Conall rolls his eyes. "The point is," he says, furrowed brow bringing him back to the annoyed Conall I've been getting to know, "you have real interests, and you're creative. The shop serves a function for the island, but Ursula Shipton was way overdue to retire when she finally stepped away. It's become utilitarian, and I don't think that's going to make you happy. You can do whatever you want, Ivy. So what will you do?"
I glance warily around the shop. My imagination isn't dead, just bruised, and I've certainly let myself wander into the odd thought about what I'd do with this place if I could. Paint the walls a soft yellow, for one. Maybe the ceiling is blue. Add some color to the shelves. Keep selling the jarred products people need, but in cuter, more appealing containers. Paint flowers on the windows. Use the empty spaces to sell cute animal-shaped cutlery and flowery home decor. And—
“Are you serious? Who actually buys that kind of crap?”
And there it is. My subconscious is in my ex-husband's voice, repeating his lines loud and clear.
I sigh. "I used to sell cute stuff. Animal-shaped kitchenware, floral dishes, and clocks that gave you positive affirmations. Just stuff."
He tilts his head, brow furrowing. "Ivy—"
"I just don't think those things are very practical on an island like this with its own ecosystem and needs. People here need tentacle oil and horsehair product. Not plates that look like posies." I can't help the derisive snort at the end.
He shifts, and I brace for whatever he's going to say next when the bell over the door rings. Ada strides in, followed by Laz.
"I really don't think this is a good idea," Laz grumbles.
Ada is beaming. "You're wrong, it's a fantastic idea."
"What's a bad-slash-good idea?" I ask, grabbing onto anything to get me out of this conversation with Conall.
"Game night. Laz has agreed to come," Ada declares.
"Been bullied into it is more like," Laz says, hands buried deep in his pockets.
"So that makes ten!" Ada says with obvious delight.
I feel my eyebrows hit my hairline. "Ten?"
Conall shifts. He's pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering in a language I don't understand.
"Yeah," Ada chirps, oblivious to our distress. "Me, you, Conall, and Laz obviously. Then there's Layla and Amy, Killian the centaur, Dolly, Edgar, who lives on the other side of the island, but he's very fun, and Nick."
Conall's head snaps around to stare at her. "Nick? Nick Claw?"
Ada bites her lip and fiddles with the hem of her lacy top, her wings fluttering agitatedly behind her. "He heard about it at the town meeting and asked to join. What was I supposed to say?" Her eyes are wide and beseeching.
"You were supposed to say no, Ada. No, demons may not come to game night where my friends," he gestures toward the basement door, "and my—" He cuts off, eyes finding mine and then flinging away again. "My charge will be." The phrase hits something low in my gut, but I press it down. It's an essentially accurate description. No need to get precious about it.
"He has never done a single illegal or malicious thing on the island," Ada points out.
Conall scoffs. "You don't know that."
She rolls her eyes. "In any case, he's coming. I can take your name off the guest list if you don't like it, but that would leave us with an odd number."
"No, it wouldn't. If I'm not coming, neither is Ivy."
It's my turn to scoff. The audacity of this man-hound thing. "Excuse you, but I will be going to game night no matter what, so if you have an issue with that, you'd better not get yourself uninvited for being such a rude stick in the mud."
Conall crosses his arms, and a muscle pops in his cheek.
I turn back to Ada. "I have wine. Anything else I should bring?"
She grins. "Nope, see you soon." She strides out of the shop with Laz on her heels, shoulders hunched and head bent, looking like he's already been defeated in three rounds of poker.
I turn back to Conall, ready to face our earlier conversation, when the doorbell chimes again. In walks Randy Flannigan, the irritating council member.
Conall
