“If sorcery was afoot?” He hums. “Hard to say. They’re incredibly observant when it comes to tedious matters or gossip. You can ask them about anyone in this town, and one of them will know if they’re stepping out on their wife, or they have a nasty habit with the dice, or—”
“They don’t empty their dustbins in a timely manner,” I add drily.
“Exactly.”
“And do they know everything that’s going on with you?” I ask with a smirk, already knowing the answer.
“Well... no.” He blinks down at me. “Parts of me that are curated for their ears.”
I nod. I’ve known him for a couple of years, and he’s helped me out of more than one jam, where I got in over my head, without ever asking for anything in return. He always seems pleased to see me, and has this way about him like talking to you is the absolute best part of his day.
He’s like that with everyone, though. And I’ve seen the way people leave his shop with a bounce in their step and a smile on their faces. As someone who’s not exactly naturally social, who struggles to talk to people when it’s not out of necessity, I struggle to relate. But I enjoy watching the spectacle of Kit drawing people in and weaving a web of magic around him, making people want to stay within his orbit.
He’s somehow charming without ever being smarmy with it. Possibly because he has that smile, and when it lands on you, it feels like a warm drink after hours in the frigid cold.
Still though, I feel like I barely know him. How much is real and how much is artifice?
“If you’re wondering how much of me you know is real, it’s more than anyone else around here.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. Bloody mind-reader.
“I’ve never really... been in a relationship before,” I tell him. “And now I feel like I should know everything about you already.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll give you as much of me as you can handle.” His cheeks grow adorably pink as he chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “That sounded dirtier than I intended. What I mean is I’ll give you as many pieces of me as I can.” His smirk softens until it’s a gentle smile that has my cheeks heating. “Not to scare you or anything. But I’m pretty sure this matehood thing is for life. We have time, sweetheart.”
His hand goes to the small of my back as we head through the streets of Port Yarrow, passing the quaint painted buildings. The bookshop, the apothecary, the butchers and fishmongers, a school with squealing children running around wildly.
We pass by a dry fountain with the statue of a siren, winged and fish-tailed, her lips pouting seductively. Every so often, a spurt of something that looks like sparks of purple fire spurt from her mouth before dying again.
“It’s been like that for a while,” Kit says with an apologetic smile. “The council is supposed to keep it topped up with magic, but it seems to be very low on the list of priorities.”
“Are most people who live here human?”
He hums. “About fifty-fifty, I’d say. We used to have a coven of witches about ten minutes up the road, tucked away in the hills. But they moved on a few months back. Too many complaints to thecouncil about all the orgies.” He clicks his tongue, and my eyes catch on something silver.
His tongue... it’s pierced. My attention lingers there for longer than is polite until I force my eyes away, back to scouting the town centre.
“Uh, orgies?”
“The witches are notorious for them.” He clicks his tongue again, glancing over his shoulder before stopping to pull on the trousers I brought him. “Now, I want to take you for the best cinnamon rolls you’ve ever tasted.”
“Don’t you have a shop to open?”
“I’ve opened the shop late on a single occasion in the fifteen years I’ve owned it. But it’s a special day and I want to go investigate with my mate.”
My lips quirk into a rueful grin as my cheeks heat once again. “Why did you choose this place to open your shop?”
It’s quaint. A lot nicer than Ambleby, whose grubby underbelly is the main reason I wound up there. You can’t take two steps without someone trying to steal your wallet or sell you bootleg potions they probably brewed up in their basement without a lick of magic involved.
“Cheap rent,” he replies without skipping a beat. “It was quiet,” he adds. “I felt like I needed quiet.”
At my incredulous look, he snorts. “I didn’t realise that the quiet comes with its own brand of chaos. But I quite like that. Reminds me of home.”
I’m about to ask where that is, when he lets out a little whoop, clapping his hands together. “Here we are.”
The air swirls with the eye-wateringly strong scent of gingerbread as a building appears in front of us. It’s painted white with a thatched roof and trailing herbs growing from the two large windows that areboth steamed up and impossible to see through.
“I don’t remember seeing this place before.”
