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“I won’t,” she agreed, thinking she’d not even need to exaggerate. She increasingly couldn’t see herself staying in the city much longer, couldn’t stand living so far from both the farm and Rourke. She was eager to call Cambric Creek home, and if she got this job, it would have to become a reality.
* * *
In the end, it had been Lurielle’s friend Dynah’s lead. Dynah was a petite, purple-skinned elf with a billow of auburn hair, a nervous, high-pitched laugh, and the ability to talk for ten minutes at a time without taking a breath. She lived next door to a witch who worked in the local hospital; the witch was friends with a home health aid who happened to have the inside track on the Slade Foundation’s upcoming initiatives for the new year, including their hiring needs.
The job would be perfect.
It was largely a research position, digging into archives to recreate the textiles and paint colors of some of the grandest buildings in town; full-time, and right there in Cambric Creek. The office she’d be working out of was in a former caretaker’s cottage that was grander than any house she’d ever lived in, within walking distance to the Black Sheep Beanery and the other shops and restaurants on Main Street. The pay was commensurate with what she made at the farm, and the flexibility of the tiny office meant she’d still be able to keep several shifts a week there.
Violet was half certain it was an elaborate joke, for dreamy-sounding jobs in cozy little carriage houses with ivy-clad walls in quaint little towns only existed in those predictable romance movies that she would binge watch from her sofa.You’re going to hate your co-worker, but then you’ll be paired together to create a wallpaper-making contest for the whole town that everyone will be really excited over, and then you’ll inevitably fall in love.The only problem with that network-ready scenario was the minotaur waiting for her to call him, whose bossiness she loved and whose cock she’d determined she simply couldn’t live without.Sorry, wallpaper boy. It’s not gonna work out. I already have a gentleman at home.
* * *
“Do you want me to quit?” she asked him later that night, once she was nestled against him in bed.
“Wait, what?” he demanded, his wide brow furrowing. “Why? No, of course not. What kind of grade A shit would I have to be to insist that you quit the job where I met you? Doyouwant to quit? That’s your choice, sweetheart, you know I’ll support whatever you want to do. It’s not terrible working conditions, is it?”
“No,” she’d quickly assured him. “No, of course not. I really like it there, everyone is really nice. I love the other techs. And you know, the guys who are too into it are actually pretty far and few between when you tally up the days. I don’t actually want to leave . . . I just want to make sure you’re still okay with it.”
His brow had furrowed again, and Violet found herself explaining the difference between clients like him, the Clockwatchers, and the Earners, and the Good Little Cows.
“Thewhat?!” His laughter was an earthquake, quickly turning to disgust and then laughter again, dislodging her from his side to get up on hands and knees and demand that she “milk him like one of her French cows.”
She would keep the two shifts a week at the farm if she did get this job, she’d decided. The extra income could be earmarked exclusively for paying down her highest interest credit card, leaving more of her salary to go towards her loans . . . and besides, she hated the idea of any other technician handling her bull.
“It’s going to be fine, Violet.” Tucked against his chest was the safest place in the world to be, enveloped in his heat with the thud of his heartbeat under her ear. His deep voice rolled over her like a wave, divining her anxiety without her needing to say a word. There was a unit in Geillis’s building, soon available, a small miracle if she actually got this job, and unlikely to stay vacant for long if she waffled. She needed to decide what to do very soon, and the weight of everything—the interview and the bubble of hope within her, the apartment, the thought of having to pack and move, the conversation she’d need to have with her mother—it was all too much. “It will all work out.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” she whispered, unable to keep the wolves of her thoughts at bay. “I’m not good at making big decisions.” The weight of his hand at her back kept her grounded, a stroking pressure at her skin, pushing the wolves away.
“Well, good news, sweetheart. I am. It’s going to be fine . . . get some sleep. You’ve got a big week.”
* * *
The smell of coffee seemed to seep into her bones.
