Peppermint prancer, p.1
Peppermint Prancer, page 1
Peppermint Prancer
Kinship Cove: Heartthrobs & Holidays
Ellis Leigh
Peppermint Prancer
Kinship Cove: Heartthrobs & Holidays
It’s the holidays for our Kinship Cove friends, which means treats, hot cocoa, and kisses.
Being an elf in North Pole, Alaska, means one thing to me: baking to support my fellow elves who are responsible for making toys. When a fellow kitchen elf takes a tumble days before the big gift run, I’m assigned to the reindeer shifter side of town. Carb-loading is my specialty, after all. No way would I let the reindeer team fail after a solid year of work by elves and reindeer alike. I know my role—get in, bake, get out—but while delivering delightful pastries to the hungry sleigh-pullers, I run into a problem. One by the name of Prancer.
Yes, he’s a reindeer shifter. Yes, he’s an OG on the sleigh team. And yes, he’s just as obsessed with me as I am with him. But each species has its rules, and everyone in North Pole knows we have to work together to pull off the Christmas run. Which means keeping the secret of our fated connection from everyone—elves, reindeer, Santa…
Even Prancer himself.
Christmas is coming whether we’re ready or not…and it’s going to be a battle to keep my ho ho ho on the down low low low.
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Chapter One
Lolly
“Hot behind.”
“If only every elf thought that,” I mumbled under my breath as I leaned forward against the counter, still kneading dough and making sure whoever needed to run past me had the room required to keep us both from getting burned. The kitchen buzzed with energy, breakfast for Santa’s elves a big affair with all the best foods to start the day—French toast, cinnamon rolls, snickerdoodle bread, and lots and lots of peppermint hot cocoa. Only the best for the workers at the North Pole. Especially since their jobs of researching, buying, and making toys were over. Over the next couple days, they would complete the final organization of the magic sack for Santa to pull from and then…Christmas. The best time of the entire year for Santa’s elves.
Lots of vacation time coming up after a year of hard work.
“Lolly.”
I jumped, my focus darting to the older elf by the office door with a clipboard in his hand. One of the bosses. “Lolly, I need to see you.”
Odd—I wasn’t usually an elf who got into trouble. My stomach sank, but I dropped the dough we needed for the lunch service in a bowl and covered it with a clean towel before hurrying his way, calling out the usual alerts that kept the kitchen safe. You had to make sure people knew you were there, but it still got annoying. I would likely be yelling corner and behind in my sleep until the day I died.
Which could be today because—again—I never got into trouble. Ever. I just hoped I didn’t throw up all over myself when he started yelling at me.
“You wanted to see me?” I gave the elder elf—Balthasar—a small smile, wanting so badly to wring my hands but holding firm. No fidgeting. No fidgeting. No puking either.
“Good morning, dear.” He looked at me over his glasses then shifted his gaze back to his clipboard. “Maeve—you know Maeve, right—well, she took a bit of a fall last night and will be requiring time off. I need someone who can bake at that level to send to the reindeer kitchen. Would you be interested?”
I blinked. And again. The reindeer kitchen was quite the promotion. That honor had never even occurred to me in all my years baking for the elves. “And you’re sure you want me?”
Balthasar gave me a hard look, frowning slightly. “I wouldn’t have called your name if I did not. You’re one of the best bakers we’ve got, and we have a duty to Santa to make sure his team is well fed and fueled up for the big night. Maeve is unable to do her duty, so are you interested in stepping into her place?”
“Yes.” I nodded, finally giving in and wringing my hands—in excitement, not nervousness. “I would love to bake for the sleigh team. When should I go?”
“Now, dear. Arthur is already on his way over with a few trays of cinnamon-date buns. Make sure they’re served the second you arrive so the team isn’t late for training.” He scribbled something on the paper clipped onto the board and then stabbed me with a hard, icy stare. “No distractions, no mistakes. We only have a few days before the team flies out for the big trip, and they’re going to need some major carb-loading to be able to make it through the night. I expect you to help with that. Your cinnamon-date buns are the best and most nutritious breakfast pastry we serve—even the Queen thinks so.”
I grinned, unable not to. No one had wanted me to try sweetening the buns with dates instead of sugar, but I’d done it anyway and they had been well received. Far more accepted than I’d even known, apparently. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my very best, sir.”
And with that, I spun around and hurried out the door, racing across the snow-covered brick walkways toward the kitchen on the opposite side of our downtown area. Shops were just opening up for the day, grocers and bakers and creators setting out their wares to attract elf buyers as they took their breaks from work. The entire area would be buzzing like the kitchens by lunch, but I would be busy. I would be baking for Santa’s reindeer team. I still couldn’t believe it.
“Hey, Lolly.” Jackson, owner of the little bookstore I frequented, waved as I rushed past, his bright smile a constant in the alley. I would have to stop by later—maybe pick up a book or two—maybe tell him all about how I ended up cooking for the reindeer.
The reindeer.
