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"You do know my name, ma cherie. You gave it to me, yourself.”
Amy blinked. “Excuse me?”
He waved a dark hand. “You called me Frosty…no? Is that not my name?”
She stared at him, her pale blue eyes wide with shock. “The cold has done something to your memory, right? That’s why you can’t remember your name.”
He gave a Gallic shrug. “The only name I have is the one you gave me. Frosty…after the snowman.” He smiled and caressed her cheek. “Shall we have some more fun, before I melt away?”
“I can’t call you Frosty,” she snorted, ignoring the rest of his statement. “That’s a ridiculous name for a man.
“Perhaps you would like it better in my native tongue. Givré. Is that better?”
“Givré?” She rolled the name on her tongue. “Is that French? You have a French accent.”
“Oui… will that do?
She waved her hands in resignation. He was nuttier than a fruitcake. “Why not…nothing else makes sense.”
“I am here for you, Ami. After all, I am your creation.”
Amy’s legs gave out and she sat down hard on a nearby chair. “Creation?” she squeaked.
“I’m here because you wished for me,” he said. “You built the snowman and made a Christmas wish. I was sent to fulfill it.” His brow furrowed. “Am I not what you wanted?”
Amy laid her head down on the table. “This must be a dream,” she muttered. “All a part of the hangover. Any minute I’ll wake up and I’ll be lying in bed—”
“If that is where you wish to be…” Her “creation” lifted her into his arms. “I too would like to be in bed with you, sweet Ami.”
“Stop it,” she shouted. “Put me down.” She ignored his crestfallen look and waited until she was safely seated again. The thought of them in bed together made her pulse race.
“You are angry with me?” Givré’s dark eyes searched hers. “Why? What have I done?”
“You stand there and tell me you are the snowman I built, and you don’t understand why I’m angry?” She rubbed her eyes. “This is nuts.”
His face lit up. “Ahhh, I understand now. You do not believe I am your snowman.”
He laughed, making her toes curl. “Sweet, Ami. I am the snowman, but I am more. You carved my likeness out of snow as a joke, but when you made a wish, my spirit was sent to you.”
“Sorry, still not getting it.”
Givré sat down next to her. “Do you not know, when you make wishes at Christmas time, they might come true?”
“Really.” Her dry tone showed him he had a long way to go to make her understand.
“Oui, chérie. You carved my figure out of ice and snow, then you wished I was real so I could take you to your ball. Do you not remember?”
“How could you know that?”
He chuckled. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning.”
***end of excerpt***
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