Page 27 of Arctic Panda's Secret Mate
Several skeptical looks were exchanged among the others.
“Are you sure, Gizelle?” Saina voiced what they were all thinking. “You could come shoppingafterChristmas, when it’s less crowded.”
“That’s probably smarter,” Alice said, tugging a hat down over her ears. “Christmas Eve means combat shopping with everyone else who has put it off to the last moment.”
“I amverysure,” Gizelle said bravely. “Ipromisenot to shift. Cross my heart!” She laid a kiss on Conall’s cheek and went to struggle into a giant coat from the closet. “I can hide in my coat if I need to. It has a very big hood. See?” She cinched the hood around her face, her big eyes the only thing that showed.
Everyone looked at Conall, who only shrugged. “Gizelle knows herself better than anyone. Who am I to hold her back?”
“Fairbanks is a verysmallcity, and it’s hundreds of miles from anything. How busy could it be?” Darla said, buttoning her coat to her chin.
“Let’s find out,” Magnolia said. “I am dying to see it.”
Everyone collected final kisses—many of them embarrassingly passionate—from their mates and tramped out into the snow. It was still dark, despite the late hour; the long nights were still something Tristan was getting used to.
“I’m going to take a bubble bath and read a dirty book now that the hot water is hot again,” Breck said shamelessly. “There’s room enough for two…?”
No one took him up on the offer.
“I’ve got a book I’m reading,” Bastian said. “Nota dirty one.”
“What’s the point, then?” Breck wanted to know.
“I’m going to air out the room for Lydia,” Wrench grumbled.
“I’m writing a song for Gizelle,” Conall said, escaping back up the stairs. There were sounds of music shortly after—disconnected phrases and lilting scales. Tristan tried to imagine how it would even work, composing music without hearing, and gave up.
Graham said nothing at all, only stomped away to his room.
Tristan turned to Chef as the others drifted away. “You needed my help?”
Chef grinned broadly. “I just wanted to preserve your secret,” he said kindly. “I thought you might want to use the kitchen during the day today, rather than being forced to do your baking secretly at night.”
That was the last thing Tristan wanted. He wasn’t confident of his ability to make sense of Haisley’s recipes, no matter how many notes she’d left in the margins, and he was still hoping that he could convince her to help him that night.
“I, oh, thank you,” was all he could think to say. Inspiration struck: “But I want them to be as fresh as possible.”
Chef gave him a very skeptical look, but chose not to question Tristan’s desire to cook at midnight instead of using the so-called daylight hours.
“If you need any other help, I’m free now,” Tristan offered, as innocently as possible.
Chef accepted his assistance chopping vegetables and preparing ingredients for the Christmas Eve feast. He sang and chatted as he went along. “It’s so strange and wonderful cooking for only a dozen,” Chef said. “Just one meal, not a string of orders, so the timing of things isn’t quite so hard. I could get used to this.Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!”
Tristan did not sing, but he did chop in time.
After Chef declared that as much was done as could be ahead, Tristan snuck out the back of the dining room and tapped hopefully on Haisley’s door.
There was no answer.
Was she asleep? Ignoring him? Had she snuck out the window and fled out into the snow to avoid him? Tristan finally decided to leave her a note, agonized over what to write, and finally slipped it under the door.
I’m sorry I frightened you. I would like to explain more.
Please meet me tonight in the kitchen to bake cookies.
It’s Christmas Eve. I hate for you to be all alone.
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