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Chapter 10
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Old habits, she wasforced to admit, died terribly long, agonizingly protracted deaths.
She hadn't meant to assist the kitsune with her veil; had no intention of fixing several of the flower arrangements on the tables in the reception barn. She certainly hadn't meant to corral the bridesmaids or give last-minute instructions to the musicians. All she'd meant to do was ensure that Saddlethorne looked its best, that the reception barn was radiant, and that the caterers that had been hired in weren't having any logistical issues. Somehow she'd managed to do all of the above and then some.
The morning had started with a brief rain shower, just a light sprinkle, an auspicious beginning, she'd assured the bride once she'd arrived on site. The fields hadn't gotten muddy, and there was no permeating smell of wet animal in the air. Just a quick shower to ensure a happy marriage, and Grace had found herself wishing that she had been half as lucky. Caleia had been acting as her assistant since she'd arrived that morning, following behind her with checklists, and scurrying to fetch extra table cloths or farmhands to help move some of the heavier pieces of furniture without scratching the freshly waxed floors. The tables were set, the cake had been delivered, and the catering truck had arrived right on time.
The barn was strung with white twinkle lights, and Mason jars of favors graced each place setting. Long, rough-hewn benches lined the tables, with pale pink floral arrangements of roses and peonies perfuming the air. She was in the personal opinion that all of these farm themed weddings looked exactly the same, right down to the burlap ribbons on the Mason jars, but the bride was ecstatic with the way it all turned out, and Grace didn't mind giving herself a pat on the back for pulling it all off.
Cal had been in an exceptionally good mood since her meeting with the community board, and that day was no exception. His tartan was spotless, his smile genuine, and the ferocious gleam he normally displayed was muted for the event. The division of labor for an event like this often required more hands than the meager staff she had for events possessed, but Brogan and Zeke had pitched in, sending some of their own farmhands and assistants to aid in whatever Grace needed done. In all her years of wedding planning, she had never had an event go as smoothly as the kitsune's nuptials had started out, and she knew better than to assume things would stay that way.
"Did I tell you about that guy that was here the other day?" Caleia remarked casually, as they waited on the circular drive, anticipating the kitsune’s arrival. "The guy with the birds?"
"The guy from the other day with the birds. Try being a little more vague, babe. I have no idea what you're talking about."
The nymph huffed. "He was from some university in South America, said he's an ornithologist. Birds, right? He was telling me all about a program he’s starting the for fall semester at the University where he works, and it sounded really similar to the thing your boyfriend is doing here. I was telling him about Merrick. Anyway, I just thought it was a funny coincidence. This guy being all nervous about hummingbird conservation, and your cutie moth boy is always in a tizzy over bats or bees, or whatever it is he studies.”
She'd turned to face Caleia sharply. It was easy to write off Merrick's program as being strictly about honey bees or butterflies, but she knew how devoted he was to the zooming little hummingbirds in his loft, could only imagine the care in which he'd nursed the little clutch of bats he'd told her about. It wasn't simply one or two animal species he was preoccupied with all the time, it wasallof them, she’d learned. He fretted over ant colonies and grew agitated over the fate of an opossum he'd seen several times in her yard. That he’d been forced to narrow down his focus professionally had, she had no doubt, been the cause of an existential meltdown at the start of his academic career, but he’d probably not had a choice. He was just as interested in hummingbirds as this South American stranger was, but she held her tongue as Caleia continued.
“Anyway, this guy was really excited because his program just got funded, so he's trying to staff it right now. I wonder how many other weird jobs there are out there like that. You think there's someone whose entire job it is to just follow around like, bullfrogs and study their sleep cycle? It's crazy to think about!"
Black throated mangoes, they're native to South America. One of my colleagues there sent these to me.
The world she knew and the life she had rebuilt for herself within it rocked beneath her feet. It was far too much of a coincidence, and she had never believed in coincidences. The summer semester was winding down, and Merrick had mumbled something about wondering if they would be funded to continue into the fall. Her heart had quavered at his words, and she'd not had the courage to push the issue then. Now this man was here, this man who studied the same thing he did, who had just been funded for a similar program.Here for a good time, not a long time.
