“Thank you. Do you want more?” I ask, shaking the pot a little.
“Please,” he answers automatically. “So, when is that farmers market again?”
I look over at him, surprised. “Tonight, actually. It starts an hour before sundown so everyone can attend.”
“Were you planning on going?” he says the words carefully.
“Um, I was…” My voice falters.
“Then you will need someone to assist while your ankle is still healing. I will go with you,” he declares as if it’s a given.
I stiffen. I don’t want to spend even more time with him than I have to. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, you will need someone to carry your bags. You cannot risk aggravating your ankle,” he persists.
“I can carry my bags. They’re enchanted to be weightless. I’ll be fine, I just won’t buy very much,” I object, my voice sounding insubstantial compared to his.
“Buy as much as you want. They will weigh nothing to me regardless of an enchantment, but they will still be bulky. I willdrive us in the Wagoneer because you should not walk very far. We will go when it starts,” he decides presumptuously.
I draw back. My chest pounds wildly in panic. Is he serious? He’s proposing to go somewhere together in public? Where people might see us and assume we’re together again? That would draw way too much attention. It would be a disaster for me.
“I don’t think so,” I manage, my voice thick with unbidden emotion.
“You cannot walk there. And you should not drive. The movement of your foot on the pedals would not be good for your ankle. I do not see another way unless you want to skip this week,” he says pragmatically as he dries our plates, still watching me all the while. I do, in fact, need to go tonight. This is so unfair.
I can’t trust my voice, so I just nod.
Chapter 11
Ada
My day is spent resting like Thea instructed, sticking mostly to my bedroom to avoid Norrell. It figures, the moment I put my plan in place, he decides to accompany me out somewhere. Under the guise ofhelping, of course. Moon and stars, I should know better than putting myself in such a stupid position. Plans should not be made while under the influence of a great deal of pain.
I plop down on the stool at my vanity, an assortment of pots and spray bottles of potions in front of me I’ve brought home from my shop. I eye myself critically in the mirror. My hands squeeze and stretch at my cheeks. I’m beginning to look as dull as I feel. Weeks without magick are taking their toll.
Twisting the cap open and scooping out a dollop with my finger, I smooth a rejuvenating serum across the skin of my face and down my neck. It gives the skin a healthy, youthful glow. Its effects compound over time to look even better. The magick works immediately. I look refreshed, but I still feel low on the inside. Next, I spray a shine and volumizing potion into my long, straight hair. My natural dark red color looks flat and my white forelock, courtesy of Mayweather genetics, seems frizzy even after applying the spray.
My fingers comb through my hair one last time. There aren’t enough beauty products in the world to fix this right now. Since i’s nearly time to leave, I change out of my lounging clothes into a pair of navy-blue twill wide-leg pants and a cream knit short-sleeved top. My foot and ankle are still a little swollen, so I gently pull on a pair of tennis shoes, loosening the laces on the right shoe so it’s more comfortable. I want to look casual and not at all like this is some kind of date. A shudder runs through me just thinking about it.
He is still so handsome it hurts to look at him, the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. His beard lends extra gravitas to his already dignified face. He looks more mature than before but looks can be deceiving. Maturity doesn’t alter the fact he cruelly walked away from me, his ex-mate. Former mate. Whatever we are. It’s so unusual there isn’t even a proper term. It’ll be good when he’s gone. I’ll no longer need to deal with these thoughts.
I head downstairs to gather everything that I’ll need. The large cloth bags are stashed under the kitchen sink. I stuff a few cardboard containers inside that I intend to return to a vendor. The cats watch me as they wait anxiously at their bowls for dinner. I chuckle at their habitual impatience and grab two cans from the cabinet. Their little faces crowd the bowls as I scoop the food into them. With that task out of the way, I check my fridge and pantry, making a quick list on my phone of everything I need.
The front door opens, and from the rhythm of the footsteps, I can tell they’re Norrell’s. Planning to meet him in the foyer, I move toward the kitchen doorway, only to almost collide with his broad frame. He takes hold of my upper arms, halting me so I don’t march face first into his chest. I look up at him, slightly dazed by the abrupt contact. He must have been walking faster than I realized.
“Careful, my…” He clamps his mouth shut and drops his arms as I take a reflexive step backward. “I am sorry,” he corrects himself. “I did not mean to run into you.”
I refuse to let him rile me up. I have an idea of what he was going to say. It nearly sends a shiver of longing through me. “That’s alright. No harm done,” I respond with a tight close-lipped smile.
“Are you ready?” he asks. His eyes search mine uncomfortably.
“Yes, let’s head out.” I school my face and gesture for him to lead.
He holds the front door open for me and follows closely behind as we walk over to the Wagoneer. Walking isn’t painful, but I’m moving slower than usual. Digging through my purse, I pull out my keys and hand them over to him. It’s been ages since I’ve ridden in the passenger seat. It’s an odd feeling being in such close quarters with him again. He starts the automobile and pulls out onto the street like it’s been a matter of days and not years since he’s driven it. It creates an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach, nostalgia for that happier time mixed with resentment that he can jump back into my life so seamlessly. My house, my cats, my automobile. What’s next? Not a chance it will be my bed.
The street in front of town hall teems with vendors. There are usually twenty-five to thirty each week, many selling their wares here in lieu of a storefront shop. We’re out of retail space downtown. Luckily, the new development currently underway past Howling Road will offer more opportunities for those who want to expand outside of the farmers market.
Norrell parks the Wagoneer as close as he can to the market. The short ride was quiet, but not as awkward as I feared. When he cuts the engine, he motions for me to wait and runs to my side to open my door and help me out. My mind struggles to find areason not to take his proffered hand, to bat it aside and step out of the car by myself.
