Page 19 of Magically Generated
And in other news, the first snow sculpture had been destroyed.
When Everett returned with two mugs—both had reindeer on them—she turned her phone toward him.He blinked as he set the mugs down on coasters.“It’s…gone?”
It was rather cute to see this large man upset over a snow sculpture, but his troubled look also heightened the pang she felt.Something that had brought them a scrap of joy was no longer there.
“Yes,” she said.“It’s good we went to see it when we did.”
He nodded.“At least…a lot of people got to see it.It was there for over a week.”
“It would suck to be one of the people who made the sculpture.To have your hard work destroyed.Of course, it would have melted eventually—it was never meant to be permanent—but still.”
She supposed that was part of the magic: like cherry blossoms in the spring, a snow sculpture couldn’t last.In Toronto, it wasn’t uncommon for the temperature to get above freezing in the winter, but this December had been colder than usual.
“Yes,” he said, “it would.”
She couldn’t help thinking of completed movies that never saw the light day because they were written off for tax purposes.It was revolting.Millions upon millions of dollars could be spent, and people could dedicate years to a project that wouldn’t be released to the public—a decision that might have absolutely nothing to do with the movie’s quality.And you never knew what might disappear from streaming services.Nora tried to buy physical versions of anything she loved, just in case.
There was so much wrong in this world, but for now, she was here with her neighbor.She picked up a mug.It warmed her hands, and she inhaled deeply.There was a touch of cinnamon and other spices.
“I’ve never had hot buttered rum before,” she said.
He sat down next to her, but he was careful not to get too close.“I first had it at a Christmas-themed pop-up bar a couple of years ago.”
She’d never understood the appeal of such bars.Why would she want to squeeze into a crowded room and take pictures with a blow-up Santa Claus or similar, while sipping an expensive drink decorated with too much cheer?
Yet she was in a room with too much Christmas cheer right now, a hot boozy drink in her hand, and she didn’t mind.She supposed it helped that she’d only had to walk across the hall—and there was only one other person here.
Nora took a sip of her drink and almost groaned.It was wonderfully warm and rich, perfect after spending time outside.There was a bite of alcohol, but it wasn’t too strong.
She turned toward Everett.“That’s really good.”
“I make a big batch of…well, it’s a batter of sorts, with butter and brown sugar and…other things.I keep it in the freezer…”
He was having trouble getting words out, like he had in the middle of the night—but it was different this time.It seemed that his gaze was fixated on her mouth.Experimentally, she licked her upper lip, and he tracked the movement.
His apartment suddenly felt a lot smaller than it was.
It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Nora this way.On one hand, it caused an unconscious thrill in her body.Some of the thoughts and feelings she had…they seemed to be reciprocated.
On the other hand, she couldn’t help but be reminded of what had happened last time, and she didn’t trust her ability to figure out what was genuine and what was not.She’d been foolish, so foolish.And while it was a little different, she’d thought the original picture of the now-demolished snow sculpture was fake, and she’d been wrong.How could she be confident in her own judgment?
Everett leaned closer.She didn’t move; she felt like she was balanced on a tiny point, and if she shifted in any direction, she’d tip over.
He stood up abruptly, some of his drink sloshing over the side of his mug.
She shouldn’t be so disappointed.
“Crap,” he said as he bustled to the kitchen.He returned with a poinsettia-patterned towel and cleaned up the small spill.“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you saying sorry?”she asked.“It’syourfloor.”
He sat down on the recliner rather than on the couch.“The way I was looking at you…I thought…but I was wrong.”
Oh.He’d moved because he’d figured she wasn’t interested.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.“If you want to leave, I understand.”
She couldn’t seem to form any words; she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.
