Page 2 of Delivered to My Elves

The greenhouse stood in another clearing just a few minutes away from the village, and I heard the faint cursing before passing the tree line. Not good. What lay inside there was the lion’s share of our annual income, and all of it was delicate.

“Callon?” I approached the door, wondering what we’d do. Worst-case scenario, we could carry as much of the stock to our cottage as possible, but it was a very large greenhouse, and we’d lose some no matter what. “I’m here. What can I do to help?”

“You can take a hammer to this thing.” He was head and shoulders inside the stove, his voice muffled. “It’s garbage.”

“Maybe I can help figure out what the problem is?” I approached and stood to the side of the stove, not wanting to get in the way. “Can I bring you more tools?”

He stood up, hitting his head on the metal door as he did so. “Ouch.” Rubbing the rising lump, he growled, “I know what the problem is. It’s clogged, and every time I light it, the whole place fills with smoke.”

“So you just have to pull out the material that’s blocking it,” I offered helpfully. “So that shouldn’t take long.”

He turned to face me with an expression that had me stumbling back. “If that were the case, I’d have been done by midmorning when I eliminated all other issues.”

“Is it wedged too hard?” I tried to see past him. “Do you know what the clog is?”

“It’s a stick that managed to somehow get up into the flue and block it most of the way.” He bent over again and reached as far as he could, grunting with effort. “The problem is, my hand is too big to get to where it narrows.”

“Let me try.” I waited for him to move back then took his place. My hands were probably very close in size to his, but maybe I could find another angle. Already, the air insidethe greenhouse was cooling and the light was just about gone. “We’re going to need a light,” I told him as I began to work my fingers into the tunnel. With the way the whole thing was made, if I got stuck, the only way to free me would be with a hammer and destruction of the whole stove. It was a very expensive item we’d never be able to afford again. Only a demolition sale had landed it in our lucky laps the first time. We’d have to buy something more expensive and less efficient, a cost that would set us back in our plans for growing our business.

Callon stepped away and returned with the glowing lantern. Battery operated, it was less about atmosphere and more about efficiency than the oil versions our forefathers had used. “I don’t think this is going to help much with the task at hand.”

“No, but it’s better than tripping over ourselves in the dark.”Duh.Rather than comment further, I focused on my fingernails scraping the stick. But I couldn’t get them any farther without risking them getting caught. I pulled out and let out a frustrated breath. “Damn. I just don’t know…did you try greasing up your hand?”

“I considered it, but then I didn’t think I would get a grip on anything.”

“Yeah.” I turned to sit on the edge of the sturdy stove. “I suppose not. What we need here is someone with smaller hands.”

“No kidding.”

“Or a tool. Something long and thin with a hook on the end or…how about that weed puller with the split tip?”

“I don’t know if it would catch it,” he said, turning to dig in the box of shovels and clippers and other small tools. “But it’s worth a try.” He finally dumped everything out on the floor with a loud clatter and fished through it all. “Aha. You want to do it, or shall I?”

I held out a hand. “I’ll give it a shot.” Looking at it, I doubted even more that it would be useful, but it was worth trying. The hard part was getting it at an angle to even insert, but once I did, things went better than I thought. I caught the stick in the fork and pushed carefully up, hoping it wouldn’t just get stuck farther out of reach. But, to my pleasure and relief, as soon as it lifted a little, it slid right down and into the wood box below.

Standing, I waved my friend toward the stove. “You do the honors and get it lit and we can go home for dinner.”

Once the temperature began to rise, and everything seemed fine, we started for home. “Callon, if we had a mate, her hand would have fit.”

“But we don’t.”

And we likely never would. Although there might be one way…

Chapter Three

Misty

Already on my second glass of Moscato, I sank down into a hot bath with a brilliant-colored bath bomb fizzing away in the water. I didn’t use them often, afraid of a UTI or some other menacing side effect—and they were so pricy!—but tonight, I was taking all the pampering I could get. Self-care as all the influencers called it—on fluffy girly steroids

Flickering candles helped make my bathtub a retreat from all the worries and irritations and frustrations of my daily life. And disappointment.Whiny much?I poured a glass of wine from the bottle on ice beside the tub and took a sip.

Then the spa music I asked my virtual assistant to play on my phone speaker started to get on my nerves, and the elephant in the tub with me loomed large.

Fuck me. I should’ve known better.

Shifters had mates. Not crushes on their coworkers.

Goddess, I felt like such a dummy. I had a crush on a man who saw me as nothing more than a project partner. He probably didn’t even know I was female. Well…at least as concerned a person of interest.

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