Page 19 of My Faire Lady

The woman pays at the register, chatting with Lottie as if they’ve been friends for years. Minutes pass by, but there’s no rush on Lottie’s part. It’s as if she knows exactly when to smile, when to laugh, when to listen.

It’s impressive, her performance. This production.

But maybe it’s not that. Maybe this is who she really is. Sweet, genuine.

Once their conversation is over, Lottie guides the customer out into the late afternoon sunshine. Only once the door clicks shut and the bell’s chime silences, does she face me.

She steps into the center of the shoppe and makes a show of bending forward into bow. As she straightens, she pushes her hair out of her face. “And that, Scarlet, is why you should never underestimate me.”

I scoff. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Scarlet.” Boden tears through my mental shields, his voice pinched. “We have an emergency.”

My stomach plummets, muscles winding into a knot around my bones. I give Lottie a nod. “I’ll be back later to walk you to your car.”

Her brows pull together, and she opens her mouth, but clamps it shut and nods, busying herself with the display shelves.

“Now, Scarlet.”

“What’s wrong?” I say, inching toward the front of the store.

“One of the sprites is sick. He—he won’t wake up.”

My throat constricts, and I shove myself through the door, my armor echoing across the quad. I swing down the path toward the enchanted forest, my lungs struggling to pull in a full breath.

It doesn’t matter how many times I tried to convince myself otherwise—it’s true.

We’re losing the magic.

8

Scarlet didn’t walk me to my car.

Not that she had to. But I waited, sitting on the brick steps of the shoppe as the sun set and the faire came to a close. It was Glen, in the end, who came to collect me, saying Scarlet got tied up with something important.

Rolling into my driveway, I put the car in park and press my forehead against the steering wheel. I must have said something—done something—to make her uncomfortable. But what?

For fuck’s sake, I called her a good girl while holding a beer to her lips.

Groaning, I lean back in the driver’s seat. On the other side of the windshield, the living room curtains rustle, and Kelsey appears, giving me an enthusiastic wave before shielding her eyes against the setting sun. I shoulder my bag across my chest and force myself out of the car.

My legs are heavy—layers of dried dirt and grime coat the hem of my skirt. And Scarlet’s face as she bolted out of the shoppe churns through my thoughts.

But despite it all, there’s a lightness to my step. For the first time, I sold something I made. Someone loved it enough to buy it. A smile pulls at my lips, and Kelsey swings the door open, buzzing like a loyal pet that sat at the window waiting for me to come home.

“How was it?” she says.

“I told the lady knight that she was a good girl.”

Kelsey’s face pinches, and she holds opens the door. “You did what?”

Sliding around her, I wave her off and loosen the bow of my corset. My ribs expand, pulling in the first full breath they’ve had all day, and I slump onto the sagging couch. “Frankie—the barmaid with a tail—taught me how to do something called the dirty wench. I had to practice on the lady knight, and I not only told her she was a good girl, but I also told her to show me what her pretty mouth could do.”

Kelsey cants her head. “I understood none of that. What’s that about a tail?”

A weak chuckle vibrates between my lips, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. I unravel a rogue twig from the hem of my skirt and toss it toward the shoe rack. “I sold the corset.”

Her eyes burst wide. “I told you! How much did you sell it for? Two hundred?”