Maeve placed her hands on his face and forced his gaze at her.
“You deserve it all,” she whispered with a desperate expression. “Anything you desire. You’ll never go without again.”
Mal looked down at her. A single brow ticked up. “Anything?”
Maeve pressed her hands into his chest. “I’m serious, Mal. I want you to be comfortable and taken care of I-”
His hands wrapped around her own as he hushed her gently. “I know.” He brought his lips to her temple, inhaling deeply.
Despite being offered a top spot amongst the Bellator, Mal took an unadvertised and unopen job at The Daydreamer, the only antique Magical store in London. It took little work on Maeve’s part to correct the fact that The Daydreamer wasn’t hiring.
His choosing to work for Mr. Bogstrum had been an unexpected move to most, except Maeve. She knew he was there to collect treasure. The Dread Armor was essential in taking back the Dread Lands.
Maeve’s mother sent her to the Magical Shops in London to ensure that Sabrina’s Sweets Shop had all the correct instructions for the cakes she ordered for the Autumn Gala. As if her mother wasn’t difficult enough, having her host the two largest parties of the year back to back and plan Ariana’s wedding did not help.
Maeve decided to do some window shopping while she was there, a perfect excuse to escape Ophelia. With an armful of bags, she slipped into The Daydreamer, where Mal was currently working.
The shop shelves and displays were filled with expensive, rare, one of a kind, and off-market items.
“Miss Sinclair,” said Mr. Bogstrum, the grey bearded owner, as Maeve walked through the door. “What brings you here?”
He spoke with a slight annoyance in his voice. The last time Maeve had seen Mr. Bogstrum prior to Mal’s employment, her father was practically throwing him out of their house.
“Finally come to sell you some precious family heirlooms, Mr. Bogstrum,” said Maeve sweetly.
He almost dropped the overfilled box he was holding.
“Gods, are you serious?” Asked Mr. Bogstrum, his voice quivering.
“No,” said Maeve, smiling.
His face fell flat, and he mumbled something foul under his breath.
“Maeve.”
Mal appeared from the other room wearing grey tailored pants and a offset grey button down. His sleeve were rolled back. A fact which Maeve greatly enjoyed. She tore her eyes away from his arms.
“Hi,” said Maeve.
“You know this one?” Asked Bogstrum, gesturing at Maeve.
“Yes, sir,” replied Mal.
Bogstrum scowled and shuffled into the next room.
“Why doesn’t he like you?” Asked Mal as he crossed behind the counter.
“Daddy won’t sell him anything,” said Maeve.
Mal nodded. “He would make a fortune off that basement.”
“Indeed,” agreed Maeve. “Anyway, I stopped by to say dinner tomorrow is at six o’clock, and there’s unexpected company.”
“Who?” Asked Mal.
“Grandmother Agatha and Grandmother Primrose,” grimaced Maeve.
“Come now, Maeve,” said Mal playfully, leaning on the counter towards her. “You fought off a giant Grindylow. Surely two old ladies don’t scare you.”
