The Working Elf Blues (3 page)

Garnet fought not to cover his ears, suddenly self-conscious. They were one of the most sensitive areas on his body. Elves either loved them to be touched or hated it, no in between. Garnet had always loved it. He wondered what Wes thought of them.

"Why have you come back every five years since that first time?" Wes asked. "Why did you never try to explain to me before?"

Uneasy, Garnet shifted in his seat. "Technically, we're never supposed to tell anyone what we really are. I've broken a lot of rules by telling you. By being here now."

"Then why did you come?"

Garnet gave Wes a helpless look. How to explain? How did he say that as a young elf he'd fallen in love with a human boy? That he'd spied on and secretly yearned for that boy as he watched him grow into a man, that the moment he'd realized the boy shared the same desires as himself had been one of the happiest moments of his life? Because it meant Garnet had a chance. But wasn't that why he'd come here—to explain, to take that chance?

"I've watched you for a long time." Garnet kept his eyes on his cup of cocoa, focused on the white blob of his melted marshmallows. "You were so sad the first time I saw you. At first I only wanted to check in, see if that sadness had gone away. But when I saw you that second time, I… Your eyes were the same, and the last time too, and I…"
Wanted to take your pain away. Wanted to help. Wanted to stay. Just… wanted.

"You what?" Wes prompted when Garnet trailed off into silence.

Garnet forced himself to look up. "I wanted to be there for you. With you. I want… you."

*~*~*

Wes stared at the man—elf—across the table from him as the words echoed in his head. Garnet wanted
him
? It seemed almost as impossible to believe as Garnet being some toy-making elf from the North Pole. And yet, there he sat, with pointed ears and small, fine features and eyes so intensely green Wes could think of no comparison for them but emeralds. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since the accident, and Garnet looked only mildly worse for wear. A normal human wouldn't have come out of that crash so unscathed, if they survived it at all.

All signs pointed to the fact that Garnet must really be what he claimed. That didn't make it any easier to accept. Wes had always considered himself to be a very pragmatic sort of man. His folks had died when he was so young his memories of them were hazy at best. After that came his first set of foster parents, Neil and Sharon. Decent enough people, if a little distant. Then Mitchell, Sharon's burly, kind-hearted brother, who'd officially adopted Wes and treated him as his own.

They'd had four blissful years before a bad fall and a blood clot stole Mitch away. He'd left everything to Wes: his house in the city, the cabin, his dogs, and his love for woodworking. When Wes was eighteen, it all came to him, and he'd breathed new life into Mitch's old business—hand-crafting canoes, dog sleds, toboggans, and a variety of furniture pieces. He made a good living now, which was how he could afford to take a month off at the cabin every December.

But he was a simple man of simple means who worked with his hands and rarely allowed himself to be fanciful. Elves and Santa and flying sleighs didn't fall into the category of realistic. Real was spending every Christmas alone because he didn't have any family to speak of. Real was lonely mornings and lonelier nights. Real was spending most of his time with a pack of loyal dogs because he didn't know how to relate to people who'd grown up in a normal household, not a series of foster homes where he always felt like he already had one foot out the door. Aside from his parents, no one but Mitch had ever wanted him enough to keep him for long.

"You don't know me," he told Garnet, not unkindly. It was the simple truth.

"I do know you." Garnet's voice held surprising strength. For the first time, he looked at Wes head on, unblinking, not as if he might scurry away at any moment. "You help people. You've rescued dozens of dogs and found them new homes. You've donated handmade furniture to families in need. You don't lie. You don't steal. You don't cheat. You're a good man."

Wes snorted, even as warmth bloomed in his cheeks. "You make me sound like some sort of saint. I have plenty of faults, trust me. I can be a grumpy bastard, and I don't have much patience with people."

"That doesn't change who you are in your heart." Garnet thumped himself on the chest. "And it's your heart that calls to mine."

Wes opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap. No one had ever said anything even remotely close to that to him before. Now a Christmas elf had given him what was probably the best compliment of his life. The moment felt ten kinds of surreal. But he'd be lying if he denied the pull he'd felt toward Garnet every time they'd met since that night in the diner so long ago. He'd lain in his bed awake this morning until almost dawn, fighting the urge to go into the room next door just to watch Garnet sleep.

