Page 28 of My Faire Lady

Groans echo behind me, and while most of the people in line wander off to other booths, a handful remain.

The woman at the front crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve been in line for nearly an hour.”

Smeared, fake blood dribbles down the corners of her mouth, where fangs emerge from her gum line. But there are…fox ears sprouting from her head.

The vampires would be horrified.

“That’s not my problem,” I say.

But the woman doesn’t budge, and behind her, someone grimaces. And while it would take nothing to force the woman to leave—I’ve done it before—Lottie wouldn’t appreciate it. She’s worked hard for the line out her door.

One at a time, my fingers uncurl from my arms, and I let out a long sigh. “I can write your name down, and when you show up, she’ll make you the first priority.”

The woman perks up, and I dip into the shoppe, grabbing a pad of paper and pen. Lottie raises a brow, hands busy at the register, but I shrug and step outside before anyone tries to sneak into the building.

I click the end of the pen. “Name?”

“Alice.”

I scribble down the names until there’s a list of twenty who will come back first thing in the morning. The numbers run through my head, and my mental math is spotty, but with the crowd she pulled in today, she must have sold thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise. Hope bubbles in my chest. At this rate, we might be able to avoid foreclosure.

By the time the final customer leaves, the sun has disappeared below the horizon—the sky a bruised purple as stars blink to life.

Lottie lets out a long sigh and slumps over the counter, throwing her wild curls over the top of her head. They tangle in the register keys, snag on the raw edge of the wood. I clasp my hands behind my back, fighting the urge to comb them back.

She turns her head, eyes finding mine between tendrils of dark brown hair. Light flickers in the rafters overhead, the bulb cloudy from age and disuse. As her gaze lingers on me, my pulse lifts into my throat. Everything about her draws me closer, but my feet remain rooted to the spot.

“You wanted to talk?” I breathe.

“Right.” She straightens and rounds the counter, lifting herself to a seat on its surface. “Besides bringing my sister to help, I’ll need some help fixing up the shoppe.”

My stomach twists. I was under the assumption this was going to be a weighted talk, anticipating it, even, but I shift back on my heels. “What needs to be fixed?”

She eases a piece of paper from beneath the register. “Well, pretty much all of the shelves and rails are loose, so those need to be tightened before they fall onto and kill a customer.” Her gaze lifts to the rafters. “And I’m pretty sure I saw a rat scurry across the beams earlier, so we should take care of that before they burrow into the clothes. We need flowers to fill the window boxes, which I’ll take care of. The exterior could use a new coat of paint. And”—she taps a finger on the list—“I need more sewing supplies. There are some bolts of fabric, but the thread is running low, and I’ll need new needles if I’m going to keep up with demand.”

I tilt my face to the ceiling, running the numbers in my head. But whatever Lottie is doing, it’s working. And when I build up the courage to ask her to spend more time here, agreeing to her requests might convince her to agree.

“Of course,” I say. “We’ll get that all taken care of.”

I close the distance between us and wrap my hand around the list.

She doesn’t let go.

Sliding off the edge of the counter, her feet hit the floor inches away from mine. “There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

I scoff. “What are you talking about?”

She lets go of the paper and studies me. “There’s no point in trying to hide it. I can read it all over your face.”

I fold up the list and tuck it into my pocket, chewing on my words and debating how to ask her to stay without giving the real reason. I open my mouth, but a parallel line forms between her brows.

“I wish you wouldn’t hide your scar,” she says, lifting a hand. “It’s beautiful.”

She tucks my hair behind my ear, and the backs of her fingers brush my temple. My stomach loops around on itself, and in the dim glow, her eyes glimmer.

I take a step back.

Her mouth clamps shut, and she drops her hand to her side, the light in her eyes extinguishing.