That might not seem like such a big deal to some, but the team that pulled the sleigh were practically celebrities to me. True, most of the original reindeer had moved on—mates and families didn’t get along with Santa’s scheduling—but two of the nine were still flying. That duo was legend. I’d never met any of the team, especially not the two old guard, but I wanted to. To bask in their presence for even a moment would be such a gift. Something that could actually happen if I was able to serve the reindeer on time.
Which meant I needed to stop daydreaming, run faster, and get my hot behind to work.
I did just that, rushing through the door leading to the training center kitchen in no time. Elves scurried about—chopping, frying, prepping, rolling, slicing. Every station looked neat and tidy, every person shouting as they moved just like they should. The sight was the organized chaos of a well-run kitchen, and I couldn’t wait to find my station and jump into the mayhem.
“You must be Lolly.” An older, female elf I’d never met approached, her eyes sharp but the small smile on her face soft. “I’m Miss Cici, and I’ll be running this madhouse today. Your buns were already delivered and are in the warming ovens, and we’ve set up a station for you.” She pointed to a space toward the back—one surrounded by plastic bins of white powder. Flours.
“How long until I need to serve?”
She clicked a button on her pen, which lit up at the top to show a tiny digital clock. “Three minutes. I know we’re rushing you, but as soon as those buns are delivered, I’m going to need you to start on the rolls and things for later. These reindeer go through a lot of bread.”
“Carb-loading,” I said.
Miss Cici nodded, her smile growing. “Exactly. I set up your station, but it’s been a number of years since I’ve baked for the team. If you need anything at all, you call me. I’ve also assigned an elf named Arthur who’s going to stick around to help you carry and serve your breakfast buns. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, go—the sleigh and backup teams are waiting on us.”
With that, I was off, racing across the kitchen to the area I was about to claim as my own. On the way, I grabbed some butter and eggs from the refrigerator so they had time to come to room temperature. I also snagged a bit of star anise—every elf who worked in the kitchens had their tricks, and I was about to show those reindeer one of mine.
“Ready to serve?” Arthur asked when I made it to the baking corner. He had his eyes glued to a timer, his hand on the door to one of the vertical ovens. Always prepared, that one.
“I need thirty seconds.” I grabbed a grinder and dumped a few of the star anise inside, then hit the grind button. Once done, I tipped the now-ground spice into a bowl and added a heaping cup of turbinado sugar. I whisked those together until it seemed blended, then added a tablespoon of cinnamon and some nutmeg. More whisking, more watching the clock. Just seconds left.
“What’s that?” Arthur yanked open the oven a moment before the timer went off, pulling out trays of cinnamon-date buns and placing them on a cart we’d wheel into the dining room. Beautiful, thick buns with a sticky, sugary top. So perfect.
“This is my secret—it adds a little boost of flavor directly to the palate. It’s like a sweet and spicy supercharger for the buns.” I sprinkled the mixture over every roll, knowing they’d come out as perfect as ever but still worried. This was it—Santa’s team, and possibly the big man himself, was about to eat something I’d made. “My hands are shaking.”
“These buns are the best breakfast pastry at the North Pole and healthier than any other option because you use dates in them. You have nothing to worry about.” And with that, Arthur pushed the first trolley of buns toward the door to the dining room.
“Nothing to worry about. Right.” I didn’t buy that line, but there was nothing I could do about it now. So, I took a deep breath, and I raced aft er Arthur.
And I really, really hoped the reindeer liked my buns.
The second I opened the door, though, I was met with only one thing. Noise. A wall of noise slammed into me when I entered the dining area.
Holy peppermint sticks.
The reindeer—so many more than the nine who pulled Santa’s sleigh—were talking, yelling across tables, and generally being a bit rowdier than I would have expected. Still, I kept my chin up and didn’t falter. I had a job to do—feed these beastly men and women so they could bring a little joy to people around the globe. Santa needed me to do my best. I would not let him down.
“Start here?” Arthur asked, indicating the end of one of the long tables. The one at the front of the room. The one that sat a little quieter than the rest.
“Is that the lead team’s table?”
Arthur nodded, grabbing plates and putting on his game face. “May as well feed the most important ones first. They’re a nice group—normal folk like the rest of us, from my past experiences with them.”
“Normal. Right.”
I followed Arthur as he delivered cinnamon-date buns to the reindeer shifters at the table. They were so much bigger than either of us, so much more muscular. I was forced to sprinkle the magic mixture over the roll before we served it or else I would have had trouble edging my way in between some of them. Not that I would have minded—there was certainly no lack of good looks in their gene pools. While the reindeer were a mix of genders and ages, the couple of the old guard reindeer left at the table were easy to spot. The originals could be identified by their graying hair and broader shoulders, the slight wrinkles at the corner of their eyes and their air of experience. The men who had been the ones to first haul Santa around the world with a touch of elf magic were very…daddy-esque. Not something I was going to complain about, for sure.
Sadly, the reindeer paid me no mind. Not even to say thank you. But I was okay with that—shifters and elves didn’t really mingle except in situations like this, where we did some sort of quick, quiet service. Their ability to overlook us was completely normal.
