“My pleasure, miss! That’s the prettiest horse I’ve ever seen!” He beamed.
Rynna bent down, lowering her voice. “Shush. Don’t tell her that. It'll go straight to her head, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
His eyes widened, then the joke landed. He laughed before sprinting off down the lane.
Rynna straightened with a sigh, rubbing her palms on her thighs.
“Here we go.” She turned toward the tavern, ready to collect the hungover remnants of last night’s plan.
A step, then—
The tavern door exploded open with a bang, and Malachi came tumbling out, arms flailing, feet sliding. An empty tin cup followed close behind, striking him squarely on the back of the head with a sharp clank before dropping to the street beside him.
Malachi lurched forward in one final, uncoordinated burst of motion, his limbs pinwheeling as though he might catch himself.
He didn’t.
He dropped face-first into the rocky dirt at her feet, sprawled out like a felled tree.
Rynna stared down at him, blinking once.
“Of course.” She debated whether or not he needed a good kick in the ribs.
“Ah, Rynna, that you? Back already?” Malachi slurred, looking up at her. He raised the empty tin cup with grand, drunken dignity. “Be a dear and fill me up.”
“Hmmm.” She stooped, picked up the tin cup, wiped it off, then hooked her arms under his and heaved him upright with a grunt. “I think you’ve had enough.”
He swayed once, twice, then steadied himself. His eyes, bloodshot but sharp, found hers.
“Is it done?” he asked.
She nodded once.
“Then I haven’t come close to enough,” he said, and the alcohol vanished from his voice. He brushed off his shirt and pants, then reached with steady hands for the cup in her grip.
Rynna crossed her arms, cocking her head as she considered him.
“You know what? You’re right. Next round’s on me.”
She pushed past him toward the tavern, raised her right hand, and crooked a finger in the air. “Let’s go.”
Through the tavern doors, early morning gloom clung to the walls. Most of the patrons were still recovering elsewhere, and the air held that particular stillness found only in the wake of hard drinking. She scanned the room and selected a corner table tucked into the shadows.
Dim lanterns flickered as she sat, dust motes floating lazily as the faint smell of last night’s tobacco still lingered in the beams.
Malachi arrived moments later, as graceful as always.
His toe caught on a chair leg, leading to a yelp that burst into a string of curses as he stumbled sideways, hip smacking a table. Two chairs toppled in his wake. He spun once, off-balance, arms flailing, then caught himself with a heavy, two-footed plant that rattled the floor.
Rynna bit the inside of her cheek, lips pulling up at the corners. She never knew if he did it on purpose to get a smile from her or if he was just that clumsy. But either way, it worked. Every time. The man was a walking disaster.
“It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long,” she said, watching him rebuff the incident and take a seat at her side.
Before she could reach over and swat him on the head, though, a door slammed open at the back of the tavern. The owner stormed out in a flurry of steps, cheeks flushed, towel already swinging.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no,” she bellowed, voice carrying through the room. “I just got this place cleaned from your shenanigans last night, Mr. Malachi!” She marched up to the table, winded and fuming. “Took me and the cook an hour just to get Mr. Gold off the floor and upstairs. Three more to mop up the mess. I will not have you turning my fine establishment into a den of drunkenness again so soon!”
Then she saw Rynna.
