All I Want For Christmas Is a Reaper

by Liana Brooks

  I gave him an appraising look. The correct answer was yes. I should have him drop me off at the doors while I called Alexi, Sloan and Markham’s gem guy. But I didn’t want to.

  Seth’s smile grew nervous. “Your silence is very telling.”

  “Mmm, I think you can fake your way through. Just make sure I get a look at every gem.”

  “And you’ll be taking notes.”

  I tapped my head. “I have a good memory. Not eidetic, but good enough to get us through a few hundred gems and out so I can make notes later. Even if all the gems are real we’ll find out more by seeing who reacts to your proposal than anything else.”

  “Fair enough. I’m the rich young man with money to burn, in love with a gorgeous woman—”

  “—and you’re too stupid to remember that gold diggers can be pretty,” I said. “That’s the role.”

  He laughed. “I guess I should be grateful you want me for my bank account, not my body.”

  “Really I just want your for your brains.”

  “Miss Merri...” He gave me a look that made me want to say yes to anything. “I thought you were trying to steal my time, not my heart.”

  “Well...” Yes. Right. We were acting. Of course. “Maybe there’s room for some flirting today.”

  “And touching?”

  “Keep it appropriate for a family-friendly production.”

  A speculative eyebrow went up. “We have to make the family first, so...”

  “Seth Morana!” I could feel my cheeks turning red as a cherry.

  “I... What? I was thinking an address and a dog. Where was your mind?”

  I pressed my lips together and stared straight ahead.

  “Merri?”

  I shook my head.

  He laughed.

  When I peeked over at him, he was blushing. “As long as you don’t suggest shopping for tables,” I said, “we’ll probably get through this okay.”

  “Tables?” He stopped at a red light and studied me. “Why did tables come up in this conversation?”

  “No reason.” I shook my head and refused to make eye contact. “Definitely not a concern for today.”

  “So we’ll table that conversation for later?”

  We both were giggling as the Oretega building loomed on the horizon.

  Oh. This was so, so very bad. I had to run an investigation, play the dizzy girlfriend, and cuddle up to Seth Morana for the rest of the afternoon, and I had to do it all while not falling in love with a charming, intelligent, sexy man who was doing his best to win me over.

  Heaven help me.

  I was supposed to be saving Cozy, not getting caught by the Curse.

  The Oretega Mineral Exchange was on the edge of Bridgeport off of South Ashland and Pershing. It was an old brick building with towers and art deco arches. The north end was three stories of red brick and wide, industrial windows with the solar panel glazing that had been so popular two decades ago. The watchtower was six stories, soaring over the neighboring warehouses and originally meant to vent air back when the building had been a winery.

  The building had housed many companies over the centuries. I wasn’t sure what the grand total was, but now it was the Oretega Mineral Exchange, the one-stop shop for all of Chicago’s mineral needs, from gravel to gold.

  Seth parked in the lot along 38th Street and opened the car door for me. “Ready for your close up?”

  I took his hand and stepped out of the car like I was about to walk the red carpet. “What do you think?”

  “You’re already a scene stealer.”

  It was hopeless, he had me giggling again. “You’re so cheesy.”

  “You like it.” He was smiling at me. Focusing on me.

  And I did like it.

  It had been so long since I’d been the center of attention—or at least the center of positive attention. I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone smiling at me because they were happy to see me.

  No, not forgotten. Ignored.

  All the years of coming in last place for everything, of being overlooked, of being hated... it had helped me build my armor. It had made me strong. And it had made me bury a part of myself away.

  Being around Seth brought out a craving, a ceaseless hunger for attention and affection.

  Heaven help me, but I wanted this. I wanted to be more important than my parent’s history books, my sister’s sports, my teacher’s demands, my boyfriend’s hobbies.

  I wanted to be loved and adored and cherished.

  I wanted Seth to keep looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

  That’s why I walked away, a pretty smile on my lips, as I shook my head.

  I couldn’t have Seth.