Violet took a deep breath, trying to center herself and banish her nerves.There’s nothing to worry about, this will be great. Like he said, everything’s going to work out.She’d arrived too early, as usual, anxious at the thought of hitting traffic and being late; preferring to be safe rather than sorry. It was a baseless fear, for she’d been making this drive five days a week for months now and traffic was usually minimal at this hour. All her extra caution had done was give her ample time to twist herself into knots, trying to remember why exactly why she would be a good fit for the Slade Foundation, trying to remember her qualifications, her degree study, her name.
She’d started the day putting into effect an old trick from her university days: pack as much trauma into a single twenty-four-hour period and save the rest of the week for the outcome. She was nervous over the call home she needed to make, nervous over her interview that afternoon . . . best combine the two and get it over with.
“Oh, I’m so glad you called, pumpkin! Did you get a chance to call Mrs. Murphy at the museum? I think this is going to be such a good opportunity for you, and just think! You’ll be able to move home!”
Violet grit her teeth, sucking in a slow breath. Her mother had called the previous week, leaving her a long message about her friend at the art museum in the neighboring suburb of the human town where she’d grown up. Mrs. Murphy was looking to fill three docent positions, and her mother had practically already signed Violet up for one of them, regardless of whether it had anything to do with her very expensive master’s degree.
“I know this is probably a bit under your level, darling, but you have to think about getting a foot in the door somewhere!” The museum in question focused largely on modern and contemporary art, as far away from her discipline as one could get and still be in the same building.
“I didn’t, mom, I’m sorry. That’s not something I’m interested in, to be honest. Those jobs are usually part-time, so that’s not really going to help with my bills . . . anyway, I’m calling with good news! I have an interview this afternoon for my exact specialty, and it’s not in the city.”
Her mother paused, and Violet could practically hear her mentally warring with the desire to be supportive and her feelings of being slighted. “Oh, well . . . I suppose that is good news, dear. Not in the city? Does that mean you might be moving closer to home?”
Here goes nothing. Deep breath.“No, unfortunately. It’s in a suburb of Bridgeton, it’s the same town I’ve been working in, so I could technically keep my apartment, but I don’t think I’m going to. It’s so nice, I really love it here.” She listened to her mother make a series of small noises as she steeled her nerves. “And it’s where my boyfriend lives, so I’m probably not going to be staying in the city much longer.”
Over the course of her slow courtship, she had joined several online groups for interspecies couples, and the women there waxed poetic about their relationships, with only the occasional complaint about culture clashes or in-law awkwardness. Lurielle had been far more honest, and she’d appreciated the elf’s bluntness more than she’d been able to express.
“It’s mostly good . . . but sometimes it fucking sucks,” she’d said with a shrug, topping off the wine glass before her. Lurielle’s boyfriend was one of the swooniest orcs Violet had ever seen, a towering, sticky-voiced southern gentleman who had an anecdote for every situation, who’d nearly turned yellow when she told the group about her burgeoning student loans, earnestly offering to look over her repayment agreements free of charge to find a hidden loophole that would decrease her amounts owed.
“And if you ever need anything, darlin’, I’m over in the Templeton, right across the river.” The Templeton was one of the poshest high rises in the city, and if her imposter syndrome hadn’t already had her feeling like a pauper at the table full of professionals, between Rourke and the couple next door, the notion of just swinging across the river with her gas station coffee certainly would have.
“Like, super sucks. And it’s always just the little things, you know? Little things, cultural things that come up that you don’t think will be a big deal but then they are, because neither of you wants to compromise, because it doesn’tseemlike it should be a big deal.” Violet had nodded, at rapt attention as the elf sipped from her glass before continuing. “People will say things, usually nothing overt, but little comments that are just enough to sting. It’s weird, living here you become so insulated from all that . . . like, there’s a reason the housing market here is so hot, and people don’teverleave. That’s why I bought this house knowing I’d be stuck living with a stepladder in every room.”
