Page 43 of The Naughty Or Nice Clause

“So, nothing’s changed,” Mason said, and Ian laughed.

“Lou would work herself to death if we let her. Ten years without you, and I think she feels the responsibility of the season has fallen on her. But your father would be proud of you both working together now,” the foreman said. Lyla guessed he had been close to the late Mr Klaus from his forlorn expression.

“I’ll talk with her this evening then,” Mason said, ignoring the rest of the statement. Lyla wondered when he would stop avoiding the mention of his father. He’d have to face it at some point.

“I’m sorry– we’re being terribly rude,” Ian said, offering Lyla a hand. She took it happily. “Not every day a newcomer brightens our door.”

“Thank you for having me. I don’t want to interrupt your work,” she said, but Ian waved away the thought.

“Nonsense! We love to be disturbed. Gives us a chance for a break, and this close to the season, we could all use one.”

“She’s getting the full tour this morning. Thought it was time she learnt all our dirty little secrets.” Mason pulled Lyla close, catching her by surprise. His mood swings were giving her whiplash. On the journey, he couldn’t have sat further away, and now his hand was anchored at her waist.

“I heard talk of your fiancée; your uncle was positively fuming. Made my day seeing his pompous arse turn the same shade as the sleigh.” Ian winked, and Lyla couldn’t help but join in on the laughter. “Learning all the secrets of the season – careful. Once we let you in, we might not let you out!”

“Don’t frighten her off! I would hate to have to chase her twice in twenty-four hours.” Mason gave her a squeeze, and she pinched him in retaliation. The foreman gave them a confused look.

“It was nice to meet you – hopefully we’ll meet again,” Lyla offered, trying to change the subject.

“Enough of me taking up your time. Go on in out of the cold. There should be a fresh pot of coffee on, don’t want you to freeze,” Ian said, holding the door for them. Lyla was grateful to escape from the cold; she was trying not to let her teeth chatter.

“He seems like a good man,” she said, once they were out of earshot.

“The best. He’s worked for the family for years. I thought he would have retired by now, but he must have decided against it, given the circumstances,” Mason explained.

“He seemed happy to see you.”

“Nice try. I’m not telling you why I left.”

“Why?”

“Why would I want to spoil a perfectly good day?” He turned her around to face the Workshop, and her words failed. “Welcome to where the magic happens.”

A factory donned in a golden hue sat before her. The glow radiating from a giant glass hourglass sat at the centre of the room. Lyla was mesmerised by the flowing sand within, before realising it wasn’t sand. She remembered the golden particles she’d been coated in outside.This is the dust he was talking about.

When she had thought of Santa’s workshop she had always imagined elves and presents, but instead there were humans and gold dust. Lyla drifted away from Mason, who didn’t stop her as she approached a wooden conveyor belt on which sat small red velvet pouches. She followed their path to the hourglass, where she watched workers opening the many golden taps attached to the base of the hourglass. The workers turned the tap, letting out a small amount of dust before tying the gold strings to seal each pouch.

“Those who collect the dust wear the green overalls,” Mason said at her back. “The ones in red collect the pouches and add them to the sleighs for Christmas Eve.”

He led her away from the hourglass to another set of doors, but before she could enter, he placed headphones over her ears.

“Are these necessary?” she shouted, unable to hear herself. He simply covered his own ears and opened the doors.

This room wasn’t as magical. Half was exposed to the outside, letting in the snow, while machines carried in piles of fist-sized rocks and added them to a machine. The room was freezing, but she guessed the workers, constantly on the move, didn’t feel it. The rocks were broken down with a fierce rattle, and what came out the other side was sifted until a black dust was formed. The workers all wore the same headphones and silver overalls. Lyla understood the reason for the ear protection now – she could hear the grinding and cracking of the stones even with the soundproofing, so she could imagine how loud it was without. With all the machines cranking and churning, and more flashing dials on the walls than she had seen in her entire life, it looked more like a manufacturing plant than anything else.

“Gold dust, black rocks – this is insane! I was expecting elves and toys,” she called.

Mason only frowned, and they followed the conveyor belt back to where they had started.

“What did you say?” he asked once they could hear each other speak.

In front of the hourglass again, Lyla watched the black dust travel along the belt.

“I said this is insane! Rocks and gold dust instead of presents and elves,” she said, reaching out to the dust. The rocks had been crumbled to nothing before being fed through shifting layers repeatedly until the particles were so fine it was nearly impossible to pick up when she touched it.

“In this form, it’s nothing,” he said, letting the black dust run through his fingers. “It only transforms once it goes through the hourglass.”

“When you said workshop, I thought there would be toys,” she said as he brought her back to the hourglass.

---