Page 55 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“Bastian—”
“Noelle.” He said my name like a warning. Or a plea. I couldn’t tell which. “Leave it.”
But I’d never been good at leaving things. It was why my shop was full of rescues and remainders, why I kept every broken ornament thinking I could fix it someday, why I’d performed a summoning ritual when I was drunk and desperate.
“I didn’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you did not know but?—”
“Intention is irrelevant,” I finished, and he nodded. He moved past me, his tail deliberately avoiding contact. “I will reorganize the storage system. You should return to the front.”
“You’re going to reorganize my entire storage area?”
“It is insufferable and requires intervention.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“I am improving your inventory management.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He didn’t answer. Just began pulling boxes down with methodical efficiency, his movements precise and controlled. Everything about his posture screameddo not engage. I engaged anyway.
“Look, I don’t want to make things weird between us.”
“Things are not weird.”
“You’re stress-organizing my stockroom. Things are definitely weird.”
He set down a box labeled “Ribbon—Red?” and turned to face me fully. The intensity of his gaze made me want to step back, but I held my ground.
“Your hands,” he said slowly, “have a habit of touching dangerous things.”
“Dangerous things?”
“My tail. My horns.” His eyes tracked over me like he was cataloging every movement. “You reach without thinking. You grab without considering the consequences.”
“I was just trying to balance?—”
“I know.” He took one step closer. Just one. But it felt like the distance between us had collapsed entirely. “You act on instinct. Touch freely. Offer comfort and connection without fear.” Another step. “It is simultaneously your greatest strength and a significant… problem.”
My back hit the shelving unit. I hadn’t realized I was moving backward. “Problem?”
“For me.” He was close now. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “Your casual touches affect me in ways you do not comprehend.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are standing in my space, looking at me with those wide, curious eyes, and asking me to explain intimate details about my physical form.” His voice had dropped to a near growl. “Do you not see the problem with this scenario?”
I saw it. I absolutely saw it. But I also saw the way his hands were clenched at his sides, the way his tail had gone rigid behind him, the way he was holding himself back with visible effort.
“I won’t touch them again,” I said. “Your horns. I’ll be more careful.”
“That is not the solution I require.”
