Khash had whirled around from where he was measuring dog food into bowls, earning an annoyed bark from Junie for his slowness. “Is he an orc?”
“Yes. He’s a lot shorter than you, though, and thinner. Probably because he doesn’t eat thirty-two ounce steaks for dessert.”
Khash’s brow was furrowed, grunting as he lowered the two bowls to the ground for the waiting dogs. “His name is Tate, and he’s not a server. He’s the owner, owns the bistro and the bar and a patch of the sidewalk, and spirits save you if you fuck with his sidewalk, he will rain fire and damnation upon you. The village council wanted to repave everything a few years back, take out the old bricks and the cobbles and he brought in lawyers to stop them from touching the corner, said it would ‘ruin his aesthetic.’ He’s a real nasty piece of work, I’ve heard, I wouldnottrifle with him...he’s fae, you can’t trust any of ‘em. How did she get mixed up with him?!”
Lurielle shrugged, frowning. “I’m honestly not sure, but it’s Silva. At most she let him kiss her hand as they crossed the street. I told her we’d meet her for lunch on Sunday before we leave so you can meet her, are you going to have a problem going there?”
Khash scoffed, topping off the dog’s water bowl. “Not at all, it’s the best restaurant downtown, no question. Always a wait for a table. I said not to trust him, not ‘don’t eat his food.’”
Now she pushed thoughts of Silva out of her mind as twilight settled over the hills, enveloping the little cabin in shadows, Khash’s thick finger dragging around the curve of her breast. Soon it would be too cold for pantless time, he’d lamented earlier, but Lurielle was looking forward to weekends in the snow, curled up in front of a big fire against his side.
The first strike sounded low, and she tilted her chin up just in time to see the first burst of sparks overhead. She needed to tell her mother, needed to tell her family that she’d met someone, was in love, regardless of what they would say or think.
“Bluebell, they’re playin’ our song,” he murmured into her hair as the fireworks boomed through the valley.
Beside the hammock, Ordo whined in distress, deep in his throat. Junie barked in response, from her customary perch atop the big mastiff’s back, and Khash clicked his tongue.
“C’mon now, don’t let that little ball of fluff show you up. Nothin’ to be afraid of.”
The big dog dropped his head in defeat as Junie yipped in triumph from his shoulders.
“Look at the two of them,” Lurielle giggled. “Like a little flower and her bunny rabbit.”
It was her fault, he would say later. Her fault for the way she laid against him, for unevenly distributing their weight in the mesh; her fault for making him sit up, pushing down on the side of the mesh and upending them in a pantsless heap on the ground. She clung to him, giggling in the grass as color exploded overhead. She loved him, and she didn’t care what anyone thought, or how preposterous it was that she’d found love on a weekend trip to a nudist resort.
“You are gonna pay for that, Bluebell,” he growled, staggering to his feet. His huge outline blotted out the hills, haloing him in color, his enormous cock swinging before her.
“You’re waggling,” she giggled, unable to help herself. She let out an undignified shriek when he hauled her up, throwing her over his shoulder and gripping a handful of her not-at-all toned ass.
“We’ll see who’s wagglin’, Bluebell.”
The fireworks had reached their zenith, the grand finale exploding overhead as Khash carried her back to the cabin. Color and explosions, she thought, in between her hysterical laughter.
Playing their song.
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The ballroom was draped in pink. Pink chiffon swags, pink table linens, pink uplighting. Enormous vases of pink and white flowers graced each table, and the birthday girl herself was dolled up like a poofy pink cupcake. Lurielle loved her grandmother dearly and was thrilled that they were able to celebrate her two hundred and fiftieth birthday at all, but Nana’s choice in decor was reminiscent of something a princess-obsessed preschooler might have chosen.
She watched in amusement as one of the waist-coated servers made a wide arc around the table where she sat with her boyfriend, the tray of hors d'oeuvres he carried completely unmolested by disinterested elves. Beside her, Khash grunted in frustration.
“Now you know he’s doin’ that on purpose,” he grumbled, balling up his pink cloth napkin in frustration, as Lurielle snorted into her drink.
She had tried to warn him.
“I thought I asked you to order food while I showered?”
Khash had scowled at her in the mirror as he expertly twisted the long ends of his silk tie into a large Windsor knot, earlier that same evening. “Bluebell, you know we don’t have time for that, we need to get ready. You mean to tell me there’s not going to be food there? At a dinner reception?” He’d rolled his eyes at her reflection as he pulled on his suit jacket, an endless expanse of expensive grey wool, and fussed with his contrasting pocket square.
