up engaged to the mayor?"
My turn to hesitate. "That's a long story."
