“There is no magical wolf gold,” Lucian said.
“But there is a treasury.”
“There are gemstones. Certain minerals that don’t exist in the human realm and command significant value when sold to specialty collectors.” He paused. “It’s all quite legitimate.”
“You’re an ancient royal selling interdimensional rocks on the black market to buy me a building.”
“The market is not black. It’s niche.”
“I can’t believe I’m dating a rich royal show-off with a niche rock empire.”
“I prefer the term‘diversified investment portfolio.’“
Solomon snorted from the far wall. An actual, audible snort. From Solomon. Percy looked at me as if sayingdo you realize what you just achieved?
Before I could press further, the radio on Lucian’s belt crackled. Static, then a voice I recognized from the station dispatching a call.
Lucian’s demeanor shifted in a blink. The teasing evaporated, replaced by the focused calm of a man who’d commanded rooms for centuries.
“Percy.” One word. An order.
Percy was already on his feet, pancake abandoned with focused intensity. He caught my eye and winked, but his jaw was set.
“Go.” I waved them toward the door. “Both of you. Be heroic. Try not to get singed.”
Lucian paused at the threshold. His eyes found mine and held, and through the bond I felt the reluctance. The pull to stay. The automatic calculation of leaving me with only one guard.
“Solomon’s here,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded once. Then he was gone, Percy’s boots hammering the sidewalk behind him, and the truck roared to life down the block.
The bookshop settled into quiet.
Solomon’s roller kept moving. Steady strokes, top to bottom, the wet sound of paint on drywall filling the space their absence had created.
“So.” I turned to face him. “It’s just us.”
“It is.”
“And a lot of empty wall.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Those pale silver eyes found mine, assessed, returned to the wall. “The cream is a good base. What were you thinking for the accent?”
I’d been thinking about this all week, actually. The old shop had been functional. Safe, practical, forgettable.
I didn’t want forgettable anymore.
“Teal,” I said. “For the reading nook wall. And I want the romance section to have its own alcove. Not just a shelf. A whole recessed nook with a bench seat and built-in lighting.”
Solomon set down the roller. Turned fully to face me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had the particular intensity they carried when he was calculating.
“The east wall could accommodate a recess,” he said. “Three feet deep, seven wide. We’d need to box out the framing and add a header for the load.”
“And the ceiling. Can we expose the beams? I want it to feel open, not boxed in. The old shop had these low ceilings that made me feel trapped.”
His gaze lifted to the ceiling, then returned to me. “Removing the drop panels would expose the original timber. It would need sanding and sealing, but the beams are in good condition.”
Every outrageous idea I threw at him, he caught and made it work.