"I was coming to you last night because I wanted us to spend Christmas together," Garnet said when Wes didn't respond. "I've watched you spend every holiday alone for so many years, and then I wondered why we couldn't just spend the time together. I wanted you to have the chance to get to know me before I asked…"

Wes arched his brows when Garnet let the sentence die. "Asked what?"

Garnet shrugged, and the smile he gave Wes was abashed, just a little wry twist of his lips. "If I could stay."

The words hit Wes like an electric shock, and his mouth dropped open. "Stay," he repeated. "What do you mean? Stay here?"

Garnet's look of embarrassment deepened, but his voice didn't waver when he answered, "With you, wherever that may be."

Wes shook his head—not in refusal but in an effort to clear his thoughts. What could an otherworldly creature like Garnet possibly want with a simple human like him? Plain old ordinary Wesley Roth. He certainly wasn't the only person who invested time and effort into helping others. It didn't make him special. "How do you know so much about me?"

"I told you, I watch." Garnet's cheeks reddened, but he held Wes's gaze. "You know the Christmas song, 'he sees you when you're sleeping'? Well, it's true. Santa has his ways of watching, but he doesn't do it all alone. He has help. One of my best friends is a Watcher. Sometimes, he lets me join him, and I watch you."

Wes shifted in his chair, uneasy with the idea of being spied upon, even by adorable elves. The very thought made his skin itch. "That's, um… That seems a little…" Wes trailed off. He didn't want to call Garnet a stalker, but…

Garnet flushed a deeper red. He flailed his right hand, nearly toppling his mug. "I—believe me, I know how that might seem to you, but I promise, it was never during… private moments. I watched you with your dogs, during sled races, while you worked. It was never improper. I only wanted to make sure you were doing okay. And, well—" he shot Wes an earnest look, "—I find you fascinating."

Wes smiled dryly, charmed by Garnet's reaction despite himself. "Some people would consider it improper to spy on people at any time, you know, not just during 'private moments.'"

Garnet's eyes fell away from his. "I know." Shame flashed across his face. "I know it was wrong. I apologize."

Wes gnawed on his lower lip and fought hard to resist the urge to reach over and still Garnet's shaking hand with his own. Why he wanted to comfort the man who just admitted to having spied on him for over a decade, he had no idea. All he knew was Garnet's humiliated expression sent an unpleasant coil of tension through his gut.

"It's okay," he said, surprised by both the words and the fact that they were true. It
should
upset him more, he knew that. Had it been anyone else, Wes probably would've booted the guy out of the cabin already, but part of him liked that pretty, flustered Garnet somehow found him fascinating enough to spy on for so many years. It heated his body in a way that made his breath catch. "Really, Garnet."

Garnet blinked at him, green eyes wide. "That's the first time you said my name." He smiled, sweet and slow. "I like it."

Wes's heart stuttered. That smile lit up Garnet's face and changed it from something cute to extraordinary. Being on the receiving end did odd things to his chest. Wes looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's finish up here. Then we can go see if we can salvage any of your father's sleigh."

*~*~*

Two hours later, they sat warming their hands in front of the fire, the dogs huddled around them. Micah had settled alongside Garnet's thigh, begging for pets by sticking his head in Garnet's lap. Absently, Garnet stroked the husky's ears while watching the flames in the fireplace dance.

They'd found the remains of his sleigh, but sadly for Garnet, there hadn't been anything left worth saving. He knew his father, Scarlet, would be devastated by the loss, even if the sleigh had sat untouched in their barn since Santa's refusal to use it a few years before. Still, of the numerous machines Scarlet had invented over the years, it remained both his bane and his pride and joy, the creation he'd hoped would earn him fame and make Scarlet Evergreen a household name. That failure still plagued him even now.

It wasn't that Santa spurned all his inventions. A few of Scarlet's tools and machines were used in the toy workshop every day, but most of them rested in the corners and cluttered cellar of their small house, slowly gathering dust. Every now and again, when Garnet tidied them and tried to organize, he felt a deep sense of pity for his father. As he himself knew, it was hard to be a modern thinker in a land where old traditions were valued above all else.

