“I really hate to break this to you…”
He dips his beak back in, ignoring me.
I go back to my breakfast, deciding this has to be the last peanut butter sandwich I eat for a while. I need to ask Ash how grocery shopping works around here. I can’t possibly get everything I need on a bike.
“I’m going to leave Chester here today,” I tell Rowan. “Don’t terrorize him, all right?”
“Why would I terrorize your dog?”
“I don’t know what you do for fun.”
If an owl could roll his eyes, Rowan would be right now.
It’s clear he’s done talking, and that’s fine. I can handle silence. I’mgreatwith silence.
“I have to go grocery shopping,” I say. “What kind of foods do you like?”
“Meat,” he answers reluctantly. “I can’t digest anything else in this form.”
“So, you admit you’re an owl.”
“Has it been twenty minutes yet? Aren’t you supposed to leave?”
“No, but I should get ready.” Finished with my sandwich, I leave the crotchety bird in the kitchen.
I curl my hair, taking my time not because the handsome councilman is picking me up, but because I want to make a good impression on everyone I’m going to meet today. And I don’tpick a tinted lip balm because of Ash, but because it’s nice to feel pretty sometimes.
I’m scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror when the doorbell rings.
“Okay,” I tell myself. “Everyone will like you, and you’re going to make friends.”
Because sometimes I have to talk to myself like I’m five.
Chester, being the strong, silent type, stares at the door instead of barking, looking over when I enter the living room with concerned eyes. It’s easy to guess what he’s thinking: there’s an intruder on the front step.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
Not believing me, he reluctantly leaps onto one of the sofas and watches the door from higher, safer ground. He lets out a solitary woof, just to make sure whoever is out there knows he means business.
A little embarrassed that I’m looking forward to this as much as I am, I answer the door.
Ash stands on the welcome mat, dressed in khaki-colored trousers, a white dress shirt he’s rolled up to his elbows, and a fine brown vest.
And he wears them well.
Verywell.
His long, wheat-blond hair is tied back again. Contained. Professional.
He’s so high fae it hurts.
The councilman pockets his cell. “Good morning, Kathleen.”
Don’t sparkle.
Don’t do it.
“Kit is fine, and good morning.” I take a step back. “Won’t you come in?”
