He handed another blanket to Dad and Aunt Esha, then winked at me and Arthur like he was in on some inside scoop and I felt all my internal organs wither in abject mortification. I didn’t dare glance at Arthur to gauge his reaction.

Dad and Aunt Esha were in the middle row, with Drakk and Axe in the elevated front, since they were driving, if that’s the right word for gently encouraging the two reindeer—Erato and Calliope, my nemesis—to “giddy up.”

Grandma Jo and Dr. Raymond waved good-bye like parents sending their kids off to college.

Except we didn’t. Move, that is. It seemed Erato and Calliope weren’t feeling it.

I gazed ahead through the gap between Dad and Aunt Esha to see the twins engage in a quick twin-versation that consisted of single words from one to the other (“Go.” “ ’Kay.” “Got—?” “Yep.”) and then Possibly Drakk hopped off to get in front of the beasts and lure them forward, step-by-step, with the promise of food, while Probably Axe held the reins loosely in his massive hands.

It seemed to work. Sorta.

Erato stepped forward but Calliope remained in place, blowing out a breath in a sign of irritation so obvious it crossed species. She bobbed her head, her impressive antlers cracking against Erato’s.

Probably Axe frowned. “She’s bein’ all kindsa moody t’day.”

Possibly Drakk nodded. “Spoiled.”

“You spoil ’er.”

“I sher do.” He rubbed Calliope’s nose. “Your Uncle Axe loves you, baby.”

Okay, I got the which-one’s-which wrong. Sue me. They were like a shell game.

Axe reached up to Calliope’s harness and loosened it a little.

“There. It was too tight,” he said.

That seemed to do the trick.

The first tug of the sleigh forward was a bit of a jolt and I grabbed onto the edge to keep from bumping into Arthur, who was entirely too close for comfort.

This time I did sneak a peek in his direction. He was steadfastly staring forward, so I only glimpsed his profile.

Which was, I had to admit, a very nice profile.

The early afternoon sunlight breaking through the clouds gleamed off his shiny black hair, which reminded me of the Halloween party. When he’d slicked it back with a heavy gel à la Dr. No (he had been very specific about his Bonds, down to the film), and, I could now admit to myself, it had made him look kinda . . . hot. Especially in the tux he’d worn.

And while his hair was now back to gel-free, a lock fell over his forehead in a way that gave him an almost-rakish air, and, oh Lord, what was happening to me?