“Goldie Flynn,” she replied, her voice a shade more breathless than intended as she slipped her hand into his. The simple warmth of it was disarming.
She withdrew a touch too quickly, scrambling to reclaim her usual sparkle. “So,” she said brightly, “if you’re on the Beltane Planning Committee, are you on the Solstice committee as well?”
“I am.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, like he was quietly amused by her surprise.
A genuine grin, bright and unplanned, broke through Goldie’s practiced defenses. “Well, then it looks like we’ll be seeing more of each other,” she said, her tone edged with playfulwarning. “I’m the replacement Herald of the Flame. Tamsin just asked me.”
Jonah’s brows lifted, admiration flickering behind his glasses. “Ah, thank you. We were all in a tizzy when Margra backed out, but of course, we understood. Her daughter’s first clutch is a milestone you can’t miss.”
His voice dipped just a fraction, his gaze sharpening over the rim of his glasses like he was sharing a delicious secret. “Between you, me, and the library pillar, though… having an undine as Herald could be tricky. Everything tended to get soggy, and nothing wanted to stay lit.”
Goldie’s laugh spilled out, and she leaned in. “Good thing I’m bringing some heat this Thursday, then. Tamsin’s dragging me to watch the council in action. Should I pack a hair dryer in case the paperwork gets damp?”
Jonah’s lips twitched into a moue of mock concern, though his eyes sparkled. “Oh, you’re being thrown straight into the deep end.” He reached across the desk, fingers brushing hers in a brief, steadying squeeze. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Goldie waved her hand with exaggerated confidence, though her pulse was racing. “I’m tougher than I look. Mostly.” She winked, then leaned closer, conspiratorial. “And I’ve been promised access to the city archives. If you’re nice to me, I might just sneak you whatever extra information you’ve been dying to get.”
His eyes lit with a spark of mischief. “And what does being nice to you look like?”
For a second, she forgot to breathe. He smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen, and it scrambled her thoughts.
“More croissants?” he suggested finally, lips quirking.
Goldie’s laugh tinkled out, half-relieved, half-flustered. “You do know the way to a girl’s heart, Mr. Pell. But chocolate next time. I like sweet things.”
His gaze flicked to her mouth and back, the corner of his smile deepening. “Sweets for the sweet. Good to know.”
The warmth in his eyes held her for a beat longer than was polite. “Until Thursday, then. I’ll look forward to it.”
“It’s a date,” she blurted, bolder than she meant.
“A date,” he echoed, making it sound like a promise. With an easy, confident stride, he turned toward the door. Goldie let her gaze follow—strictly for professional assessment, of course—though she allowed herself one indulgent, appreciative dip lower.
Those Dockersabsolutelydid him justice.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped into the sunlight. Just before it whispered shut, Jonah glanced back with a sly grin.
“If it’s not too much trouble, bring me a charm bag for the meeting. Something for luck.” His eyes caught hers in a deliberate wink. “I’ll owe you.”
The door sighed closed, leaving Goldie with a smile curling at her lips.
Her gaze dropped to the pastry bag he’d left behind. She pulled out the croissant—perfectly flaky, still warm—and took a slow, indulgent bite.
“You bet that cute ass I will,” she murmured.
Chapter
Five
Goldie was halfway through an absolutely riveting case study on rituals gone wrong when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and a kiss landed squarely on her cheek.
“Hello, my glittering menace,” Nell whispered into her ear.
Goldie laughed and tilted her head back to look up at her friend. “You absolute whore for drama. I can’t believe you snuck up on me.”
Nell grinned down at her. She wore a slouchy cardigan over a maxi dress in layered earth tones, the kind of outfit that should’ve looked like a rummage sale mess but on her looked effortlessly chic. Her shoulder-length, sparrow-brown hair was in peak form this morning—lush, defiant, and studded with tiny, glowing flowers that could only have come from Sig’s garden. He loved weaving things into her hair, and Nell let him, the way you let someone love you when you finally believe it’s safe.
There was a calm happiness humming under her skin, a steady joy that had only grown in the time since she and Sig had bonded.
