The Elf and the Ice Princess (6 page)

He nodded. “Good
to know.” A grin. “Give that one to Lora, and I’ll make you another.”

As he left, Lora
reached for her glass. “Gimme that.” In a whisper she added, “Food snob.”

Brett turned at
the kitchen. “All my favorite people are.” The door closed behind him.

“How did he hear
that?”

Carrie huffed
and leaned toward her friend in hopes of being unheard. “Oh ye of the complete
one-eighty on this guy. A few days ago you were insulting him, and now you’re
defending him from my professional opinions? What happened?”

“Back then he was
a drunk mall elf ruining your sweater. Now he’s a hot caterer trying to woo
you. What can I say, he took my judgment to heart and changed his ways.”

Tom nudged her.
“Yeah, sis, I’m sure this is all about you. Have you seen the way he looks at
Carrie?”

Lora’s shoulders
squeezed in an excited motion. “I know! Isn’t it precious? And he’s a food
snob, too! A hottie food snob. They’re perfect for each other.”

Carrie dropped an
elbow to the table and rubbed her forehead. “Oh my God.” There was a crazy
light in Lora’s eyes. The woman was re-marrying her off already. “We prefer
‘foodie.’”

The door opened
for Brett’s return, and they all leaned back in their seats, as if somehow he
wouldn’t know they’d been discussing him. A new drink landed in front of her.

“Better?” he
asked as he settled into his chair.

She took a sip.
The almost candied quality had been toned down and then tempered with the
pepper of rosemary. “Much better. Smoother but with more depth of flavor.” She
took another drink. It wasn’t Shawn-good, but she could honestly say, “I like
this one a lot.”

With a satisfied
smile, he dropped his napkin into his lap. “He can be taught.”

Damn. She
really
liked him.

The rest of the
meal went without a hitch, full of excellent food and even better conversation
about flavor, texture, aroma and the creative process. There were few things
Carrie loved talking about more than food, and Brett shared her infatuation. He
could do a lot more than simply talk about it, too. His borscht was thick
and hearty, his dill gravlax seasoned perfectly and the meal finished off with
a rice pudding that was pungent with delectable hints of lavender and anise.
“For the
tonttu
,” Brett explained as he served dessert and related a funny
legend about arctic fairy-folk.

Almost all his
food had a story, usually about growing up in a tiny town in northern Canada.
If she had a complaint, and Carrie desperately sought
something
to suppress
her rising interest, it was that his self-confidence bordered on arrogance. But
he never put anyone else down, and that made it okay. Besides, he’d need that
self-assurance to succeed in the food industry. Regardless of what went on
between them, she’d happily hand over whatever contacts she could to help him
out.

 After dinner,
they settled into the living room for coffee, cocktails and homemade nougat
candy, and the room turned to her in anticipation. Brett steepled his fingers
in front of his face, his gaze steady on her. But she could see the grin. He
knew he’d knocked it out of the park.

She laughed,
trying to form words that weren’t in the superlative. Usually she had a little
time to prep her commentary before public consumption.

His smile grew as
he watched her, reminding her of his comment that he loved her laugh. He pushed
another martini her way, as if in supplication. True to his teetotaler claim
from their unfortunate introduction, aside from handing the martinis out, he
hadn’t touched them.

That probably
explained why drinks were his weak point.

“Come on, I
looked up your column: Martin’s Meals. One to five burners, and you’re pretty
stingy with them. What do I have? Three? Three and a half?” He sucked in a
noisy breath. “Four?”

She laughed
again, producing an instant grin from him. “Four and a half.” It was hard to
separate the fun time from the food, but she felt that was pretty accurate.

He pumped a fist
and slid onto the couch next to her. “Yes! Elite.”

Laughter caught
her even harder. “I’ll bump it to five if you snag me the last nougat.”

The plate
appeared in her lap, and Brett turned a cocky grin to Lora and Tom.

Lora huffed in
mock outrage. “Well, I’m off to do the dishes.”

Tom stood
to join her. “You win.”

“Huh?”
Carrie asked.

