Page 91 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
Without stopping to think, Nory reached up and kissed him. Isaac responded, pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. Every part of her felt alive, singing with pleasure in the places where he touched her and aching with want in the places he did not. They stumbled back against a wall, his mouth still on hers, her back against the cold stone as Isaac pressed hard against her. They explored each other as best they could through their arctic layers, giggling and fumbling like teenagers behind the bike sheds; gloves flung asunder, they gasped delightedly as cold fingers found warm skin. Eventually the cold won out and they stood, nose to nose, lips red and bee-stung, breath clouding fast between them.
“I wish we could go back to mine,” Isaac said. His eyes were closed, and he was still pinning her to the wall. “But I have to work. It’s the tree lighting tonight.”
“And I have to go and look at my old school with Bridezilla.”
Isaac laughed quietly. “Maybe you could come to the cottage this evening?”
“If I can get away, I would like that very much.”
Nory snuck back into the castle via the trade’s entrance, with ruddy cheeks, mussed hair, and the back of her jacket green with moss juice. It was lucky that she had thought to bring her smart fitted woolen coat with her, as she didn’t think her soiled jacket would cut the mustard at Braddon-Hartmead. She was getting through jackets at a rate of knots this week. She had pulled off her boots and was consulting with Andy—who was beginning to feel like her personal handyman—in the laundry room about how best to get moss stains out of Gore-Tex, when a howling like a werewolf struck by a silver bullet rang out through the castle.
Andy, in his usual unharried fashion, raised one eyebrow and said, “The bride, I presume.”
“I’d better go!” said Nory.
“Leave the jacket with me,” he said, taking it from her. “I’ll have it sent up to your room.”
“Thanks, Andy, I owe you one,” she said, before scooting off in search of Jenna, skidding along the stone floors in her haste.
From making out beneath the mistletoe to bride taming in under an hour. This week had felt like Nory was living two parallel lives. One steeped in old memories and allegiances, theirhistorical tapestries tightly interwoven. The other new and uncharted, with needles threaded and canvas ready, but the design not yet fixed. Nory was no stranger to navigating more than one world at a time. The struggle was keeping true to herself as she slipped between them.
Twenty-six
Jenna was standing at the top of the stairs, hair wrapped in a muslin turban and a towel around her naked torso. She was hyperventilating while a group of women—one of them Prue and none of them Pippa—clucked around her ineffectually. Even from halfway up the stairs, Nory could see that Jenna was a most peculiar color. When she reached her friend, Jenna’s eyes were so round that if she hadn’t known better, she would have said she was on drugs.
“I’m the color of a pumpkin!” Jenna wailed before collapsing into Nory’s arms. The other women saw their chance and made a quick exit, almost tripping over one another on the stairs in their haste to be gone.
Nory held her friend tightly as the sobs ripped through her.
“Okay, okay,” Nory soothed. “Let’s get you back into the bedroom, and we’ll sort this out.” Although she wasn’t quite sure how.
Inside the bedroom, with the light spilling in through the large windows, the spray tan didn’t look any better. If anything, it was worse—less pumpkin and more cheesy Wotsits.
Jenna collapsed onto the bed and sobbed into her pillow while a woman who looked as though she herself favored thetangerine shades on the color chart was feverishly stuffing a pop-up spray tent into its bag.
Nory addressed the woman. “Why are you leaving? You need to fix this. Can you respray her? Maybe with a darker color?”
“I will not have my work insulted like this!” spat the woman. “In ten years, I’ve never had anyone be as rude to me as her.” She pointed at Jenna, who had curled into the fetal position.
“Was that before or after you turned her into a human carrot stick?”
The woman glared at Nory, and Nory stared levelly back at her.
“That is my own blend. It’s called Miami Vibrance,” the woman said unapologetically. “I’ve never had any complaints before. My other clients love it.”
“Do your other clients live with Willy Wonka at the chocolate factory?”
The woman scowled, and Nory decided to try another tack.
“Look, I’m sorry to be rude. We’re just not accustomed to Miami Vibrance, so it’s come as a bit of a surprise. Is there anything you can suggest to tone it down a bit? My friend is getting married tomorrow. I understand accidents...”
“It’s not an accident.”
Jenna let out a heart-wrenching sob, and the woman seemed to relent.
“Her skin tone has reacted to the amount of DHA in the solution. She’s paler than I expected; she already had a tan, and I assumed it was natural.”
“Okay. What can we do?”
