“I’m here for tea. I have no nefarious intentions.” He sweeps his eyes over me playfully. “Well, maybe a few.”
“So, youarean imp?” I gasp, pressing my hand on his chest to keep him out.
“No.” He looks down at my hand and grins. His eyes twinkle with magic as he looks up, reaffirming that this man is fae.
But what kind?
“What are you then?” I demand.
He makes a tsking noise. “That’s not very polite.”
“Tell me or no tea.”
“Take another guess—I’m enjoying the game.”
“You’re not high fae.”
He grimaces like the thought is abhorrent. “Certainly not.”
“You’re not a shifter.”
“Doing well so far.”
“You’re not a pixie, though if you were, you’d be a spring.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I smile despite myself. “You’re going to have to give me a hint.”
He removes my hand from his chest, keeping it wrapped in his own, and steps inside. He leans close to my ear and whispers, “I’m anelf.”
“You are not,” I gasp, laughing as I step away and reclaim my hand.
“I am—a wood elf. I was found in the Black Forest as a baby and raised by a family of visiting brownies. They brought me to Moss Hollow, and the rest is history.”
“The Black Forest? As inGermany?”
“That’s the one.”
“How do you know you’re not a changeling?”
He gives me a slow grin. “Because I’m not wicked?”
“That might be debatable.”
“I have wood elf magic,” he says, easing any fear I might have.
Changelings are vile imposters, but they can’t mimic another race’s magic.
“Okay…” I say, though I’m still not sure I believe him. “So, who’s watching the bakery right now?”
“The owner, Arista. I’m on my lunch break.” He casually browses the wall of tea, hands clasped behind his back.
“Don’t you think you should eat something?”
He turns, smirking. “Are you asking me on a lunch date?”
“No.”
