“That’s how I remember it.”
“No, I clearly recall how you stripped?—”
I jump forward and slap my hand over her mouth, but my foot slips. It should not surprise anyone who has ever met me that jumping around on slippery surfaces is not for the uncoordinated. Gwyneth’s eyes widen. Dammit—we’re going down. I push harder, making sure she slams into Charming. May as well make himself useful and be her personal pillow. Hegrunts as he falls, and Gwyneth gasps as she lands ass first on his face while my mouth squishes into her bosom.
The male creature pokes his head out of the house. “Hurry. You’re letting the heat out.”
Nash scoops me up into his arms, displaying an impressive amount of coordination. Charming pushes Gwyneth up, eyeballs me and Nash, and looks like he’s debating if he should attempt to carry Gwyneth.
His hands stretch out, and Gwyneth slaps them away. “No, Charming. I can walk.”
“You could try to let me be chivalrous,” he grumbles.
She scoffs. “If you want a fainting maiden who kisses your feet, you have picked the wrong girl.”
“No, you are perfect,” he counters.
Damn straight, she is.
We make it to the cottage and stoop under the low beam to head inside. A fire against the far wall burns bright, with a metal pot sitting over the top of it. The homely scent of stew makes my stomach rumble.
“Sit where you can,” the female fox says as she points her wooden spoon at the mismatched armchairs and sofa. Nash folds himself into the chair closest to the fire and keeps me on his lap as he unclasps my cloak. Blissful heat rolls over my skin.
Malachi and Theo stand by the now closed door with their arms folded and frowns marring their faces.
“Who are you?” Gwyneth asks.
The male turns with a collection of mismatched wooden bowls cradled in his hands. “I’m Mr. Fox, and that is the missus, Mrs. Fox.”
“Fox?” Nash asks.
“Fox by name, fox by nature,” he says.
Mrs. Fox ladles the stew into the bowls and passes them out.
Charming huffs. “I’m not eating your mysterious meat.”
“It’s funny when she says it, but disturbing coming from you,” Malachi mutters.Shebeing me. The fact is, I asked for a safe place to rest, get warm, and get our bearings. My heart tells me this is that place and these are creatures we can trust.
I reach out and take a steaming bowl. Mrs. Fox smiles and hands me a warm chunk of soft bread with it.
I dive in and hum in the back of my throat. “It’s delicious,” I tell the gang. “If you don’t eat it, I’ll have your portions.”
Everyone accepts a bowl, even Charming, and we settle into a comfortable silence as the warm stew fills our bellies. My eyes droop. Not from poison, but from sheer exhaustion. I lean against Nash, and he folds me in his arms.
“Could we trouble you for a place to rest before we continue on our journey?” Theo asks.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot is busy helping Mrs. Fox in the kitchen, who giggles every time he brushes against her. Little dude is winning her over. He’s such a sweetheart.
“Of course,” Mr. Fox says. “Your dens are waiting for you. We always keep them stocked and clean.”
“How can they be ours if we’ve never been here?” Gwyneth questions.
Mrs. Fox shakes her head as she wipes her hands on her apron. “Dear child, you may not have been, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t been expecting you.”
Hart leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. “Why would you be expecting us?”
“The prophecy, of course.” Mr. Fox tuts.
