Page 46 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“That depends, did you eat more than cheesecake for dinner?” Saga folded her arms and leaned her elbows on the counter so they were at eye level.

“I did.”

Saga’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you mean you ate a different dessert other than cheesecake for dinner?”

“I do.” Her smile widened to an impish grin. Goddess, it was illegal to be that attractive.

“Sausage and eggs it is then,” said Saga, writing it up and placing it on the order wheel. She wasn’t sure if changelings or fey suffered from sugar crashes, but protein certainly seemed in order. “And is it a tea or coffee morning?”

“Tea, please. I dare say I might have even slept well last night.”

Saga moved to the kettle but still maintained her doubtful gaze. “Pull the other leg, it’s got bells.”

Avery chuckled. “I swear it.”

“Is that a new development?”

“Managing to sleep has become easier over time.” She raked a hand through her silver curls self-consciously. “Easier being the key word of that admission—not to be confused of course with the word ‘easy.’”

“The bar being very low, I take it.”

“I will take my victories where I can find them. Some nights I manage to sleep only a few short hours, and there are of course the nightmares, but it is still sleep. Then on the nights where I cannot sleep at all, I will import my energy source. That—” Avery tapped the counter importantly. “—is where you come in.”

Saga set down the cup and saucer in front of her. “I am happy to provide it.” And? She hesitated. Was now the time? “Actually, I have something else for you too that may help. I was planning to give it to you when I saw you next, but in the excitement of last night, I had completely forgotten.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it, but she could hardly take it back now.

Avery sat up straighter. “Is it tea?”

Tea would have been a better idea. No. This was more personal. It was sentimental.

It was dumb.

Saga shook her head and fiddled with the charm bracelet around her wrist.

Brigid doesn’t think it’s dumb.

Saga layered her palm against the Brigid medallion resting over her breastbone, took a deep breath, and retrieved the scarf. Her fingers ran over the stitches nervously. Were they even and neat enough? “I thought with it getting colder, and…that you sort of look like you stepped out of a black-and-white film…” She placed it in front of Avery on the counter, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

Avery looked down at the golden-yellow fabric before her fingers tentatively touched it, then the blue satin ribbon tied in a bow to restrain it. “You…got me a present?”

Saga tucked wisps of hair behind her ears and swallowed, feeling her pulse quicken. “Well, I made it. But I blessed it as I did, you know, with intention and color magic as I knit the yarn together. Simple things, nothing weird. Prosperity, mental clarity, understanding…that sort of thing.”

Avery looked up at her. “You made me a present?”

Oh Goddess. Was it too much? Was it too weird? “I did.”

The changeling carefully pulled at one end of the bow and removed the scarf from its ribbon confines. “It’s soft,” she commented. She unfolded the garment and examined the length of it before draping it over her neck. She looked to Saga and stood up, her shoulders shimmying proudly. “How do I look?”

Relief ran through Saga’s veins. She reached over the counter to gently tug on the scarf so it fell evenly on either side. It hadn’t meant to be an intimate gesture—she simply knew Avery was particular about that sort of thing—yet as her hands relaxed her grip on the garment, her face burned. True, a counter stood between them, and yet, were she to give the scarf a proper tug and coax the taller woman to lean over it… She swallowed. “It suits you very well.”

“Thank you for this.” Avery ran her fingers over the close-knit stitching, brushing over Saga’s hands as they passed. “It is beautiful.”

Her hold on the scarf felt like the only tether keeping her from floating away. “You really like it?”

“Most ardently.”

It was the sort of response Saga might have expected from a Jane Austen novel, and yet here it was being said to her, about something she made, by one of the most exquisite creatures she’d ever laid eyes on. It took every ounce of Saga’s willpower (and perhaps a quick prayer to Brigid) to release the scarf and step back. She had just got Avery back in her life. She could not drive her out by letting girlish fantasies of kissing princely women over counters get the best of her. She folded her hands behind herself, giving them occupation so she would not be tempted to reach for Avery once more. Yet there was something else her hands were meant to be doing, wasn’t there? Tea. She was meant to make tea. “I’m glad.” She managed to disengage from the counter but could not stop the grin from overtaking her face as she prepared the teapot. “Black tea?”

“Please.”