Her face heated and her throat stuck, a telltale sign of tears, but she pushed them down. She had too much to focus on that day, and after all, she'd always known he would leave. Caleia had already moved on to a new topic of conversation, and Grace refocused on the day ahead of her. The bride would be arriving soon, the final check delivered, Cal's favorite part of the day, and she needed to make sure things went off without a hitch.
The day they had gone clothes shopping, the day he had received a sharp look over from Jackson Hemming, she’d nearly given up the game.
"Remind me again why this is all of a sudden a life or death situation? I had some supplies to drop off at the winery up the road, I just wanted to take you to lunch."
She'd turned, beaming. Much as he'd given the hard sell to Cal, Merrick had somehow managed to convince grouchy old Enoch from the winery up the road to also participate in the University's program. She would say it was a testimony to his sales skills, but the success was likely owed more to his stubbornness. He possessed an obstinate streak, she had discovered, and an unshakable trust in his own knowledge of his profession. She was easily able to understand why he'd been referred to as a know-it-all, because he would argue a point to the death, if it involved one of his bats or butterflies, particularly if he thought he was right, which he usually did.
"I'm very glad that you came to have lunch with me. Otherwise I would've never seen how brown you look in the daytime! What's up with that? Anyway, that guy that was with the kids? He's the one about to be elected mayor."
"I saw your sign," he mumbled. "And it's the dispersion of light particulates. Now I have to worry about what werewolves think?"
"You should be concerned with whatthatwerewolf thinks. And more importantly, don't you want to fit in with your friends and neighbors? What are they gonna say about you at your retirement party when your ruff is all old and gray? 'He was a good scientist, but we wish he would have put some pants on?' Think of your legacy.
“I don’t have any friends or neighbors,” he’d interjected with a grin, showing her a glint of his fangs when she scowled in return.
“Oh, you do too. You said you like the people in your lab! Making friends as an adult is hard, work friends are a good enough start. And if you decide to stay at the university, they’ll be your friends and colleagues for years. What'll wind up on your tombstone if you don’t put pants on all that time? 'Horny for humans, hater of pants. Oh yeah, something about hummingbirds, we think.'" He'd chirped in agreement, and she laughed again. "Besides, what if I want to take you home someday? What if we want to go on a trip to a place that's not as mixed species as this? I don't want some random floozy sticking her fingers in your cock pocket. Best to cover it up."
She blushed the instant the words were out. The notion of bringing him home to meet her family implied a level of permanence she knew their relationship did not have, but rather than point that out to her, he'd given a nervous click at the thought.
"I'll definitely wear pants for that."
A lifetime of flying being his main mode of transportation meant every inch of him was solid and sinewy, and a lifetime of launching himself from the ground into the sky meant his thighs were thick with muscle and he had an impeccable ass. His wings covered most of his lower half when he was on the ground, and she had learned that the fine velvet covering his body kept him clean; the constantly shedding dust eliminating any ickiness he might've picked up. He'd assured her with a snort that hiscock pocket— the words repeated as derisively as he could manage, giving her his most venomous glare — was safe. It practically had a vacuum seal, he'd explained, preventing any contaminants or floozy fingers from getting in if he wasn't already partially aroused. She'd squinted, testing the theory the moment they were inside a changing room at the first shop she pulled him into. Sure enough, the fingertips she normally slipped into him easily met a firm resistance, and she was mollified that he was safe from molestation.
"Yeah well, you still need pants."
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The floral archwaywas late. She was accustomed to the tardiness of vendors, pushing it from mind until the bride and her mother arrived on site, but the absence of the archway of camellias had felt like a dangerous premonition as the white towncar swung onto the drive. Grace could tell immediately that the young woman had been crying.
"Is-is there any way to have more tables added?" she'd asked with a slight hitch in her voice.
