But what I couldn’t stop doing was smiling.
We crossed the street hand in hand, and I tried not to feel like everyone was staring at us. It was early still, the village barely waking up, but Faelan was already outside the post office and her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline when she saw us together.
“Woohoo!” Faelan shouted, drawing more attention to us, and my cheeks flamed. There was no going back now, was there?
“Word’s going to spread fast,” Graham observed, waving.
“It’s a small village. Word was going to spread anyway.”
“Are you okay with that?”
I was used to making sure everyone knew we were just friends. The idea of the whole village knowing we were together should have bothered me.
Instead, I actually felt a surprising relief.
“Aye,” I admitted. “I’m okay with it.”
He squeezed my hand. “They all knew anyway, darling.”
“Och, they did not,” I argued, pulling him up the stairs to my flat and unlocking it.
Of course they did.
My flat was exactly as I’d left it… conspiracy board still covering one wall, papers scattered everywhere, and a mug of cold tea on the counter. Graham’s eyes widened as he took in the chaos.
“Bloody hell, Agnes. I thought you took everything to the archives with you. It looks like a crime scene investigation in here.”
“Aye, I know it.” I locked the door behind us and surveyed my mess. I was oddly proud of the work I’d put in so far. “Okay. Before I explain everything, there’s someone you need to meet.”
“Excuse me?” Graham looked around the room. “Someone?”
“Aye.” I raised my voice. “Quilliam? I’m back. And I’ve brought Graham.”
Silence.
“Quilliam?”
A tiny head poked out from behind a stack of ledgerson the counter. Opal eyes blinked, scales shimmering in the morning light filtering through the windows.
Graham went very still beside me as his hand tightened around mine. Ever so subtly, he shifted forward, putting himself between me and Quilliam.
Always protecting me.
“Is that,” he said slowly, “a wee dragon? Or is this a post-sex endorphin-driven hallucination?”
“You are not hallucinating. He’s a book wyrm, actually. His name is Quilliam. And, um, he’s my familiar.”
“Your familiar.” Graham’s eyes widened slightly as he looked between me and Quilliam.
“It’s an Order of Caledonia thing.” I watched Graham’s face carefully, waiting for him to bolt. “He can speak, but only I can hear him. So I’ll have to translate.”
Quilliam flew from the counter to land on the table in front of us, his tiny wings beating rapidly. He regarded Graham with open curiosity.
“So this is the one you’ve been pining over,”Quilliam said.“I should have guessed that from the way you looked at him in the stacks the other day.”
“I did not pine,” I said, looking askance at Quilliam.
“I suspect it was mutual based on the way he’s looking at you now,”Quilliam said.
