What was I doing? I needed to stay focused, not play straight into Agnes’s hands. Jet lag was the only good reason I had for swooning over a smile from a man I had just met.
“She’s always been the wild one of the bunch,” Callum told me in a conspiratorial tone. “I did what I thought would keep her out of trouble.”
“You lied to Agnes?”
“I dinna lie, lass,” Callum all but growled, and this time I was impressed at how little I noticed it. That had to count for growth, right? “I put the damned ad up but buried it so deep I thought no one would ever reply. And no one did, until you.”
“How long was it up?”
He shrugged. “Two or three years, mebbe.”
I gaped. “What? The ad came up first thing when I searched for a place to ru—” I stopped short, choking backrun away. I cleared my throat when Callum gave me a curious look. He didn’t need to know why I had come to Scotland. Not yet, at least.
“When you what?” he asked.
“When I searched for a place to relax,” I lied.
Callum worried his bottom lip between his teeth. I could tell he wanted to ask for the truth but thankfully he relented, and nodded up ahead at the shop only a few feet away. “That’s my press.”
I perked up at helpful segue, not only because it allowed me to keep to myself the truth of my reason for being in Sithean but because I was very interested. “Sithean Press, right? Agnes told me before you came over.”
He nodded. “Been in our family for over a century.”
“Wow, that’s not letting anyone in,” I breathed, following him to the front door, which was much like Agnes’s bakeshop, save for the heavy iron lock on the front door. It looked like something plucked straight out of a medieval castle. I leaned closer to get a look at the mechanism while Callum unlocked the door. He tapped it with a forefinger.
“This has been here as long as the press.”
“Looks like it,” I observed, leaning close to look at the markings etched into the heavy iron of the lock. Crosses and runes, from the looks of it. “What’s on it?”
“Fairy protection,” Callum replied without batting an eyelash. I straightened and shot Callum a look of disbelief.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s tae keep them out, and dinna give me that look. My da’s da’s da put it there. They were scared of the wee folk. I’m not.”
“Then why do you have a fairy-be-gone lock on your door?”
“It’s called history. I’m not daft, woman.”
What was it with this family and fairies? One of them had fairies talking to them and the other had what looked like a top of the line fairy lock.
Wait...daft?
I narrowed my eyes at his choice of words and felt my hackles rise in defense of Agnes. Sure, the woman had caught me off-guard with talk of talking to fey, but that didn’t mean she was daft…a little eccentric, maybe, but she’d brought me here and she’d done it in style.
I crossed my arms and stared Callum down. “Agnes isn’t daft.”
Callum tilted his head to the side. He stepped closer to me, eating up what precious few inches had been between us. “That so?” he asked, voice low.
“Yes,” I breathed, and nodded at the door. “When do I get a key?”
“Pardon?” Callum blinked slow, like a cat just waking from a nap, his green eyes moving over my face. The look felt like a tender touch, just ghosting along my cheek, down the curve of my mouth, and I averted my eyes as so not to wax poetic about men with eyes the color of clover.
“My key,” I said, giving the lock a tap. “I’m not fairy, but this will keep me out pretty good.”
Callum chuckled and moved away. The second he did, I found myself leaning toward him and trying to cover the space between us, chasing his warmth, desperate to get a flash of his emerald eyes, anything to keep him close. Thankfully, he had his back to me and didn’t witness my momentary lapse of sanity. I needed sleep and I needed it fast, I thought, stumbling over my own feet and after Callum into the printing press.
“All right, Del?” Callum asked after my little stumble.
