He takes two lazy steps forward, putting us quite close. “I usually deliver a muffin basket and call it a day.”
“Oh.” I bring my hand to the back of my neck. “So, I’m getting special attention because you’re feeling guilty about giving me fruit?”
Ash studies me. “I don’t really care about that.”
The golden flecks in his espresso-brown eyes are distracting. I find myself getting lost in them, thinking things I shouldn’t. “Then…why are you being so nice to me?”
He looks reluctant to answer, but he finally says, “Even though I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours, I’ve already discovered something.”
“And what’s that?”
“I don’t like it when you bring the rain.”
My good mood is doused. I might as well have been knocked over by a rogue ocean wave.
Ash noticed? How humiliating.
“Oh.” I avert my eyes, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry about that. I was a bit homesick last night.” I try to work up a cheery smile. “So, that’s what this is? You’re keeping me company so I don’t chase away the tourists on this long holiday weekend?”
The councilman turns toward the door with an air of practiced nonchalance. “I’m afraid you misunderstood. What I mean is, I prefer it when you shimmer.” Then he casually tacks on, “And I find it quite intriguing when you shimmer forme.”
Chapter 5
Keep Your Dragon on a Short Leash
Iblink at Ash, certain I misunderstood him. Even if he weren’t high fae, he’s a councilmananda lawyer. High fae don’t date pixies. And councilmen don’t date twenty-six-year-old disasters. He’s far out of my league.
Therefore, he can’t be flirting—but my poor brain doesn’t know how else to decipher what he said.
“We have a lot of people to meet,” he says as if he didn’t just strike me mute, opening the door. “Shall we get going?”
“Uh-huh.” I follow him into the sunshine.
“Don’t forget to lock up,” he reminds me.
“Right.”
I’m going to ignore what he said—pretend it didn’t even happen. That’s the only way to move forward.
And it’s easy enough to put behind me when a man stops his horse in the street to talk to us.
“Good morning, Emerson,” Ash says to the law official. “I was just about to take Kathleen around for introductions.”
The deputy dismounts and ties his gelding to a small metal structure. I thought it was an ornamental fence when I first surveyed the street, but it appears to be a hitching post.
Arealone.
“Kathleen?” the policeman asks. “You must be Laverna’s niece. She talked about you.”
“She did?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise. “I mean, yes, I am. But everyone calls me Kit.”
Everyone except Ash, who seems determined to use my full name.
“Welcome to Moss Hollow, Kit,” he says warmly. “It’s a great town.”
In his forties, with gray at his temples, he’s handsome in a silver fox sort of way. But he’s not a fox—he’s a wolf shifter. I’d bet my tea shop on it.
“What was your name again?” I ask.
