I cluck my tongue conspiratorially. "Ah, but these are cookies from Arabella's Sweetie Pies. You can eat a whole trayful of these and not gain an ounce, I promise. They're from her mother's spell book."
Her mouth makes a little o as she takes a cookie and gives it a bite. Her eyes flutter back and I stifle a laugh. Arabella's treats always have that effect on everyone.
"I'll be right back," I promise, setting the saucer within her reach. I back out of my little dress shop with a wave, open the door, and I'm outside.
I turn around and smooth out my skirts, taking stock of the busy street. I should have taken my apron off before I left, but oh well. Everyone knows who I am and what I do anyway.
My little dress shop, Lissy's Bridal Boutique, sits on the busiest street in Starling Vale, sandwiched in between Arabella's Sweetie Pies and June's Tavern. It means that there is plenty of foot traffic to keep us busy every single day, but it also means that there is never a dull moment. Fairies flit to and fro in the sky while wagons and carriages jostle along the cobblestone street. Humans, elves, fairies, ogres, giants, and more crowd the road, nearly bringing all traffic to a standstill.
Shit. This will take longer than five minutes.
My destination, Noemi's spell shop, is only two blocks down, but I have to join the fray in order to make my way there.
"Well, Lissy," I mutter, quickly pinning up my braid in a quick bun, "better get to it."
So, I hike up my skirts with a huff and go out into the crowd, fighting my way there while trying to make it look like I'm cordial and not hurrying. No one likes a dressmaker who is a grump – especially when their main business is wedding dresses – so my reputation is on the line.
"Excuse me… Excuse me… Pardon me… Whoops, sorry!" That last one is me bumping into a fruit cart and nearly knocking over the display of apples. I manage to catch the lone stray apple that does get some airtime. "Sorry about that, Mr. Dapplebeam!" I cry as I replace it on its perch.
"Don't worry about it, Lissy," Mr. Dapplebeam replies with a chuckle. He's a willowy druid with green-grey skin that almost looks like bark, and he dwarfs my short stature. "In a rush today?"
"Wedding dress emergency!" I exclaim with a passing wave as I dive back into the fray.
"Aren't they all emergencies, Lissy?" I hear Mr. Dapplebeam joke at my back as I continue my way down the street.
It takes several minutes, an elbow to my gut, a splash of mud from a wagon wheel, and a flurry of "good days" to those I know in between my "excuse mes," which aren't as cordial as I'd like. It's not that I don't want to say hi to them – it's just that I'm feeling too guilty for not having gotten this potion sooner so I could ease Kentaria's worry.
Starling Vale is exceptionally crowded today, and I'm not sure why. Is there some sort of festival that I forgot about? Or maybe someone of importance is visiting?
I should really know these things, especially since I would have been hired for dresswear for important engagements. I swear, my absent-mindedness is going to get the best of me.
Finally, finally, I make it to Noemi's shop, and I find the handle and push myself in.
"Noemi, I need a spell – oh my gods!"
The toe of my boot catches on the threshold of the doorway, and I trip, taking three too-big steps with my arms cartwheeling while I try to find something – anything – solid to hold onto.
My hands grab some fabric, 120-thread-count heavy linen by the feel of it, and I hold on to pull myself up. Except that heavy linen fabric is a part of a tunic that belongs to…
I look up and find myself staring up into mahogany brown eyes that I don't recognize. The brown eyes are framed by thick, dark eyebrows, moss-green skin, chiseled cheekbones, and two tusks protruding from a mouth that is frowning down at me.
I've stumbled into an orc. A big one, and if I weren't stunned by my near-fall, I would be terrified to be in his presence. Orcs pass through Starling Vale every so often, but they don't live here and I don't see them that often.
As such, I don't recognize the orc that I've stumbled into.
Instead, I just stare up at him, dumbfounded.
"May I help you?" The low rumble of his voice straddles the line between menacing and soothing, and in my dazed state, I can't decide which one it is.
"No," I say. "Thank you for catching me."
"Can you kindly take your hand off me?"
The annoyance in his voice knocks me out of my shock, and I stand bolt upright and finally let go of the death grip that I have on his shirt. "Sorry! I'm so sorry."
Standing, I see that he's nearly two heads taller than me, with at least seventy pounds of muscle on his huge frame. Probably a warrior of some sort, although I don't really know. War and battle have always seemed so far from my world of dresses that I never paid much attention to them, and orcs are rarely in Starling Vale, let alone my shop. My grammy says I should care more for world politics, except I hate dealing with the politics of it all.
Really, truly, all I want to do is make beautiful dresses and that is it. So, unless a warrior wants a dress, my path never crosses theirs.