The one good thing to come out of their morning of tromping through the snow? He'd found the bag containing his belongings and the present for Wes buried under a few tree branches several yards away from the bulk of the crash.

By a stroke of good fortune, Wes's gift remained intact. That, and being wrapped in his favorite candy-cane-striped sweater, brought Garnet a small measure of comfort after goofing up so spectacularly. Not that he'd minded wearing Wes's clothes—he'd enjoyed it perhaps a bit too much—but their size difference meant he'd practically been swimming in the material. Now at least he didn't run the risk of tripping and falling because his pant legs were too long.

All things considered, the atmosphere in the cabin was fairly relaxed. However, Garnet couldn't help but feel he should be saying something,
doing
something, to try and convince Wes to let him stay. He just didn't know what. He'd never heard of an elf leaving the North Pole for good, yet that was exactly what he intended. Every year, the elves were given two weeks off starting on Christmas Day to celebrate and spend time with their families before the preparations for the following Christmas began anew. No one should notice his absence for at least that long—not with his best friend, Poplar, helping to cover for him—but could two weeks possibly be enough time to convince Wes to keep him before Santa realized Garnet was gone?

It would have to be.

Looking over at Wes, Garnet straightened his shoulders. Wes sat cross-legged, leaning back against the couch, a cup of hot tea cradled in his palms. His nose was still a little red from the cold, and his dark brown hair was mussed from his hat. A small, dressed Christmas tree stood in the corner between Wes and the fireplace. There were no presents beneath it, aside from a large, unopened container of Milk-Bone dog treats.

The sight of that lonely tree and the lack of any presents for Wes underneath saddened Garnet to the point that heat prickled behind his eyes and pressure built in his sinuses. He wanted to give Wes his gift, but suddenly it didn't seem anywhere near adequate enough to convey just how much Wes meant to him. He'd wanted to make this a happy Christmas for Wes. Instead, he'd only made himself a burden.

How had he honestly expected to show up at Wes's door and be welcomed with opened arms? Hindsight showed him how ridiculous his plan had been from the start. He felt he knew Wes after watching him all these years, but Wes didn't know Garnet from anyone. Why hadn't he considered how his actions might be construed by Wes, how bizarre and invasive it might all seem? And, still, Wes hadn't forced him to leave after Garnet's confession. He'd rescued Garnet last night and spent two hours outside in the snow and bitter cold that morning trying to see if Garnet's sleigh was salvageable. He'd done this for someone who'd admitted to spying on him and who was essentially a stranger, yet Garnet knew Wes would do it again, no questions asked. Wes was simply that sort of man—the type who put others before himself.

Garnet had nothing to offer Wes. What value was an elf who had no skills to speak of besides building toys? And lately, he'd even failed at that. His preoccupation and longing for Wes had been seeping into his work, causing all sorts of mishaps. Baby dolls wailed instead of laughed. Toy dogs barked Wes's name. Music players repeated the same song—"The Workin' Elf Blues."

He'd driven his supervisor to distraction with all of the repair tickets that had to be put in to fix his mistakes.

It was a mess.

But the day wasn't over yet. He could still make this Christmas special. He might not have any magic aside from his healing this far from the North Pole, but maybe, for the first time in his life, he could pull off a miracle all on his own.

*~*~*

Wes woke suddenly, with a strange sense of disorientation and déjà vu from the night before. Last thing he remembered was sitting in front of the fire, Garnet beside him. He must've fallen asleep. Somehow his tea had ended up on the coffee table, thankfully unspilled.

Through the windows all he could see was swirling snow and inky blackness. So much for his plans to make a big holiday meal. He'd intended on putting the turkey in the oven after they returned from their outing to the crash site that morning. The plan had been to warm up for a few minutes before getting to work. Now, it looked like he'd be resorting to garlic bread and Christmas spaghetti.
Ah, well.

But then, as he got to his feet and rubbed sleep from his eyes, he caught the scent of roasting meat beneath the smell of wood from the fire. There was clanging coming from behind him, too, and the dogs were nowhere to be seen—which meant, if he wasn't hallucinating, there was probably an elf making dinner in his kitchen.