“Before you
got here,” Brett answered, “we bet the dirty dishes whether or not you’d be
impressed.” He waggled a finger at them as they passed. “Never bet against an
elf.”

Carrie snorted.
She’d thought Lora’s insistence on referring to him as an elf would irritate
him. Instead, he’d run with it at the dinner, telling ridiculous stories about
the mall and cracking jokes that deflated any attempts to get the upper hand.

Outside of his
shyness when he first mentioned his phone number, everything rolled right off
Brett in a Teflon way she only wished she could’ve accomplished with Lincoln’s
friends. Yet another reason to be impressed. And to wonder what he’d seen in
her that piqued his interest so quickly. She hadn’t exactly put her best foot
forward with him.

She should change
that. Maybe let him in a little bit. Not too far, but enough to give him a
chance. The million dollar question was:
A chance to do what?

Brett gave
TJ a high five. “Good job, sous-chef!” The smile he turned to Carrie had no
mockery in it. “Couldn’t have done it without him.”

TJ climbed
up onto the sofa beside him, captivated by the side of Brett’s head as only a
six-year-old can unselfconsciously be. “Aunt Lora says you’re an elf. Did you
cut the tops of your ears off?” The kid pointed to Brett’s right ear.

Carrie glanced at
the top of his other ear then did a double take. On his left ear, the one on
her side, he indeed had a scar across the top, mostly hidden under his unruly
hair. She wanted to look over and check if that was what TJ was looking at, but
unlike a six-year-old, she couldn’t be quite that gauche.

Brett
sighed, the picture of melodrama. “I got in trouble and they kicked me out of
the North Pole, which is why you should always mind your elders. But you see,
they can’t have elves with big pointy ears wandering around humans, so they cut
mine off!” He made a motion with his hand, showing elongated ears cut down to
normal size.

TJ gasped,
eyes huge with fascination. “Did it hurt?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Carrie
wrinkled her nose. “That’s a little gruesome to tell a first grader, don’t you
think?”

Brett
lifted an eyebrow. “That? You should’ve seen the video game he was playing when
I walked in.” He studied TJ for a moment. “I think he can handle a little
Brothers Grimm. Fairy tales may be violent, but at least they usually have a
moral.”

She shook
her head. “What, like Cinderella? Work hard without complaint and your prince will come rescue
you? I’m not sure that’s a moral worth learning.”

His expression
turned bemused, but there was an undercurrent of sorrow in his voice.
“Blasphemous animation companies that don’t show how it really went down.” He
picked up a toy car off the floor to drive it around the couch arm with TJ. The
kid made “vrooming” noises for his own miniature truck as they chased down the
side of the blue upholstery.

“You know,” Brett
continued to her, “in the Grimm version of the story, she and the prince met
multiple times, but she kept running away. Finally he spread pitch on the
staircase so she’d get stuck, hoping it would let him catch her. Cinderella was
smart enough to take her shoe off and escape, but that left him the clue he
needed to find her.”

“And what moral
do you get from that?”

His slow smile
warned her that a serious answer was not forthcoming. “When courting a skittish
woman, keep a barrel of tar handy.”

That made her
giggle. She popped him on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

“No? How about
know your true love’s shoe size? Speaking of, nice silver loafers. Can I see
one?” One hand continued the car chase as the other thrust back at her
expectantly.

“No! Get away
from my feet. That’s not the moral.”

“Hm…getting a
woman’s shoes off is the key to a successful relationship? Now I want both your
shoes. Hand them over.” He snapped twice then twitched his fingers in an
impatient “gimme” gesture. When she didn’t budge he reached for her foot.

She squirmed away
from his grasp, laughing. “I’m pretty sure shoes are not the typical thing a prince
tries to divest his heroine of.” She shot TJ a guilty glance, but the joke had
gone way over his head.

It was a good
thing a kid was in the room. Nothing could happen with TJ there. They had to
behave like responsible, intelligent adults.

Who chased each
other across the couch over a pair of discount-rack loafers.

Brett caught her
gaze and an undeniable desire shone from his eyes. “True, but this is clearly
not your typical prince.”

Her breath caught
and heart picked up speed. She wanted to shield the need from her own eyes, to
stop him from seeing how he affected her.

