Page 7

I almost didn’t come. I’ve talked myself out of this shit about fifty times. It’s a puppet, Hattie. A big, expensive puppet. You’re going to walk in there, she’s going to hand you a six-foot doll with yarn hair, and you’re going to have to carry it home through the whole village like a goddamn fool.

But here I am.

I take a deep breath and push the door open.

The bell jingles. The shop is dark except for the moonlight coming through the window and one candle on the counter. Mother Wren’s on her stool, carving like always.

And behind her, there’s a man.

No. Not a man. I honestly don’t know what he is.

He’s huge. His head almost touches the ceiling beams, and his shoulders are so wide he’s blocking half the shelves. He’s wearing a plain shirt and pants that look like they’re fighting for their lives, and he’s standing perfectly still, staring right at me.

And he’s wood.

At first, I think the candlelight’s playing tricks on me, but nope. His skin is a deep, warm brown with grain in it… soft, dark lines running down his neck, over his forearms, across the backs of his hands. Like the inside of a tree.

And his face… Lord! His face is fucking unfair. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, straight nose, and a mouth that looks like it was carved by somebody who thought really, really hard about mouths. His dark hair falls to his shoulders, and his eyes are green. Deep, bright, forest green, and they’re locked on me like I’m the only thing in the room.

My basket slides down to my elbow.

“Mother Wren,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“What you paid me for, sweetheart.” She doesn’t even look up. “Hattie, this is Rowan. Rowan, Hattie.”

“Rowan?” I hear myself whisper. “Like… the tree?”

He finally moves, tilting his head a little like he’s studying me. “Like the tree.”

Oh. Oh, no.

His voice is deep and low, and rough, and it goes straight down my spine and settles right between my legs. Then I smell him. Earth, fresh-cut wood, pine, moss. Something green, sharp, and alive. It fills up the whole shop and my lungs with it, and my body goes… ah.

My pussy clenches, hard, and then I feel it. Slick. Warm and wet, soaking through my underwear… from just his smell.

What the fuck?!

His nostrils flare, and oh my God, can he?… Fuck, he can smell me. His eyes go dark, his hands curl into fists at his sides, and he takes one slow step toward me.

“Okay,” I say, way too loud. “Okay. Hi. Hello. Wow. Okay.”

I set my basket on the counter, walk right up to him, and poke him in the chest. It’s hard like a tree trunk but warm. And under my finger, I swear I feel something beating.

“You’re real,” I breathe.

He nods. “I’m real.”

“You’re made of wood.”

“I was a tree for four hundred years,” he replies, like that explains everything. “What did you expect?”

I look up at him. Way up. And then, because I’m only human, my eyes drift down over his massive chest, his ripped stomach, lower… there’s a bulge in his pants that should be illegal.

“Are you…” I clear my throat. “Are you wood… everywhere?”

“Everywhere,” Mother Wren intervenes from her stool.

I choke on air.