A/N: I have to say that when I was posting this silly fluff of the Christmas story, the last thing I expected was the reviews that I received to it. If you like, check out the ones left by the readers with nicks Qoheleth, TMI Fairy, and RagdollPrincess. They left me very emotional, but for quite different reasons.
A/N#2: This story is growing a bit :) Initially it had only two chapters, but I'm having too much fun! (And hopefully, you do too :) There might even be a bit of plot in it :) Also, let me know if you want a bit of M rating. I can either crank up the rating here, or post a separate M rated companion piece. Or we can keep up with last year's tradition of fluffy T :)
Happy Holidays!
K.
Wren successfully avoids John Thorington all through the next day. It's not like she doesn't have her answer - although, she's only 98% certain that all she wants for Christmas is to ravish him in most diverse positions - but she's just not sure how to go about it, since they work together.
Also, she's worried that at least 23% of his sudden interest towards her might be the season. Although, he did mention that he'd been waiting for months for an opportune moment to charm socks off her - they're red and white and stripy like candy canes by the way - so there's a possibility he won't back off after the aforementioned ravishing.
The other big question is whether Wren wants it to go beyond ravishing. She is finally single, and she's enjoying it immensely. And she has Mira. And quoting Wham! if he gives it away the very next day, it's not just her heart at stake here. Mira gets attached to people very quickly. Wren can, of course, have relationship without involving Mira, but if there's a man in Wren's life who doesn't go to museums with her and her daughter on weekends, grocery shopping on Tuesdays, skating every second week, doesn't attend their family film nights every Saturday, and board game nights on Wednesday - and yes, Wren knows her life is very organised, she's am accountant after all - then the aforementioned man can have her on an occasional Thursday night, perhaps once a month. Something tells her that John Thorington - with his determined crinkle between the eyebrows, and meticulous preparations, and clearly articulated intentions - wouldn't be satisfied with one Thursday night once a month.
Wren frets, fights her habdabs, devours biscuits to the point of nausea, and jumps up every time anyone comes to her office. She's still not quite sure how she'd behave if she saw him, and every knock at her door makes her freeze like a squirrel caught rummaging in a rubbish bin.
To make this day a wee bit more nerve wracking, she has a surprising amount visitors. She guesses, 'tis the season. People wander the office, laugh in the halls, and no one actually works.
Luke Bowman stops by, and Wren is laughing loudly at the story of how his three kids were decorating the tree and almost set it on fire. He's been in the firm for the last couple month, they relocated him from the Esgaroth Inc. branch. He's a widower and a single dad, and Wren and him are mates. Last month they took their respective sprogs to Puff the Magic Dragon play together, in the Young Children Theatre. Luke is a very attractive man, but nothing stirs in Wren's nether regions. Which Wren is thankful for. She didn't lie to a certain IT specialist when she said she wasn't looking for anything. The fact that she's been imagining the aforementioned IT specialist out of his stylish navy blue jumpers and dark denim... is just a glitch. There's just something about him that doesn't let her stop thinking about him. Even despite the fact that their firm has an unnatural concentration of attractive males, there's just something so majestic about John Thorington!
Lee Mirkwood sticks his head into the doors, just before lunch. Wren always has mixed feelings towards him. On one hand, he is fit. As in mind blowingly beautiful. Even among the men of the company, he stands out. With his amazing height, wide shoulders, and narrow hips, and legs that just don't stop! The hair is almost snow white, and look very silky, the profile noble, lips curved. And deer oh deer, he's mesmerising! And has the sexiest voice ever - low and velvet and hypnotizing. On the other hand, Mirkwood is… odd. Sometimes he has this barmy facial expression... His eyes widen and go glassy, and then it looks like he's having a crisis! And Wren never knows how to react to this.
He has a work related question, and then he suddenly tells that his 13-year son is in love with the wrong girl, and is bringing her for the Christmas dinner. Wren carefully asks what exactly is wrong with the girl, in his opinion that is, and he deadpans, "Well, she's a ginger, to start with..." Wren stares at him in disbelief. Apparently, the bloke managed to fail to notice Wren's orange curls sticking around her head like an azalea flower bed.
"And she is… from the council estates," Mirkwood continues, his elegant nostrils flare, and then with a dismissive wave of his long fingered hand he disappears through the door. Wren wrinkles her nose. He's now 78.5% less attractive. Yuck. Now she really hopes that Mirwood Junior goes stable with the redhead from the estates. It'll teach his posh prick of the father a lesson in parenting.
After lunch, Ian McGrey stops by. He's one of the co-owners of the firm, but he likes to stick his nose into the business of each department. Many find it annoying. For example, Hugo Elrond who is in charge of the Water Facilities Department loves to remind McGrey that as an owner he truly doesn't need to oversee every little detail. Wren doesn't mind it, though. She likes the old man, there's some sort of a mischievous spark to him.
He visits for a moment, snatches a biscuit from her tin, asks about her daughter - Wren dutifully says everything is ace - and with a wink the old man disappears.