  I couldn’t be the center of his world.

  I couldn’t risk the heartbreak.

  So I walked ahead of him, pulling my armor back on, composing myself until the fragile little girl I’d been, so desperate for any approval at all, was carefully locked behind layers of ferocious confidence and independence.

  “Merri, stop.”

  I froze a few steps ahead of Seth. “What?”

  “Twirl and look at the building?”

  “Why?”

  “The lighting is perfect.”

  I stepped, shifting my weight and letting my skirt and curls flare around me.

  “Perfect.” Seth was going to put Patrick Miles out of business with his smile.

  “We stopped for perfect lighting?” I narrowed my eyes. “Who decorated the Slasher offices?”

  I had a guess.

  “Me and Alisson.” Seth typed something into his phone and looked up at me. “Why?”

  “Just a hunch.” Now confirmed. I was on a date with an artist who had stopped to snap my photo because the lighting was good. He was so adorable doing it, I couldn’t even be annoyed.

  He held up his phone for my inspection.

  Seth had been wrong: the lighting wasn’t good, the lighting was fantastic. A slice of afternoon sunshine cut through the clouds to splash rainbows on the sidewalk’s puddles and make my hair glow. He’d caught me mid-turn, looking sun-kissed and dewy without showing my face.

  Underneath my photo was the caption, RED HOT IS MY FAVORITE FLAVOR.

  “Red hot?”

  “Cinnamon? Krisemas? Red curls? It works.” Seth was watching my reaction.

  “Are you really going to post that on your social feed?”

  “If you approve it. I know you don’t like pictures, so I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Seth said. “Want me to tag you? I don’t need to.”

  My eyes widened in amusement as I shook my head. “I don’t have socials. So...”

  So what?

  The words I don’t care died unsaid.

  I did care. For years I’d kept layers of work and silence between me and the world, and now Seth was asking if I was willing to risk everything. Again.

  Looking at the picture, I tried to see it as a stranger might, the artistic movement and the perfect lighting and the hint of romance. “I doubt anyone at Oretega is going to do a deep dive into your digital life to see if you’re on a fake date.”

  “It’s only fake because I’m not taking you out to dinner later,” Seth said. His expression clouded. “Do you want me to delete it? It was just an impulse shot. Good lighting. Compelling composition. Great subject.” His eyes lingered on me with a shy smile.

  What was I more scared of?

  Another paste-a-face porno? My face wasn’t even showing.

  The suggestion that Seth and I were more than passing acquaintances? ...I could live with that.

  Lifting my chin, I smiled. “Post it. Just know I’m not responsible for your heartbroken fans.”

  “They’ll be fine,” Seth promised as he posted the picture. “It’s been at least a minute since I was in a real relationship. They’ll enjoy the speculation.”

  In the time it took Seth to hit send and show me the screen, the image had garnered forty-seven responses
including a wide-eyed WOW! from Alisson.

  The phone chimed.

  “Updates or death,” Seth read aloud. He chuckled. “Maybe I should have told Alisson about our outing before we outed.”

  “Will you be in trouble?” I tried to peek at his screen to see what Alisson had really said.

  Seth pulled the phone closer, reeling me in. “Can I take more pictures?”

  “Will they all look as good as that one?”

  “It would be impossible to take a bad photo of you.”

  “That’s not true.” Lucky had hundreds from our high school days.

  “It is for me.” The cocky grin that made Seth millions in minutes appeared.

  I laughed as I rolled my eyes. “You are so sure of yourself!”

  “Only because I know I’m that good!”

  “Oh!” I shook my head as Seth reached for me. “Don’t leave openings like that. I’ll take them.”

  Sunlight blinded me for a moment as someone opened the door to Oretega and stepped out.

  With my tiny blue clutch, I batted at Seth’s arm playfully. “We’re supposed to be looking at rings.” My voice was pitched to carry, cheerful and bright.

  His answering smile was equally dazzling. “I can’t wait to see you in nothing but diamonds!”

