“That’s me,” she replied.
He cast about, saw the pile ofThirst for Vengeance, and seized one, holding it before him in a death grip.
Shuffling closer, he said in a low voice, “I’ve read all your books. Uh, exceptthisone, of course.”
“Would you like me to sign it?”
His eyes widened. “You woulddothat?”
She held a hand out to him. “What’s your name, then?”
“Uh, Luca, Miss—um, uh,LadyGreatstrider.”
“Call me Zelia.” She took the book, flipped it open, dipped the quill, and signed with a flourish before scrawling a message below her name.
When she handed it back, he read the note while color rose in his cheeks.
Crinkles appeared at the edges of Zelia’s eyes. “You have a question, Luca?”
His voice was barely above a whisper as he asked, “Can… can I tell you one of my favorite bits?”
“Luca, I think you need a scone. Have a seat and let’s chat.”
And that was the beginning.
Viv and Berk observed from the back hall, leaning against opposing walls, each with a similar expression on their face. A fond and watchful interest.
As Viv studied the customers entering the store, circulating in little eddies throughout the shop, she felt a warmth in her chest that didn’t come from the woodstove. Fern’s starstruck paralysis evaporated quickly in the slowly building swell of custom. There simply wasn’t room for it to survive. Potroast wove between people’s legs, alert for any dropped bits of scone. Very few actually made it to the floor.
She was surprised to see Highlark make an appearance, and then highly amused at the youthful awkwardness of his stammered introductions to the great lady.
Zelia’s clear laugh and husky voice were a uniting thread as she chatted and signed and shook the hands of those who stopped by to see her.
Viv glanced at Berk. “She’s never done this before?”
He shook his head, watching with clear affection. “Never. Still amazed she’s here, to be honest.” Viv was surer and surer that he was more than a bodyguard or valet. Something about the look in his eyes—sad, but warm. “Must have been the right time.”
Fern wasn’t there to keep her from asking, but she tried to put it delicately. “So, it’s just you two up there in the hills? Together?”
Berk’s brows rose. “Oh, there’s a groundskeeper, and a few folks come and go. Really just us, though.”
“Huh.” She let that sit for a minute. “So, you’re… ?”
“Oh, I make myself useful,” he replied. “Mostly.”
“Sure.” She couldn’t help thinking about the lifespans of humans and elves and about the silver in his hair.
The corner of his mouth rose in half a smile, as though he’d heard her thoughts. “Sometimes, it’ll never be the right time.”
Viv thought about Maylee and what she’d said about seeing people through a tiny window as they passed, and how nothing seemed to happen exactly when it should.
Then she saw Fern’s face, bright and laughing as she passed a book into hands that probably needed it.
“And sometimes, we aren’t the right people yet,” murmured Berk.
While she and he had different individuals in mind, Viv thought they might be thinking exactly the same thing.
Fern fell into her chair with an explosive, exhausted breath. Potroast leapt into her lap, still wriggling with reflected energy from the day, and spun around in an effort to find a comfortable angle.
