This, on the other hand, was all heat. Her neck flushed as his tongue moved against hers, her nipples hardening beneath the thin material of her sweater. It was only the presence of their daughter between them that kept her from climbing into his lap.You’re supposed to be taking things slow. You’re the one who said he needs to earn this. That he needs to get to know the newyou. You have to start on a better foundation . . . but he’s home. He’s home, and he’s yours.
“We need to take things slow,” she murmured, squeezing her thighs when he hummed his agreement.
By the time they were leaving, late that afternoon, Aelin had hung a picture of the cat she'd made for him on his refrigerator and had journeyed up to the roof with him to see where he had told her he’d slept for two nights, letting the moonlight heal him in anticipation of her visit. She surveyed the overgrown garden with her little hand on her hip, sucking down a pouch of applesauce from his refrigerator, bought especially for her, asking if they could grow strawberries.
“We can grow whatever you’d like, wee princess.”
He’d walked them downstairs, crouching before Aelin with a hand on the staircase to steady himself, accepting her hug. Her little watcher, who didn’t trust anyone right away, who stared and hung back — hugging him around the neck, giving him an applesauce-sticky kiss to the cheek. He buckled her into her car seat before turning to Silva once more.
“When do we find this minotaur, then? I want to ensure I have adequate time to prepare my tragic backstory, unless you’d like me to disclose where I’ve been for the past five years.”
“You know, you're just theworst. You have been from literally the first night I met you. A complete jerk.”
Unlike the gentle smile he’d given her daughter all day, the grin he gave her then was wolfish, his teeth long and glinting.
“Perhaps you just bring it out in me, dove. If we weren’t taking it slow, I’d be inclined to ask if your husband made you scream the way I did.” His words were a hot hiss in her ear, and once again, if it weren’t for the presence of her baby girl in the backseat, she would be pushing him against the black brick wall and hiking up her skirt.
“I told you I’m not the same elf I was. No guarantee you’ll make me scream again. Maybe you’ll get to find out again, someday.”
“Oh,that’sa wager I’ll take, Silva. We can discuss the future terms over dinner next week. I’ll let you know when I have thewinter soupaccounted for.”
She narrowed her eyes, letting him meet her lips quickly before sliding behind the wheel of her car. Her chest was tight as they pulled away, watching him in the rearview until her car turned out of the alley, leaving him behind for the night, returning to the world without him.
For now. All that was important was that he was home.Are you family? Of course we are.
Ris
The new space was real now. Not hypothetical. The very real ten-acre plot had been cleared, grass and sod removed, the ground flattened, prepared for the road to be dug out, for the foundations of the house, and for the small parking lot that would be adjacent.
It felt ridiculous to be looking at interiors at this point, when it was nothing but a mud field, but looking at interiors she was, a booklet of color swatches open on the table before her.
Too clay. Too pink. Too beige. She wanted the space to be airy and inviting, at once light and warm. Ris could close her eyes and envision it, right there in the small apartment kitchen where she stood barefoot, stirring honey into her tea, swaying to music that wasn’t playing.
“Whaddya think, Fitzy? Too pink?”
Fitz didn’t lift his head from the couch cushion, his dark eyes rolling to Ris, tail thumping, but he didn’t voice an opinion.
“That’s what I thought. And this one’s too beige.”
The reception area would smell of citrus and cedar, bright but grounded. The counter would be a natural wood, long andcurved, leading into the space beyond — a welcome point, not a barrier. The big room beyond would hold light like a cathedral, with tall windows spilling afternoon sunlight across sofas and tables, the perfect place to gather, to work, to socialize, to relax. That was Studio A, according to the architectural plans — the soft place.
Studio B would be where the workshops and classes would take place. Writing circles, financial literacy classes, and continuing education for women who’d left the workforce to raise children and had never found a way to rejoin. Speakers, meetings, seminars. Studio C was the fitness lounge, focusing on low-impact aerobics like Elvish liltenu, pilates, and yoga. Ris was hoping they could eventually have dance as well.
They were having a launch party. The event coordinator at Saddlethorne — the same bubbly human who’d planned Lurielle’s entire, beautiful wedding, they’d discovered — was taking care of everything. Tents would be set up not far from the construction site, a construction light on a crane shining down on the mud pit as a reminder of what they were doing, with drinks, dinner, dancing, and a silent auction.
When Caleia had suggested the cost per table, Ris had thought she was joking. It seemed absurdly high to her, foolish to even attempt . . . until she’d sought Silva out at her desk, shortly after her return to the office, receiving the shocking confirmation that the number was actually a bit low.
“I know the table cost was higher than that for the fashion show fundraiser I went to before I left, and that was five years ago. I’m sure it’s gone up a bit since.” Silva turned her face up, pulling her eyes from the screen before her to grin. “The enclave I just moved from, though, that’s probably more on track for them. But they were boring and trashy, and thought a cheese tray from the grocery store was perfectly acceptable hors d’oeuvres, so.”
Silva shrugged, a gesture Ris and Lurielle had simply been calling the “Silva Shrug,” doing it to each other to indicate a reaction in keeping with their formerly bubbly coworker’s indifference to the world beyond her own tiny bubble.
Ris had willingly conceded her opinion, and the table cost was raised to what was more in keeping with the Elvish community in town. She had been shocked when the tables sold quickly. Silva had been right about more than that. Rael Kaspard was itching for retribution; the governing board at Cevanorë was his sworn enemy, purchasing several of the tables at the fundraiser himself, for he and his lovely wife, their child, and an extended family of betailed women. Ris suspected the soft-spoken huldra wasn’t as eager for a fight as her husband. She only seemed sad at the exclusion, but Silva had been correct — Rael wasfurious, repudiating the community he’d grown up in, already building a new home on the other side of Cambric Creek, well away from Cevanorë’s gates.
They wanted to have a completed vision board on display at the event, color swatches and stonework, the wood grain of the flooring, and the fabric of the furniture. Artist-rendered drawings of their plans would give the attendees a taste of what was coming . . . which was why she was working on the color swatches that day.
She looked up in distraction when there was a knock at the door.
The phone hadn’t rung, as it would have if someone were at the street level. This was a knock directly on their door.One of their neighbors.
