She shivered as the adrenaline began to ebb away, goose flesh rising on her bare lavender arms, squealing when the wind caught under the hem of her short dress, melting against him when he held his arms out, always so warm. "Kill him another night. Let’s go home. You need to go back in, to say goodbye to your friends."
"No." He took up her hand, shaking his head. "I don’t." His lips were light and soft when he bent again, pressing them to her forehead. Sandalwood and snow-covered pines and a wide-open sky, she thought, breathing him in. Free and fresh and home.
"I think that’s called an Irish goodbye, right?"
He pulled back sharply, blinking at her, several moments of silence passing before he nearly choked on his laughter, the sharp sound bouncing off the front of the building, and then there was no question the patrons in line were staring as he hunched; manic, musical laughter pouring out of him. It was too cold for him to ride back to Greenbridge Glenn that night, Silva decided at that moment. She loved holding tightly to his waist on the back of his bike, but she was certain the sleek racer was a deathtrap come wintertime. Too cold and too icy, and her bed was much, much closer. She wanted to sleep in his arms that night, wanted to press against his warm skin and feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear, and put this ugly, emotion-fueled conversation away. She gripped his hand, resolute.
"Come home with me," she insisted, tugging his arm. "It’s too late for you to go all the way back to Greenbridge tonight, especially on your bike, that’s not safe.Andyou’ve been drinking." His lips quirked up in a ghost of a smile, and she knew he was likely going to point out that alcohol affected her vastly differently than it did him. "Please? Come home with me tonight." Silva steeled herself for his rejection. After all, hadn’t he just told her to go away, opining that he wished he never continued anything with her after that first weekend? She’d never met his family, didn’t evenknowanything about his family, and she’d only tonight been introduced to his social circle, with no promise of a repeat performance. He’d never acknowledged her small overtures before, her murmurings about him coming with her to tea at the little shop she liked in town or restaurants she wanted him to try in Cambric Creek, exhibits she wanted to visit or small local attractions she wanted to show off. He’d never outright said yes or no; had never stopped to make plans or ask more questions, and even after a night like this, deep in her heart she knew it was his way of expressing his disinterest in her as anything more than a temporary diversion.And he just told you as much.Good enough when she materialized before him on weekends, but not someone with whom he wanted to make future plans, for anything as trivial as a winery visit or a more permanent designation in his life.
He sighed, peering down on her. She focused on the tooled leather of his well-shined shoes, not wanting to see thenotake form on his lips, certain her heart couldn’t bear it after such a tumultuous evening. His hand gently gripped her chin, raising her face to his, forcing him to meet her eye. "Do I need to drive? I know you can drink a grown ogre under the table, but that doesn’t mean I want to get in a car with either of you."
She would have been ashamed of her reaction if her emotions weren’t poised on a hair-trigger, but that didn’t prevent her from squealing in excitement, flinging her arms around his neck and dragging him down until she could reach his lips.
"I don't need you to drive!" She exclaimed, finding that it took all of her willpower not to dance around like a child. "I only had two or three drinks, and I switched to water forever ago. They were mostly juice anyway, that bottle service was a racket. I’m driving, I want you to enjoy the scenery."
She had never before realized just how small her car was, not until she was forced to watch Tate attempting to fold himself into it, like an accordion. She began to giggle as she buckled her seatbelt, glancing over to him out of the corner of her eye, taking note of the way his knees were practically touching his chin, her shoulders shaking in laughter as she started the ignition.
She decided to disregard his words for now. After all, she herself had said all manner of things she regretted in the heat of the moment. He might've said he wished he hadn't continued on with her, but the heat of his kiss said otherwise. She herself was prone to strong emotions, and she couldn't fault him if he were, in fact, the same. His presence beside her in the car said more than his ill-spoken words. This was it, she thought.Hers. The beginning of the rest of her life with him at her side. He would see Cambric Creek, see all of the multi-species couples and neighbors existing there happily and in harmony, couples just like them. She could work on her family, positive that she could turn her grandmother to her side . . . but not unless he was on board with her plan for their future. She couldn't fight a war on two fronts, so getting him on the same page as her was paramount at that point. She had a feeling she was in danger of whiplash from her wildly vacillating emotions, but that knowledge didn’t stop her from bouncing in her seat excitedly.
The drive from Bridgeton to Cambric Creek was one straight shot, and all too soon the lights of the city were twinkling in the rearview mirror. "Did you live there very long?" She asked, glancing over to where he was cycling through all of her programmed music stations, reading the heading on each as it rolled across the satellite radio’s display. "In the city, I mean."
"A fair bit. A friend of mine wanted to invest an inheritance he received from his brother into a pub here. His wife was from Bridgeton, but they were living in London and didn't know anything about the business. I got them up and running, and then ran the place for several years before Efraim came round from the club. Made me an offer I couldn't refuse, and by then I had grown a bit weary with my mate. He and his wife didn't have any interest in learning what it took to run the business, they were happy to have other people do it for them. I suppose that's all well and good for them, but when you're the one doing the running, it gets a bit tiresome. I was still working there when I bought the Pixie."
The knowledge that he had been right there in Bridgeton all along — right under her nose! — took her breath away. She could have gone to that club while he was there tending bar, could have been standing in line at the coffee shop on the corner, or getting her hair done at the fancy nail salon. She could've been shopping at that high-end boutique for lingerie that only he would see several years earlier, if only their ships would have passed.