  “Seth!”

  His hand was cold as it slipped down my forearm to touch my hands and lift my fingers to his lips for a kiss. With a little tug, he pulled me in so my arm was around his waist and our lips were a breath apart.

  “Get out of my way!” A surly, male voice cut through the scene as a heavy hand pushed us toward the street. It wasn’t a narrow sidewalk. The vaguely familiar man was large, but there was more than enough space for him to pass us without comment.

  Seth glared after him.

  “I guess they wouldn’t take his coupon.”

  That did it. Seth broke into a laugh, holding me like there was a film crew circling us and an enraged hairdresser threatening his life if he ruined my curls. “You are just...”

  “A lightning rod for angry men?” I suggested.

  “A magnet?” Seth took my hand and we walked toward the door. “Magnet is better. There are fewer puns with lightning rod.”

  “Are you playing script doctor on our conversation?” I laughed.

  A guilty expression crossed his face before his smile returned. “The downside of dating me. I like taking photos and I can’t stop thinking about scripts.”

  “On the upside, you have killer good looks, a charming personality, and—ah—”

  Seth opened the door for me and we stepped into a heavily air-conditioned lobby with a wooden block that came up to my chest and was probably meant to be a front desk, beige walls wrapped on the lower two-thirds by raffia, and faded, peeling brown linoleum on the floors.

  My ‘ah’ turned an ‘ugh.’

  “Doesn’t exactly inspire big spending,” Seth said. “Maybe this is the gravel buyer’s entrance.”

  “Maybe.”

  We wound our way through narrow side halls lined with old, waxed-cardboard file boxes that I suspected were for me on Monday.

  “Problems?” Seth asked as his hand hovered just above my lower back, not quite touching, as we followed the sound of quiet chatter to the end of the warehouse with more light.

  “Paper files are what people throw at me when they’re hiding things. It means they weren’t fully digital when the new law went into effect and they probably fudged more than a few numbers.”

  Another beige entryway, this time with a fake aspen tree in need of dusting, and then we walked into an area with white tile floors, crystal chandeliers, and artfully arranged coves of stones and gems. There were workshops with benches and soldering tools lined behind wooden, stone, and glass display cases. One very shimmery shop had a silver-and-glass display.

  In attempt to overpower the scent of burning metal, someone had doused the area with a vanilla air freshener that reminded me of my middle school teacher’s hand lotion.

  “Camera,” Seth whispered. “Lights.”

  I gave his hand a little squeeze. “Action.”

  “What do you think, sugarplum?” Seth asked in a voice pitched to carry.

  I squealed like a six-year-old who’d been given free run of the cotton candy machine at the school carnival. “It’s all so beautiful!”

  “Not as beautiful as you.” Seth made me believe it. The look in his eyes, the tilt of his body, the caress of his hand... For a moment he made me believe that there was nothing more important to him in the world than me.

  “You’re so perfect,” I said for our ears only. It took effort to turn away from Seth’s loving smile to look for our first victim. “Who looks extra scammy?”

  “Eh, kind of a toss up between most the back row on the right and those four on the left.”

  “Good eye.”

  Finding quality in any city was about knowing the nature of the city. Chicago wasn’t interested in glitz and glamour, but understated elegance and quiet superiority.

  Classic. Timeless. Untouchable. Unknowable.

  The shops Seth had picked up were going for dazzle. They were props for a photoshoot. The high prices covered the experience, not the materials.

  “Let’s try Three Promises,” Seth said, pointing to a shop shaped to look like a wooded glen, complete with fake ancient oak and elegant Celtic knots.

  “Sounds... promising?” I waited to see if Seth approved of the word play.

  “Cute.” He smiled and led the way to the shop with an expansive stride. Seth took up space, filled the room and made people watch.

  I watched him for a moment, took a deep breath of the vanilla-scented air, and went after him. It was just a job. No different than walking into any office in my brightly colored dresses and being mistaken for someone’s girlfriend or intern.