She couldn’t. The
edge of his mouth curled up. “But I do like the way you think.”

Tension filled
the room so thick and warm Carrie wanted to fan herself. Where to go from here?
Other than the obvious.

Lora hustled in,
dish towel still in hand. Brett relaxed, his sunny grin back in place as if the
world hadn’t just spun off its axis. Had Lora been listening? She probably had,
the little rat.

Her rodent friend
scooped the child up. “TJ, it’s time for bed. Let’s go.” To Brett and Carrie
she mouthed, “Sorry.”

“Noooooo!”
he said.

“Yeeeesssss!”
Lora answered as they disappeared upstairs.

When the
child’s voice ceased, the silence expanded for several uncomfortable seconds as
Carrie’s brain blanked for anything talk about. Brett just studied her from
across the couch, seeming content with silence.

The quiet was
dangerous. Finally she managed, “You’re good with kids. Bet you plan on having
a truckload.” One way or another, this topic drove every man away. If she sent
him packing with it now, she could miss the blissful interim that led to deeper
disappointment.

Brett
smiled a little sadly. “I love children. But I probably won’t have any.”

“Why not?”

He
considered her for a moment with a wrinkled brow and puckered mouth, all of his
previous joviality gone. His knees knocked together in an agitated rhythm that
made her consider withdrawing the question. It was too personal a topic,
considering how little they knew each other. But instead of protesting, he gave
a shrug that was too casual. “I can’t.”

She scooted
toward him, just a little. “What does that mean?” Surprise sent the words from
her before she thought about it. She didn’t need to ask. His resigned posture
told her exactly what he meant.

But instead
of the depressed glower that would bring from her, his eyes widened in panic
and his posture shot straight up. “Oh, no, I can still—” A blush turned his
pale features scarlet as words burbled from his mouth, breaking the seriousness
of her mood. “
Everything
works. At least enough to—We could still—I’m going
to quit talking now.” With a visible effort he shut his lips. “Smooth,
Vertanen.”

She should
reassure him. Instead, she found herself laughing again. “I’m sorry…” What a
typically male response.
I’m still good for sex!
She tried to stop, but it spilled
out louder until she was holding her side.

Instead of
getting angry, he stopped his ramble and managed a sly grin. “Let’s just say
that elves can’t father human children. But we can do everything else.” That
set her off again, and he smiled at her continued laughter as she tried to get
it under control.

But she
finally settled down as she realized that they had something damn huge in
common. She reached over to pat his knee and realized he, too, had scooted
closer until they were right next to each other. “It’s okay. I get you.” She
said it lightly, like she just meant that she understood his meaning, not like
she knew on a deep level
exactly
how that felt. He may ask questions if she
did, and she wasn’t ready to be as open as he was. Not about that, anyway.

He slid his
knuckles between hers and squeezed, warming her fingers against his smooth
palm. “I’d love to adopt, but it’s hard to meet somebody else who’s interested
in that, you know?”

Given her
situation, the question seemed a statement of solidarity, like she’d given
herself away again despite her best face forward. Fear and pain squeezed inside
her so hard she took her hand back and changed the conversation. “What really
happened to your ears?”

“You mean
other than an elven clan lopping them off?”

“Uh, yeah.
Seeing as I’m getting to know your deep dark secrets, I was hoping for the real
story.” Was she chattering? “If you don’t mind my asking.” Really, this wasn’t
a great topic, either. When did she become so nosy?

Brett
frowned and scratched at his collarbone, once again thoughtful.

She closed
her eyes, frustrated with her mouth. She’d gotten too good at tanking any shot
at a relationship. She was starting to think she might want to give this one a
try, and yet all she did was shoot torpedoes at it. Like…like she expected it
to end up like Lincoln.

Lincoln had
been her dream for so many years. There had been a time when she’d have said
marrying him was worth any risk. She knew better now. No relationship was good
enough to chance that she’d go through even a fraction of that ragged hell
again. 

Even so, it
wasn’t a fair question to ask Brett about his ears—that couldn’t be a happy
story. He didn’t deserve her baggage heaped onto him like that.