Won’t you come in?Am I in a period drama? Get a grip.
Ash glances past me, frowning at my great aunt’s living room like it offends him. “We should get going.”
“Oh…right.”Awkward.“Let me grab my purse real quick.”
He nods, silent, and pulls his phone from his pocket as if checking the time.
Yes, he’s handsome—but he’s also a bit of a snot.
“Are we on a schedule today?” I ask with a smile, nodding to his phone as I join him on the step.
“I’m always on a schedule.”
“Ah.” I don’t know what else to say.
My eyes catch on the small cart-type contraption just beyond my gate, and then on the chestnut horse that’s hitched to it. “You have a…”
“Cabriolet,” he provides when it’s clear I’m not going to come up with it on my own.
“Yeah. That.”
We walk down my overgrown garden path. Ash holds the gate for me when he reaches it. I pause outside the small two-person cart, a bit unnerved by the strange mode of transportation. Ash mistakes my reluctance for hesitation, and he offers his hand.
“Oh.” I reach for him, a bit unnerved. “Thank you.”
He merely nods as if this is commonplace, which isn’t a surprise. All fae are sticklers for manners, decorum, and tradition. Ash probably helps all his female acquaintances into his cart.
With his assistance, I take my seat. Ash’s palm is large, and his fingers are long. His skin is warm and smooth against mine. He has the hands of a man who works in an office, not rough like my father’s, who enjoys manual labor and isn’t afraid of getting dirty.
But they’re nice. Very high fae. Even, dare I say…appealing?
Do not sparkle,I command myself.Don’t.
Unsure what to do with my hands, I clasp them over my purse as Ash pauses to see to the horse and then climbs into the driver’s seat.
Then we’re off, rolling down the gravel road.
“I imagine you’d like to visit your shop,” Ash says. “After that, I’ll take you around for introductions, we’ll stop at the cafe for lunch, and then we’ll go to the nursery.”
“That sounds fine.” I try not to gulp, intimidated by the idea of spending so much time with the fussy councilman.
My parents don’t live in a fae community like Moss Hollow. Nadine was my only pixie friend. All the other nearby fae were shifters—and there werea lotof shifters nearby.
I’m most comfortable around humans, only seeing my pixie kin on rare visits. I’ve spent even less time around the high fae. To be honest, I find them intimidating.
Their magic is wieldable. It’s suitable for crafting spells and creating enchantments. They don’t glow when they’re attracted to someone, don’t cause it to rain when they’re sad, and they most certainly don’t accidentally infect people with emotions like I do.
For pixies, our magic is a part of us. For the high fae, it’s a tool. We’re chaos, and they’re control.
Despite our differences, we generally get along well. Though it would be a lie to say there’s no animosity between the fae races. The high fae tend to look down on mages, and shifters think they’re a step above centaurs, merpeople, and all the other half-human types.
Older pixies tend to be wary of mages, as well, thanks to a sordid event from our past. But there hasn’t been trouble between our races for a great many years, and many are willing to forgive and move on.
Communities like Moss Hollow prove that we can coexist peacefully—especially when we share a common goal, such as alleviating humans of their excess money.
The next five minutes are filled with silence. I’m not sure Ash notices, but I do.
“So…” I say when I can’t take it any longer. “How long have you lived in Moss Hollow?”
