Otherwise, Mrs. Brindlewood will probably sit us down herself.
Chapter 9
Estate of the Heart
Aubrey
Mrs. Brindlewood has barelybeen gone five minutes, and already the silence in the shop feels thick enough to cut. I’m pretending to catalog the baseball cards while sneaking glances at Sundar, who’s doing an equally terrible job of appearing focused on his ledger. His tail keeps doing this restless little coil-and-release motion that’s frankly adorable, though I’d never tell him that.
We both know what needs to happen next. The Talk. Capital T. The one where we address whatever this is between us, preferably without me spontaneously combusting from embarrassment. There’s no avoiding it after Mrs. Brindlewood’s less-than-subtle interference, complete with knowing looks and pointed comments about storms.
I’m gathering my courage to break the silence when the shop’s phone rings. Sundar hesitates, then lets it go to the answering machine. His voice plays through the speaker: “You’ve reached The Golden Scale Pawn Shop. Please leave a detailed message after the tone.”
“Sundar, this is Gloria Blackhorn.” An elderly woman’s voice crackles through the speaker. “I’m calling about my brother Marcus’s estate appraisal. We expected you over an hour ago, and given the circumstances of his passing—”
Sundar’s hood flares wide as he lunges for the phone, all pretense of calm vanishing. “Miss Blackhorn, my sincere apologies—”
I watch his expression shift from controlled panic to genuine distress as he listens, his tail coiling tighter beneath with each passing second. When he hangs up, those golden eyes are filled with such self-recrimination that I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything’s fine. Which is probably inappropriate given we haven’t even discussed Friday’s… ‘events,’ one might call them.
“I can’t believe my carelessness,” he says, running a hand over his face. His hood is still partially flared in agitation. “Marcus Blackhorn was a renowned minotaur scholar, and I promised his family weeks ago that I would personally appraise his collection of artifacts. Today. And I… I forgot.”
The way he says ‘forgot’ like it’s a personal failure makes my heart ache. “You’ve been distracted,” I offer softly, then feel my cheeks redden when his golden eyes snap to mine.
He merely nods. We both know exactly what distracted him. The only thing I’m not sure about is whether he considers it a mistake or not…
He clears his throat, scales shifting as he gathers himself. “Well. It appears I might need your assistance, given that it might be difficult hiring a ride on such short notice…” He pauses. “Though I hesitate to ask, given our current situation.”
“Short notice? Ride?” My brain catches up with his meaning. “Wait, you need someone to drive you there?”
He gives me a defeated sigh. “I never saw the necessity of learning to operate a vehicle. My own methods of transportation have always sufficed.”
I try not to smile at how adorably defensive he sounds. “Your own methods being…?”
“Moving quickly through the shadows, of course.” He straightens his already perfect posture. “Though that becomesproblematic when transporting potentially fragile artifacts, or going long distances.”
Okay. So he needs a ride, and he wants to ask me but doesn’t want to put me on the spot. Or maybe he’s a bit too prideful to ask for help. I must not forget he’s an ancient legendary being, after all.
One who for some bewildering reason is attracted to me.
“I’d be happy to drive you,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I mean, my car’s not fancy, but she’s reliable. Mostly. The check engine light’s been on since 2019, but my mechanic swears that’s just her personality.”
Something softens in Sundar’s expression, and for a moment I think he might say something about Friday, about us, about whatever this tension is between us. Instead, he says, “You don’t have to do this. I can find another solution—”
“Sundar.” I cut him off gently. “I want to help. Besides, what kind of assistant would I be if I let you down on your first crisis since hiring me?”
He smiles slightly, before forcing himself to take on a more serious expression. “Very well. Though I should warn you, the estate is nearly an hour outside the city.”
An hour alone in a car with Sundar. An hour of pretending Friday didn’t happen while being extremely aware of his presence. An hour of—
“That’s fine,” I say, my voice only slightly squeaky. “Just let me grab my phone charger. And maybe some snacks? Travel games? A mix tape?”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he repeats, “It’s only an hour outside the city… But I always wondered what a road trip experience might be like.”
“I’m on it!” I say, grabbing my purse. “Let’s hit the corner store for road snacks, then we’re off to the races!”
Maybe I’m being a little too enthusiastic, but I think both of us are looking for any excuse to prolongThe Talk.
“One condition,” he says, moving to lock up the shop’s display cases. “No country music.”
