Page 55 of The Naughty List Agreement

“All kinds of things. There’ll probably be pickpockets—there were last year. There’ll be lost children and some rowdy people who indulge in a little too much glühwein. More than one person will try to steal an ornament off a garland.”

Nick put his arms lightly around her waist and tugged her back to rest against him. This was another opportunity to redirect her thoughts. He gently rested his head on her shoulder. “Right now, what do you see?”

“Wintery perfection.” She sighed. “No one has messed the grounds up yet,” she said with a laugh. “My therapist would have a field day with that.”

“You have a control issue,” he said lightly.

“Oh, you noticed?”

He laughed, as she had intended him to. “Hard not to.”

She turned in his arms and wrapped hers around his waist. “What do you see, Nick? Why did you come back to the festival after I dismissed you so coldly?”

That was a loaded question and in the light of all that had happened between them recently, hard to answer. The truth was starting to get mottled. His initial reaction was that he had returned in order to get her to change her ways so he could wipe her name off the Naughty List, but the more he got to know Cora the less confident he was of that plan. She wasn’t inherently a bad person. Was the Yearweave off? Had the Yearweave made a mistake? Was that even possible?

Or had his desire for Cora led him away from his true path?

Looking at this enchanting Christmas-themed world she’d created in this small town that welcomed people from near and far to come and celebrate the season, he saw only the good—the actions to make the world a nicer place, a warmer place, a happier place.

“I see a warm glow that invites me in. It makes me want to wander through the streets, admiring the lights and decorations with you by my side.”

“We can do that,” she said, reaching for her keys, “but first, answer my question. Why did you come back? Why did you agree to help me?”

“Well, it’s complicated.”

“Is it? If you want to know the truth, I regret sending that email. There, I said it.”

Nick was stunned into silence. Was this the breakthrough he’d been chasing?

“Is that an official apology from the Queen of Christmas?” he asked teasingly.

“Are you trying to be cute?” she asked. “Or do you actually want it in writing?”

“No, I don’t want it in writing. I just … I wanted to prove to you that there was more to Christmas than selling more tickets and more toys. I wanted you to bring back the other vendors so there would be variety and so everyone would have a chance to show their crafts,” he said.

“And you’ve done all that. What I want to know is why it’s important to you.”

“Because I like seeing people smile. Especially you. You do so much for this festival, but I’m not sure it actually brings you any joy.”

The look on her face told him he’d struck a nerve.

“Joy, again! Why are you always so obsessed by joy. Joy can’t be quantified, so it can’t be measured, so how can you tell if you’ve been successful? I don’t know about joy, but for me a job well done is always satisfying. And that has to be enough.”

Nick wasn’t going to convince her that joy had nothing to do with metrics and spreadsheets. Though, when he thought about it, the Magic Coffers and the Yearweave were somehow both able to measure joy, to some degree. Now he felt like he was getting tangled up in Cora’s knot. Was he losing his way?

How could he have abandoned his scheme to find a wife to focus on a woman whose name he’d put on the Naughty List and who didn’t even believe in Santa—or the magic of Christmas? Was he really prepared to risk everything by narrowing his focus to her alone? The stakes had never been higher, and yet all he could think about was easing Cora’s hurt and healing the wound of her childhood that had led her to this point. It didn’t hurt that he also wanted to explore every inch of her body with his tongue, but putting his desires above the good of humanity was the most selfish thing he could ever do. Every day he didn’t pursue other prospects, the clock on his mantel edged closer to midnight. If he failed to wed before Christmas Eve, the position would pass to Pete, just like that.

But all of his magic seemed to be drawing him to her. He could tell himself that it was strategic, that redeeming Cora would stuff the coffers to overflowing, that she’d soften, that she’d remember how to believe. But wanting someone to change so you could love them? That was a dangerous foundation for a marriage.

His parents had warned him about that.

They’d both made compromises when they got together. His mother had grown up in the 1820s in a world where marriage wasn’t optional for women of her standing. Suitors had sat in the front parlor under her father’s watchful eye and courtship had meant chaperoned walks, carefully worded letters, and the steady exchange of family expectations. Yet she’d told Nick more than once that she’d chosen his father gladly—even without society or her family pressing the matter.

Now, here Nick was, staking everything on a woman who didn’t even want marriage.

And that wasn’t smart.

He realized he hadn’t replied and tried to corral his thoughts into something that could articulate the breadth of his feelings, his needs, and his responsibilities. No words came to mind. “I could show you all about joy.”