“Sex,?
?? Gizelle said impatiently. “I know about that.”
“What do you know about it?” Scarlet asked suspiciously.
“I’ve seen the pictures in the magazines at The Den,” Gizelle said defensively, referring to the staff house where most of the bachelors lived. A few of them had mates that lived there now, and the magazines had gotten more scarce. “I know how to pleasure myself. And Breck told me all about what people do with each other.”
Scarlet made a funny face. “Breck?”
“He’s an authority on the subject,” Gizelle said confidently, repeating what the leopard shifter waiter had told her. “And he wanted to make sure that I could make up my own mind about it when I was ready. So I wouldn’t be surprised or let someone take advantage of me.”
“That’s... wise,” Scarlet conceded. She didn’t sound particularly happy about it, though.
“I’m not a child,” Gizelle insisted.
“I know,” Scarlet said, almost mournfully.
That reminded Gizelle of something else. “Travis said he was decorating for Christmas today, but he didn’t have time to explain it to me. And Ally keeps talking about it, but she doesn’t make any sense.”
“Christmas? Christmas doesn’t have to make sense,” Scarlet said warmly, following Gizelle’s change of topic without hesitation. “Christmas is a holiday we celebrate near the end of the year. People give each other presents, and there is singing, and Chef will make special food.”
That sounded nice. “What kind of food?” Gizelle asked. “What are presents? Will Saina sing?”
Scarlet grinned at her, all warm and fuzzy with memories. “I had forgotten that this would be your first Christmas. You’ll get to try figgy pudding and sugar cookies.”
Figgy pudding sounded questionable, but Gizelle knew she liked cookies and sugar.
Scarlet continued, “Presents are special gifts that friends and family give each other. Usually little things, like books or clothing or candy. They get wrapped in special paper and tied with bows and we all open them together on Christmas Day.”
That sounded... baffling, but Scarlet was looking at her with an encouraging smile, clearly expecting some kind of reaction.
“I don’t have anything to give as a present,” Gizelle said hesitantly. If it was a reciprocal thing, Christmas probably wasn’t for her.
“I could help you make something,” Scarlet promised warmly. “It’s not really about what the present is as much as it is about the giving. It reminds people that we’re thinking about them.”
“Alright,” Gizelle agreed. She thought about people a lot.
They were interrupted by the beep of the resort van at the entrance, announcing that a new group of guests was arriving. Gizelle leaped to her feet, scattering her lesson papers.
“I should go,” Gizelle said swiftly. New people were always unnerving, and Scarlet would be busy checking them in.
She was concentrating so hard on remembering not to shift, not to be afraid, not to be weird that she got all the way down the path to the bar before she realized that she’d left her papers all over the lawn.
Chapter 2
Conall scowled at the entrance to the resort. The van ride from the airstrip had been absolutely jaw-rattling. He could guess from the other passengers that it was too loud for anything but shouted conversation and was just as happy to leave the ill-sprung vehicle behind for his own two feet.
He let the other guests rush forward to check in. He moved to the side of the doorway as the driver hurried past with an overstacked armful of luggage, an apology undoubtedly at the lips Conall anti-socially refused to look at.
At least the place didn’t have Christmas decorations up yet.
Since Thanksgiving, Boston had been a gaudy sea of tinsel and obnoxiously blinking lights, reveling in its seasonal snow and silver bells. There were plastic Santas and wire reindeer on every other white-dusted lawn, and even the most understated business had wreaths and fake holly and the air smelled cloyingly like cinnamon and pine.
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to listen to the music,” his secretary had said to him thoughtlessly. “They start playing the carols so early now, by the time we get to December, I’m ready to unplug sound systems in the stores. It’s even in the cabs!”
He had pretended to laugh, gone straight to his office, and put his credit card into the Internet form for the last room at the most exotic tropical resort that he could find. Reservations at this place, Shifting Sands Resort, were by approval of the management or invitation only, but he had received his confirmation within a day. He had then filled out the lengthy forms confirming that he was indeed a shifter and agreed to abide by their specific terms, like no predation and no picking flowers. He had been grimly amused by the polite disclaimers that the resort was not ADA compatible, and that while they would certainly make accommodations, they might not be able to meet all special needs.
Special needs.