He spent more time staring slack-jawed at the baby dragon resting on a cushion by the fireplace than he did actually working. I couldn't blame him—I wanted to do the same.
“I don’t know if I’m going to the ball this year,” I said lamely. “With Brambleby, and everything. There’s alot going on. I’m busy.”
Link gaped at me incredulously. “You can’t miss the ball. It’s the Miss and Mister Moonvale Ball! Nobody misses it!”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Linc.”
The truth was that I was tired. Drained.
Every year, the folk of Moonvale gathered, and the unmated competed in three trials for the title of Mister or Miss Moonvale, the last trial coinciding with a massive ball that the entire town attended.
Those lucky two winners would then be granted something everyone in Moonvale treasured—bragging rights. The winners were occasionally gifted a few treats from local businesses, or other small blessings, but the self-satisfaction was the biggest prize.
The ball used to be more extravagant, with more rewards and responsibilities granted to the titled winners, but as the years passed, it became more of a ritual. A habit.
The bragging rights were considered legendary.
The trials were always so mundane. They were often tasks I was terrible at—sewing, swimming, weaving baskets, the like.
But it was history. It was tradition.
And, this year, I wanted no part in it. I wasn’t in the mood for potential disappointment.
I forced my cheeks to bend into a smile. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely! Maybe you’ll win Mister Moonvale this year.”
“You really think so? It’s about time. Unless Tommins needs help running the event—he’ll need me, in that case.”
I nodded. “I sure do. As long as the competition isn’t for wiping tables. You need some work in that regard.”
“What are you talking about? That’s easy. See—” He proceeded to demonstrate, whipping a dry towel from hisapron and absentmindedly swatting crumbs from a table onto the floor before tucking the towel away again. He held his hand out proudly, waiting for praise.
I gulped. I knew this was the time when I should have told him how counterproductive that was. How I would now have to get on my hands and knees and scoop up the crumbs or grab a broom and sweep them out of the front door so mice wouldn't make their way inside. It was my time to be the boss.
But I didn’t want to extinguish the gleam in his eye. “Right,” I said tightly. “I don’t know about that, but maybe.”
“And I bet I could probably knit something, too. I saw Fiella knitting those gifts for Merry Day, and if she can do it, I certainly can too. Must be extremely easy. And fishing! Surely, I’m great at that, too.”
He continued about his tirade, detailing all the skills that he was such a master in that he would surely reign supreme.
I just smiled and nodded. He didn’t require my input, anyway.
I tuned him out. When he glanced at me with raised eyebrows, I hummed and agreed, tossing a simple, “Sure. Yes. That’s great,” when it felt necessary.
Time drifted by as I tended to my customers.
My pub always had a consistent customer base, but I liked it best when it was full. When it was stuffed to the point of bursting and folk had to take their ales on the cobblestones outside.
When I ran out of goblets and glasses and had to frantically wash dirty ones to keep up with the demand.
I thrived in the crowd. I relished it. It was a game of sorts,keeping my customers happy in even the most impossible of circumstances. I loved it.
The normal days were nice, too.
If there was a customer in the building, I was a happy faun.
Today, the sun was shining, offering a reprieve from the biting cold of the fading freeze season. The lunch crowd hadn’t drifted in yet, but there were still a handful of folk to be served.
A few shifters sat at the bar, while a family of humans and vampires sat at a table in the far corner. A mothman enjoyed a table by himself, and a couple of witches dined on an early meal of stew. Familiar faces, all of them.
