“Excellent.” The praise in his voice makes me flush with pride. “Yes, the enchantment is long since expired, greatly reducing the value. You’re learning quickly.”
I open my eyes, immediately regretting it as I realize just how intimately he’s curved around me. His tail has definitelymigrated higher up my calf, and suddenly brushes against the back of my knee. I jump at the contact, letting out a small squeak.
Sundar jerks back as if burned, his hood flaring wide with what I can only describe as mortification as he looks down at my legs. His tail whips away so fast that it knocks over an empty display stand.
“I apologize,” he says quickly, those golden eyes wide. “My tail sometimes… That is to say, it has a tendency to…” He actually stumbles over his words, and his tongue keeps flicking out, which might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen from a cold-blooded creature. “It occasionally acts of its own accord. Particularly when I’m concentrating on other matters. Again, my apologies.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. The fearsome naga isflustered. His usual graceful composure has completely cracked, and watching him try to regain it while his tail curls nervously behind him is weirdly endearing.
“It’s fine,” I say with a little laugh. “I’m sure it’s a lot to stay on top of—fifteen feet of tail, that is.”
He lets out a relieved breath, and his tongue finally settles down. “I appreciate your understanding. Now, let us pretend this slip-up never happened, shall we?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, even though I know this is going to fuel my fantasies for nights to come.
Man. I seriously need to get it together.
The afternoon lull findsme hiding in the back corner of the shop, pretending to catalog old coins while actually having an existential crisis. Every few minutes, my hand drifts to the spot behind my knee where Sundar’s tail had brushed against me, the phantom sensation of smooth scales making my skin tingle.
“Get a hold of yourself,” I mutter to myself as I read the same list item for the fifteenth time, making zero progress.
The thing is, I can’t stop thinking about that moment. The way his tail had curled around my calf, how his chest had almost pressed against my back. How flustered he’d been afterward. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’d been mortified. Probably disgusted that his tail had betrayed him by touching a human.
I mean, look at him. Even now, across the shop, he’s the picture of otherworldly grace. Every movement precise, controlled, those golden eyes focused on the ancient text he’s translating. He’s literally centuries old, a former temple guardian who probably spent years protecting priceless artifacts and communing with gods or whatever it is temple guardians do.
And I’m… well, I’m a mess. A waitress who can barely pay her bills and still gets excited about finding quarters in the couch. The most exotic thing about me is that I can quote every episode of The Good Place.
Sure, maybe his tail has a mind of its own sometimes. But that doesn’t meanhewants anything to do with me. He’s probably touched others by accident plenty of times—I mean, fifteen feet of tail has got to be hard to keep track of, right?
“You’re being ridiculous,” I whisper to myself through the reflection of a particularly shiny coin. “He hired you to work, not to pine after him like some lovesick teenager. Besides, inter-species dating is probably against some ancient naga code or something.”
That’s when the shop’s door bursts open in an explosion of wings and smoke, and my deep thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of what appears to be a were-dragon wearing pearls and a hand-knitted sweater.
“Sundar, darling!” Her voice is pure English charm despite the smoke curling from her nostrils. “I simply had to come see how your new assistant is settling in! And I brought scones.”
I can’t stop staring. She’s at least seven feet tall, covered in iridescent scales that shimmer between green and gold, with elegant horns wrapped in a silk scarf. Despite her impressive bulk and the casual way she breathes smoke, she somehow projects the aura of a society grandmother who’s arrived for afternoon tea.
From his corner, Sundar remains unmoved. “Mrs. Brindlewood. To what do I owe the… pleasure?”
“Oh, don’t you take that tone with me, young man.” She bustles closer, managing to navigate the cramped displays without knocking anything over. When she spots me, her reptilian eyes light up with almost predatory glee. “Ah! You must be Aubrey. Even lovelier than I imagined.”
I feel my cheeks redden. “Oh. Um, thank you?”
“Now dear,” she continues, producing a paper bag that smells absolutely heavenly, “you simply must try these. Dragon-baked scones. The secret is in the flame control. And while you eat, you can tell me how our brooding cobra has been treating you.”
Sundar’s hood flares. “Mrs. Brindlewood, I’m certain you have better things to do than interrogate my employee.”
“Hush.” She puts up a clawed hand. “Can’t I check on the dear girl? Especially after how long you had been watching that door, longing for someone suitable to—”
“Mrs. Brindlewood.”
His hood spreads wider, but Mrs. Brindlewood seems entirely unfazed. She settles herself near the counter, wings tucked neatly as she hands me a scone that’s still warm.
“Did he tell you about his time as a temple guardian?” she asks, eyes twinkling. “Oh, you should have seen him back then—all ceremony and tradition, convinced that humans couldn’t possibly understand the sacred nature of his artifacts. He and I had quite lively debates back then.”
I take a bite of the scone to hide my intense interest in this topic. It’s perfectly crisp outside, melting inside, with an exotic fruit mixed in the center that I can’t quite place. Behind Mrs. Brindlewood, Sundar’s tail lashes once.
“That was a different time,” he says stiffly.