I was just about to serve the last bun, just about to give the man in the end seat his sweet breakfast treat, when he turned and looked down at me. His lips twisted slightly, and his brow furrowed, his curly graying hair flopping slightly with his motion. Deep brown eyes met mine, and I froze. Locked in place by the energy in that gaze.
Sexy. The only way I could describe him was sexy.
What now?
“Sir, I…” I stopped and licked my lips, trying to find my voice. “Sorry. I have hot buns for you.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up, a sparkle developing in those soulful eyes. “You do now? And what sort of buns are we talking about?”
Burial by snowballs could not have stopped the burning sensation racing through my body. Why did I have to say hot buns? “It’s a cinnamon-date bun, sir.”
He leaned a little closer, keeping his eyes on mine and dropping his voice as he said, “And what if I told you I don’t like cinnamon rolls?”
My answer came quick—without thought or planning. “They’re not cinnamon rolls—they’re cinnamon-date buns. Besides, you don’t know a cinnamon roll unless you’ve had mine.”
He gave me a nod, still staring. Still holding me in place with his gaze. How did he do that?
“Then I guess I have to give you a try.” And with that, he sat back, giving me room to place his plate on the table. I didn’t pre-sprinkle this time. I stepped onto the rung of his chair, bringing my body closer to his, and gave him a quick smile before sprinkling the sugary-spice mix on his bun right in front of him.
“What’s that?”
“My special topping. Trust me.”
He grunted, the sound making my heart jump a little.
“Ready now?” he asked when I was finished sprinkling and had stepped off the rung of his chair.
“Yes. Give it a try—you won’t regret it.”
I waited, watching with more anticipation than the time I’d fed the big man himself, as the man slowly lifted my bun to his lips. He kept his eyes on mine, kept a sense of intimacy in the moment, as he took a bite. A big bite. As soon as the pastry touched his tongue, he jerked, his eyes darting from it to me and back. His chewing quickened, and he sat a little deeper.
Death by cinnamon-date bun. I win.
My almost arrogant shrug came naturally, my pride something I was unable to hold back. “Told you they were the best.”
He nodded, still watching me. His stare intense. “What’s your name, little one?”
“I’m Lolly. And you are?”
“Prancer.”
I nearly stumbled backward. I’d known because of the gray hair and the daddy aura, but hearing him say the name, knowing this was one of the originals, still stunned me stupid. “You’re…Pra…the Prancer.”
The man across from him—the one who had been completely silent so far—laughed. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the prancing man over there. Just out prancing all the time in his prancing shoes.”
Prancer rolled his eyes, finally letting me escape that magnetic gaze. “Shut up, Cupid.”
Two originals. Holy Christmas trees. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be taking so long to serve these.”
Cupid—the other original left. Tilting tree toppers, this was all too much. When the two started sparring verbally, I scurried away from the table so I could drop off the rest of the buns and hide in the crowd. I couldn’t get Prancer off my mind, though. Those eyes, that slight smile, the depth in his voice. That man was sexy.
Too sexy to want anything to do with me.
Completely out of my league for a lot of reasons.
The first being that reindeer and elves didn’t mingle like that.
Still, as I raced into the kitchen to begin working on the bread for lunch, I couldn’t help but look back to the table where Prancer sat. Where he seemed to have been watching me from. My eyes met his, and an electric charge shot through me. One more reminder of the weird connection between us.
If only…
Chapter Two
Lolly
From sweet to savory—from warming spices and sugar to herbs and aromatics. Such a fun flip to be a part of. Lunch for the team would be pasta with a thick cream sauce and lots of buttery garlic bread. The latter was my responsibility, and I took great care in making sure the dough had enough time to proof, that my garlic-butter sauce was applied at just the right time so no one ended up eating burned garlic, and that the crust was good and crunchy while the insides stayed super soft. Exactly as they should be.
“These are good, child,” Cici said as she came to inspect my work. “Well done. We’ll be serving in ten if the team stays on time.”
“I’ll be ready.” I double-checked my pans, baskets, and counts, knowing I’d made too much but wanting—needing—to feel as if I were contributing to the team’s success. And I couldn’t lie—a certain brown-eyed reindeer may have been on my mind as I’d drenched the bread in butter sauce. I hoped he’d like it. Dreamed of hearing that little grunt of approval again.
Focus, Lolly. Focus.
“Anything else we need?” I asked as Arthur came to roll out a cart of the bread a few minutes later.
“Nothing, Miss Lolly. I’ll handle this part.”
A stab of disappointment zinged through my chest. I’d hoped to be the one to deliver them. “Of course. Thank you for that.”
He nodded and set upon his job, carrying trays stacked high with baskets of hot garlic bread, while I grabbed a towel and began the process of cleaning up my station. I’d still need to finish up the dinner and dessert baking, but no one wanted garlic in with their Italian cream horns. Everything had to be refreshed before I could move on.
I was in the middle of stretching to reach a container of the more obscure extracts we had available when someone slipped in beside me. Someone warm and smelling like balsam and so very exciting.
“Allow me.” Prancer—all well-over-six-feet of him—grabbed the container and set it on the counter, staring down at me in that intense way of his. “Anything else I can do for you?”