"You know, Cambric Creek butts up against Bridgeton. Just think, you could have been coming to visit me all those years."
"Silva, I have literally never heard of Kittering Creek, and to be honest I'm still not one hundred percent certain it exists at all. I have a feeling we're going to drive straight on through to Starling Heights and you're going to tell me you live in some fancy development there."
She exclaimed in outrage as he popped open her center console to snoop through her collection of lip balms and receipts.
"We don't have the same sort of nightlife that the city does," she admitted, "but Cambric Creek has its own restaurant and pub culture, you’re going to love it. It's nice not having to worry about places being overrun with humans, so people tend to stay close to home when they go out."
"Aye, tell me about it. They all love to tell you how to do whatever it is you're doing, no matter what it is, always think their way is best. Are there no humans that live there then?"
"Oh no," she laughed, "there are some. But for the most part, they're there for work, or they've moved for a partner. It's mostly women, very few human men. I think the men are intimidated to be outnumbered, but the women don't seem to be. Isn't that funny?" Tate chuckled, muttering something under his breath that she didn't quite catch, but it didn't matter because the sign on the side of the highway was looming ahead.Cambric Creek - Two Miles.They were almost there, which meant she was almost home. Home to the community she loved, where she knew he would love it too, if he only gave it half a chance.
She had been just about to point out the first waterfall, tumbling over an artificial ledge beside the overpass, when Tate gasped. He hunched in the seat beside her, the seatbelt cutting into the veins that were popping on his neck, big hands scrabbling against her dashboard for purchase. She squealed in panic, asking if he was all right, but he seemed unable to answer, as if the wind had been completely knocked out of him. The gravel on the side of the road crunched beneath her tires when she pulled off onto the berm. There were no headlights coming in either direction, not uncommon for that time of night, but still, it lent the air a bit of spookiness when she opened her car door, coming around to the passenger side where he was gasping, his door already thrown open.
"What in the bleedin’fuckwas that?" he exclaimed. "Did you hit something? Did you hit a fucking bigfoot?! I asked if you needed me to drive!"
"I didn't hit anything!" she cried, more than a touch offended.
"It felt like you hit a bloody wall!"
"Tate, I didn't hitanything! Look, look back in the road! There's nothing there. Are you okay? I thought you were choking on something! You're not having a stroke, are you?" He shot her a derisive look, still panting slightly, and she slumped, determining that he was fine. "You are the most dramatic elf in theworld. Are you sure you're okay? I have a bottle of water somewhere on the backseat, if you need it."
He was quiet as she started driving again, leaving theWelcome to Cambric Creeksign they’d just passed behind. Silva had already planned out the route in her head, having done so over the course of the last many months, daydreaming about the first time she'd get him to come to visit her. Driving straight to her apartment wouldn't do, wouldn’t do at all. She wanted him to see the waterfalls in the center of town, the historic observatory, and the normally teeming businesses on Main Street. She wanted to drive through Oldetowne and let him have a glimpse of the stately Victorians and other turn-of-the-century homes from a more genteel era, where all of his beautiful antique furniture and flatware would fit in so nicely. She wanted him to see the various species living side-by-side and hand-in-hand; wanted to show him how easily they would fit in here together, how their differences wouldn't matter. She would save the visit through Cevanorë for another time. He knew what Elvish communities looked like, after all, and she thought it prudent not to remind him of their differences.
"See, look at how many restaurants and shops there are!" she exclaimed cheerfully as she directed her small car through the business district. "Most people don't even bother going to Bridgeton for a night out, because we have so much here. The businesses all do really well, and the city charter doesn't allow any chain stores or restaurants." She hoped he would see the possibility of the town, wondering if he would ever consider opening a pub here, but he never answered. His nose was pressed to the glass of her passenger window, gawking at something ahead.
"Silva . . . is that an araneaen?" The oddly-proportioned couple were walking along the waterfront, hand-in-hand, up the winding lane that followed the path of the town’s titular creek to where it poured over the rockface in a dramatic display. The street was empty, the wide path they walked on theirs alone. Silva had never seen the araneaen man before, but she knew there was another of his kind somewhere in town, an older female who lived close to the Applethorpe Wood. She’d seen the old spider-woman shopping once or twice, late at night when she’d made an impulse grocery run for whatever she happened to be craving. She had to admit, the sight of the araneaen man was disconcerting. He loomed over his companion, his many legs moving over each other in a slow, steady cadence, but the young woman at his side paid no notice. To Silva's eyes, it looked as though he were slouching a bit so that she could hold his hand without reaching, which she found a bit sweet, even if his appearance was jarring.
"Are they allowed tolivehere? Can they be out on the street like that?! Do we need to call the police?"
"What?! No, we don't need to call the police! Theylivehere!" The light had turned red, giving her the opportunity to get a better look at the couple. "Oh wow, that's the girl I buy my shampoo from! She's a witch, and she’s so sweet and quiet ... I guess it's true that it's always the quiet ones, right?" His head swung to her when the light turned green, still gaping. "This a multi-species community, Tate, I told you that. Everyone is welcome here. It's not like other places."
"Araneaenseateach other. Are you Crackadam Creekers really interested in finding out if that extends to other species as well?"
