Page 52 of Why Broken Wings Fray

So I tried for something else, instead. “When I was a little girl, my mum went on a trip to France–” I ignored how confused Killian looked at that word, “–so my dad brought me here. He called it our little secret and we got to spend a week in this town.”

Killian glanced around and I couldn’t tell if he thought a week was too much time in Marazion or too little.

“And… And I remember, so clearly, this one day. All of these years later and I still consider it one of the best days of my life.”

If Killian had been a ruder male, he might have asked me what my point was. But he didn’t, he just continued to stare at me with those big, round, animated circles of joy.

“Come on,” I whispered conspiratorially. My hand was wrapped in his, my grip unfaltering, and then we were sprinting down alleys and roadways, ankles rolling over jagged stones and feet pounding against cobblestone. The two of us laughed – laughed like Saoghal wasn’t one more bad decision away from destruction, like I hadn’t spent the last year so deep in the darkness. Killian matched my pace as we ran our way to happiness, in a place where I never thought I could feel such a thing.

~

“It’s still here,” I cried in relief as we slammed to a stop outside of a somewhat run-down bakery on the outskirts of Marazion.

Killian’s nostrils flared, his eyes going glassy as he drew in scent after scent. “It smells so sweet.”

“Tastes even sweeter,” I said, my grin wide and unstoppable as I took his hand in mine once more and hauled the two of us through the door.

Killian flinched as the bell atop the entrance sang out, but managed to keep his cool long enough to glance around.

The smell of butter, warm and inviting, nearly sent me to my knees. I waded my way through that tremendous aroma, sighing when it shifted to something sweeter and more promising, indicating icing in my near future. Killian lingered behind me, his eyes soaring from the pastries on one side to the sweets on the other. The whole time, his nostrils remained flared and his pupils shot wide.

An older gentleman, at least twice my age and grey in the hair, popped out of a back room and took his place behind the counter.

“You two look like you’re out to lure pixies into your midst.”

Killian and I both shot one another a nervous glance before I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the shop-owner. “What do you mean?”

“There’s folk around these parts that drive out to the country, wearing the oddest of clothes, saying that all one has to do is lay a few items down in the grass. Then the pixies, they claim, will bless ya’.”

Killian snorted behind me and I coughed to cover up the noise. “They offer the pixies their clothes? You would think that fair folk might want other things.”

“Oh ya’?” His aged face was kind and inviting as he leant over the counter, lured into a conversation about the creatures that kept my heart beating. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Porridge?”

“Porridge!” the shop-owned exclaimed before placing his hands to his stomach and laughing. “Absurd.”

Killian was chuckling behind me, still too fascinated by the food all around him to truly contribute. But he did call out, “Some of them are partial to maple-syrup.”

I tried to fight the desire to laugh along, because I knew that was his favourite–

And then it hit me. It wasn’t the porridge that lured Shea, Niamh, and Killian to me that day. It was the flavour packet, the powdered maple-syrup.

I had drawn Killian directly to me, and had never known it.

I glanced over my shoulder just to truly appreciate him, his towering mass in a shop too small for him and his impressive width in a space that tried to reduce him.

“Maple-syrup, hey?” the shop-owner hummed. “I ain’t ever tried maple-syrup.”

“You try? To draw them out, I mean?”

“Why of course. Could do with a blessing, myself. And I swore I did, once. I have strange dreams of the fair folk, some nights. Of their songs and their dances, of their spells and their magics.”

I narrowed my eyes, though the rest of me suggested joy at this simple exchange with someone who had no idea how on-the-head they were.

“Perhaps you did visit them, and they used their magic to wipe your memory?” I offered. Killian let out another laugh behind me.

“Perhaps. That’s what my wife thinks, too.”