Page 7 of I Saw Krampus Kissing Ms Claus

My attempt at creating some space is fruitless the second that we climb back into my sleigh and his thigh presses against mine in the cramped space. The heat of his gaze and the heat from his body mixing and jumbling through me until I feel like I might as well be a yule log.

I crack at the reins and the deer snort with irritation, but they take off for the sky.

“Are you mad at me, Nikki?” He asks.

“No.” I mutter.

“You seem really…different from the last time I saw you.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“We used to be really good friends.”

“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders. “Goodfriends.”

“I guess. I never quite figured out why you stopped talking to me.”

I scoff. “Really? You really don’t know why I might have been upset with you? After that Christmas party?”

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks.

“More like something you didn’t do.” I glance at him, his golden eyes bore into me.

“What didn’t I do Nikki?” He asks quietly.

“Nothing.” I say curtly.

I keep my eyes trained on the clouds in front of us, but his presence is like an assault on my senses. The heat of his shifting leg beside mine, the heavy silence, the way that he watches me, the smell of peppermint, charcoal and leather.

“It was clearly something—”

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” The stress of the day finally has my emotion boiling to the surface, cutting him off. “That night? At the party?”

“I kissed you.” He protests softly.

“On the cheek!” I declare. “You chased me around the party all night! Flirting and begging for a kiss! Threatening to drag me under the mistletoe! And then when we finally got there, you kissed me on the cheek!”

“That made you avoid me for years?” He squirms, his hand wringing in his lap.

“I was angry, and embarrassed.” I hope that the stinging wind helps disguise how red my cheeks are growing. “Were you just messing with me that night? Was I just your friend’s little kid sister? Was there something funny about flirting with me? About messing with me?”

“No, Nikki. It wasn’t like that.”

“We hung out all the time. I convinced myself that you actually liked me. You were supposed to be my first real kiss that night.”

“Your first?” He asks softly.

“And it turns out I was just a joke to you.”

“Not a joke.” He insists. And I want to believe him.

“Then what was I?”

“You di..nt..t..k..ee.” His quiet words get lost in the wind.

“What’s that?” I ask him loudly. “Speak up!”

“You didn’t want to kiss me!” He repeats louder.

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