Chapter Six

Aster

Ernie. Oh, Ernie. He was going to get an earful and maybe be forced to eat some of those cookies I made with all of the salt. I couldn't believe he left me.

There was no mistaking that he had been there in the store. I'd heard his voice. He'd said he was coming for me, that he was going to take me back to the North Pole. We were going to fix everything. He promised and then, when he showed up… What? He changed his mind. Maybe he'd have to drink tepid cocoa every day until he fixed the mess he created.

I still couldn't believe that I ended up wrapped in newspaper, in a plastic bag, waiting and waiting and waiting for I wasn't even sure what. At first, I figured they were still running errands, but I was pretty sure we were at their home now. Shouldn't they unwrap me already?

The boy who picked me up was nice enough—actually he was adorable and sweet and having someone as excited to see you as he was me, that always felt good. I wished the circumstances weren't me being punished and turned into an inanimate object he wanted to buy, but at this point, any cotton candy in my life was good cotton candy.

I didn't think he was going to be careless with me, like many kids were with their toys. The number of letters Santa got asking for replacements for previously given gifts was mind-boggling. And he didn't seem like one of those kids that would take me apart for construction elements to build another toy, or anything creepy like that. He was just a little kid who liked elves and was very determined to keep me.

While riding in the car—or truck—or whatever it was, I didn't know since I was in a bag, he said more than once that say I was theirs—not his but theirs. I must've been sitting beside him or on his lap because the car conversation was the only one I could hear clearly.

As excited as he was about me, he was more excited about a new pet, the weather forecast, and cookie baking. I used to like cookie baking, too, but I was probably all done with that for…ever. He was an all-around enthusiastic kid and his father listened to every word, not once trying to change the subject. He was a good dad. I could tell.

I never got a good look at the dad, any really. But his voice? His voice—it wrapped around me like a hug. It was weird, but not much about my situation wasn't. I hated that I hadn't seen him fully. My stupid fixed eyes weren't allowing me to see anything at all, unless the angle was just right.

After stopping multiple places, we were inside at what I sensed was our final destination for the day. I was no longer close enough to either of them to be able to discern their conversations. I was still wrapped up but no longer moving. There was lots of talk around me, and I longed to hear it all.

Even without comprehending more than a few words, I could tell their conversations were happy. This was a happy home with happy people, and if I was going to get stuck being a statue, that environment was the way to go.

But I wasn't going to get stuck here. Ernie was coming to get me. I just knew he was. He promised. But maybe he shouldn't come just yet. There was something about this family that had me thinking maybe I needed to stick around. Not that I had a say in the matter.

At first, I strained to hear their words and make sense of them, but I gave up quickly enough. The words were too muffled. I ended up giving up, instead allowing their soft murmurs to sooth me.

Happiness flooded me when the bag was picked back up again because it meant I'd not been forgotten. I hadn't thought I had, but time moved oddly for me in my current state, so I couldn't be so sure.

The next thing I knew, I was being unwrapped and set down. I still couldn't see the people, but now I could hear them clearly.

"He's really dirty." It was the father and, sugar canes, his voice was sexy. "I'll be right back with the sprayer."

I wanted to scream, "No, stop! Please don't spray me with chemicals!" but I couldn't even move my eyes enough to see them. There was no way they were going to hear my words.

When I heard the squirt bottle and was jostled by what turned out to be a cleaning cloth, it shouldn't have been a surprise. At least it didn't hurt, and I couldn't smell it, so that was a win.

"Is he for your room?"

"No, Daddy. He's a family elf. I think we should put him on the mantel. That's the proper place for an elf. You don't suppose he's one of those creepy ones who watches what kids do and then reports back to Santa, do you?"

I'd heard of those. Some gimmick a toy designer used to sell old dolls from the 1940s again. Elves didn't really spy on kids; we had too much to do with our own work. Marshmallows. The North Pole's job got so big that we had to get multiple Santas, each taking their own divisions. There was absolutely no way we could come here just to spy on kids to see if they were good or not.

"No, this isn't like those elves. Look at him. He's cute."

And it was when he set me down on the mantel that I saw his face for the first time. His father was gorgeous—like, belongs-on-a-magazine, on-the-movie-screen, in-your-bedroom kind of gorgeous. And he was there, setting me down, thinking I was nothing but a statue. Because I was.

It all came back to Ernie. I tried not to be mad at him. He wasn't doing it to be cruel. That didn't change the results.

Now that I was on the mantel, I was finally able to hear their conversations clearly again. They talked about the cookies they were baking, about ornaments they wanted to decorate with, and all the things they were going to do in the snow when it finally hit.

Little Noel was a big snow lover, and he was excited to try his brand-new boots. He wanted to build an igloo, a fortress, a snowman, a snow tree, and a snow wolf—pretty much anything you could make by snow, he wanted to make. And his dad told him they would create whatever he wanted when it was time, but that they had to make sure to keep good and warm. If their mittens got too soggy or their feet too cold, they'd have to come inside in between.

They were all kinds of adorable.

When the conversation shifted, Noel's father and his passing was front and center. His dad was trying to keep the memory alive. It had to be breaking his heart because it was breaking mine. If my eyes—the ones that were sealed in one position—were able to shed a tear, they'd be shedding cocoa mugs full. I couldn't imagine finding my mate and then losing them.

But quickly, the conversation morphed again, this time to their brand-new cat. The one who had been living in the laundry room until they could get everything set up, which apparently they did while I was still in the bag. The term "cat" scared me because even on a mantel, a feline could jump up. And if they did, one of most cat's favorite games is always to knock things down. If I got knocked down, I was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. There was no coming back from that.

Relief filled me when Noel came in with the cat. The cutie wasn't even an adult's full hand in length. He had to have been barely old enough to be away from his mom.

I learned that Wolfe—that was the father's name, or he was a wolf, I still wasn't sure on that, found the kitten at work. I only knew the father's name because someone had called him that at the store. Maybe it was a nickname because he was the star player on his college team, The Wolves back in the day or something. I really didn't know, and I felt guilty listening at all.

Somebody abandoned the poor kitten. He was cuter than cute, but he was going to pose a threat to me soon enough. That is, unless Ernie finally came to get me, which, surprisingly, didn't sound as much of a goal any longer.

I didn't like being like this—seeing such intimate parts of their daily lives when they didn't know I could do that, especially not after his father assured him I wasn't spying for Santa. It was true, I wasn't. But also, I was learning way more about them than they would have wanted some random stranger to know. A random stranger fired by Santa, at that.

But there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't sleep in this form, or I wasn't sure I did, although I did disappear for a little while in the overnights. I tried not to think too hard about that. It wasn't sleep, though, because I didn't have a body. I wasn't breathing. I wasn't eating. I wasn't talking. I was just trapped.

At least if I had to be trapped, it was with a really good father, his adorable son, and a kitten who couldn't reach me. That was something.