Thankfully Thorington's department is in the basement of the building, and the IT crowd only resurfaces when called to help out. They rarely interfere in the dealings of the main floor, so Wren can take a breather and overanalyze everything she knows about him.
The work day is over, and Wren grabs her handbag and rushes home to change. She's galloping through the hall, her mobile pressed to her ear. Her babysitter, a lovely Canadian girl named Reese is reporting to her that Mira and her are done dinner, and are currently colouring the reindeer Wren drew for Mira this morning. Wren reminds Reese that it's the company party tonight, and that Wren's friend Thea will come to let Reese go home…
...when Wren smashes into someone's wide and heavy body, and somehow, right away she knows what eyes she'll meet when she lifts her face.
He looks good. In the name of mince pies, does he look good! So bloody good! Wren knows she's being repetitive… but so good! In his well-tailored dark blue Belstaff peacoat, red and blue stripy scarf, some very fancy looking laptop bag across his shoulder… and the fragrance! Something spicy, and woody, and so very him!
Wren realises she's staring, while he's calmly looking at her down his long nose. Wren's brain conks out, and all that is left in her noggin are thrashing one to two word statements. Beard! Black! Silver! On temples! Eyes! Blue! Lashes! So fluffy! Surprisingly long! Sexy! So sexy!
Wren emits a sound reminiscent of how Mr. Thornton weakly mewls when picked up unexpectedly.
"Going home?" Thorington asks, and Wren's knees give in a bit. With this voice he should work on radio, or sing some medieval songs about dungeons, caverns, and gleaming gold.
All Wren manages is a jerky spasmodic nod.
"See you at the party," he says, and the voice has dropped even lower. There's a small smile dancing in his eyes, and Wren gulps loudly. And then he leans in, and his face is very close, and Wren can't breathe. "I hope you'll give me your answer then."
Is it hot here? It seems very hot. About the temperature of a well heated baking oven. Indeed, Wren feels like a perfectly executed Christmas roast.
He smirks lopsidedly, with just the very corner of his lips, and leaves. Wren isn't quite certain in her own limbs at the moment, so she takes a moment to pretend to check her mobile, while trying not to pant too loudly.
At home she's met by the sounds of loud laughter. Thea and Mira are watching Wallace and Gromit's Christmas Cardomatic Cracking Contraptions.
Mira is five, and she loves the turkeys and sheep. Thea has had a bit of sherry. Mr. Thornton is asleep in his basket. Wren wants to stay home. She's having kittens, and it's not the do that makes her so jittery. Yes, the evening has an exciting potential, but on the other hand, Wren isn't sure she's ready...
She takes a shower and goes to the bedroom to change. The party is an ugly sweater party, and she prepared a white tulle skirt, all fluffy and lush, and sparkly golden stilettos, and an emerald green sweater with a reindeer muzzle with black and red pompoms for eyes and nose. The antlers are black velvet, and altogether it's more cute than ugly. C'mon, Wren decides to indulge just this one time. She's divorced the man she thought was the love of her life just six months ago. She needs a bit of a self-esteem boost.
"Do you have a jumper with a penguin?" Thea asks, from the door, where she's leaning on the frame, sipping sherry and studying Wren's outfit. Wren's busy pinning her hair up.
"No, why?"
"If your Mr. Hottie is a computer wizard, he loves penguins. Something about a thing called Linux, and such." Wren looks at Thea not understanding. Thea shrugs. "I once knobbed some boffin, who was into the computer rubbish, and he told me that penguins for them are like Louboutins for a chick."
"Thea! Even if I had a penguin decorated jumper, I'm not dressing up for him!" Wren's full of feminist indignation.
"Oh yeah," Thea draws out sarcastically. "Watson doesn't shave for Sherlock Holmes, and all this fancy wrapper on you, including the heels that you'd rather die than wear on any other day, is just 'cause, yeah?"
Wren looks at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are rosy, and she even put some mascara, and the jumper hugs her in all the right places. Yep, that's official. She has just dolled herself up for John Thorington. Blast it.
NEWS! NEWS! NEWS!
1. Please, follow my writer's Facebook page: katyakolmakov
News and updates there!
Blind Carnival on JukePop finally has gotten a plot, and what a ka-boom it was last week! :)
In my Dr. T Series on my blog (kolmakov dot ca) two stories have been posted, and we are moving into the third one.
2. Please, look at my newly born Etsy shop: The King and Wren
By liking its Facebook page, you can reclaim your FREE MiniThorin printable postcard
(it's a high-res downloadable file, just print it and/or send to your friends and family by email)
3. Monday, December, 21:
NEW ITEM on the Etsy page:
"The Black Smith and His Wife"
(e-book/downloadable PDF or a hard copy loose leaf book)
Betrayed, incarcerated, and about to be hanged, the infamous criminal known as the Black Smith accepts the lifelong servitude under the Oath of the Red Ribbon from a mysterious redhead. Bound to his new mistress by magic, the Smith is now to follow her every order. Katya Kolmakov's new novella "The Black Smith and His Wife" is a story of revenge, clashing wills, and acceptance.