  Under the fake, moss-covered oak with green silk leaves that filtered the bright overhead lights, the Three Promises shop had metalwork elegantly displayed on small plinths.

  Seth seemed more interested in the lighting setup that put each display stand in a spotlight rather than the rings and necklaces on display.

  The sole occupant was an older man with a head of thick, white hair, a matching goatee that came to a point, bright blue eyes, a mustard-yellow shirt, and a warm smile. “Good afternoon, folks. Are you out for a stroll or looking for something particular?”

  “Oh, I found someone I want to keep,” Seth said giving me a hungry look that could be threatening or seductive depending on the lighting. “Now I’d like to find something enchanting to keep her by my side.”

  I rolled my eyes where the silversmith couldn’t see. The cheese levels were high enough to drown the nachos.

  “Necklace?” the silversmith asked. “Rings? Earrings? Bracelets? How do you feel about bracelets?”

  “Rings. Something sparkly for me,” I said. “Something classic for him.”

  “Sparkly?” The man nodded. “All right, all right. Let’s see what I have. Tanzanite, morganite, moissanite is very popular at the moment. Clear like a diamond, nearly as hard, but I can give you the name and number of the family who mined it. There is no blood on my gems. No conflict.” He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the very idea. “Here, here, have a look.”

  He set a small, cherrywood box on the display counter. The lid was carved with pictures of winged fairies dancing in the moonlight; it lifted to show a line of beautiful rings. Soft purples, radiant blues, pale yellows, and delicate greens mixed with gems so pure they caught the showroom lights and sparkled like captured stars. The metal of the rings had been twisted into fanciful vines and waves.

  Seth stepped beside me and then hesitated, hand hovering over my waist as if unsure of his reception.

  I snuggled closer as I ooed and ahhed appreciatively over the rings. They were all very... ring-like. I had no frame of reference. My jewelry interests had never extended past hair fascinators and those unfortunately bedazzled jeans in midd
le school that we will never talk about again.[21]

  “What do you think?” Seth asked. “Should I get you one to match every dress you have?”

  “Am I getting a wedding ring for every color of the rainbow?”

  The silversmith chuckled. “Not sure anyone wants to go to a red wedding.”

  Seth and I watched him politely, hoping he’d get to the punchline of his joke.

  “No?” The man shook his head. “Well, I got that reference.” He sighed and snickered to himself over something I missed entirely.

  “Try one on,” Seth urged, nudging the ring box toward me.

  After a moment’s indecision, I picked a delicate rose gold ring with an intricate leaf pattern holding a pale-pink morganite gem cut to look like a rose about to bloom. The carving should have ruined the faceting of the gem and left it without the luminous shine that traditionally cut gems had.

  It didn’t. The little rose glowed like magic.

  “Hold it up.” Seth had his phone out again.

  A quick shot, and I moved to the next ring. They looked and felt real to me. None of the gems had the brittle-bright clarity of lab-created stones or the marks of inferior gems being passed off at a higher price.

  After a thorough inventory of the rings, I dazzled the silversmith with a smile. “Can we see the wedding bands, please?” I eyed Seth like meat at the market. “Let’s start with silver...”

  “You like me in silver?” Seth raised an eyebrow.

  “I like you in anything,” I said, then leaned closer. “And out of everything,” I whispered just loud enough to make the silversmith blush.

  Seth turned so our heads were close together, lips almost touching. “Flirt.”

  “Tell me you don’t like it.”

  The tenderness and appreciation in his eyes was almost my undoing. Seth Morana was either the best actor in the history of theater, or he was half in love with me.

  “I like everything you do.”

  The silversmith’s polite cough kept me from following through on the invitation in Seth’s eyes. “Perhaps one of these rings?”

  “Mmm, yes.” I tore my attention away from Seth to the display of wedding bands. Hammered silver and gold, vined and twined metals. Bold Celtic knots and other intricate weavings that all looked authentically expensive.