This time his laugh boomed and Pru was certain a book or two fell off their shelves. She didn’t care. It felt like she had just made a friend. A new friend, and wasn’t that wonderful?
He leaned conspiratorially closer to her and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me.”
Pru sighed, feeling both that it was true and not actually so, but not really caring. Whatever was happening between her and Rhiannon Crowhart—and no, nothing Pru had wanted to happen, more of the inexplicable things that she desperately wanted to talk about to someone, preferably Rhiannon herself—was not something that Pru would be able to hide.
“You have a beautiful face, Prudence, one that is cursed with the truth,” her father always told her. She had learned to live with it. She couldn’t control it. And she was fairly certain Rhiannon had learned to live with people just tumbling all over themselves around her. So what was one more?
What was one indeed, when they had an entire mystery surrounding them? Her palm was still tingly and warm. And there were so many questions to be untangled.
“If you’re going to ask me whether or not I know what brought Her Majesty here, I shall sadly say that as her trusty knight and Jack-of-all-trades personal assistant, I don’t have an answer to that and it’s entirely embarrassing. We took over the Atelier and that is that. Why? I do not know. We had quite a business in California.”
Pru couldn’t help but find herself curious. About the two of them, their business, and their reason for being on the island. She also couldn’t help but find herself enchanted. He was so darned ridiculous with his massive shoulders and boyish floppy hair. All six foot zillion inches of him. And moreover, she was very glad he had interrupted the embarrassing course of her thoughts and redirected them toward safer topics.
“And since the reason for you being here is obscured by a secret, perhaps the answer to where Her Majesty and her knight come from might be an easier one to find?”
It was his turn to smile, and Pru felt the thread of their connection solidify. She took off in the direction of the counter, Lachlan walking slowly behind her. As she pointed toward the coffee, he made a supplicating gesture.
“You are a goddess among women, a blessing upon your house, and a gift to all humankind. Coffee would be great. I’m not precious.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. After a few seconds, he folded.
“Fine, fine, I am very precious, but this is the wilderness, and as such I have to do with what I have. Rhiannon makes magnificent coffee when she can be bothered these days, and once all the equipment arrives it will be even better. For now, we get it at the Rooster pub, but I have to say it’s not very good. The town doesn’t have much to offer.”
Pru handed him a paper cup. He sipped and grimaced before hastily hiding it behind a second sip.
“Don’t let the mayor hear you say that! He is very proud of the service industry he encouraged here in Crow’s Nest. As his daughter, I shall try and keep your secret safe, though it might cost you.” She winked at him and Lachlan winked back. He really was easy be around, which Pru felt she severely lacked these days. “The town has plenty of good coffee to offer, kind knight. Crow’s Brew is excellent and has the benefit of being owned by the third Crowhart sister…”
She trailed off and they stared at each other in silence. Then as he took another large gulp, Pru decided that perhaps it was best to move this conversation along. If Rhiannon’s brush with Ceridwen just minutes ago was any indication, Rooster’s substandard coffee choice was very much by design.
“We should all know our limitations, Sir Lachlan. I certainly know mine. The coffee I make is decent but nothing to write home about. So, where is said home?”
He exhaled audibly and winked at her.
“You’re good, fair maiden. Very good. Subtle and tactful, sidestepping the uncomfortable and making people feel at ease. Thank you. For the sidestep and for the cup. And I never look gifted coffee in the mouth.” He drained the cup before attempting to throw the paper cup into the can. He missed, huffed, got up, and gently placed it there without attempting to prove himself again. The entire scene was…dare she say it, cute, notwithstanding his disgruntled expression and massive hands.
When he finished disposing of the remnants of his coffee, he sat back closer to her, the mischievous gleam back in his baby blues. “Home is in the distant and now sadly forsaken kingdom of Los Angeles of the California realm. I shall refrain from asking if you have heard of it, since its glory precedes it.”
“I have indeed heard about it, even if I do appear as a mere country bumpkin stuck in the middle of this wilderness, Sir Lachlan.”
“Fair maiden, you wound me! I have never implied any such thing.” He clutched his chest again before straightening and smoothing the creases he had made on his linen shirt. “Gotta be careful with this baby. Can’t get this kind of luxury here. And we’re here at least for twelve months.”
“That is a very precise timeframe, kind sir.”
“It really is! The countdown started the moment Rhiannon signed those papers at the town hall to enter into possession of the building. By the way, she will not keep that name, just so you know. Whoever called it ‘Old Atelier’ really lacked imagination.” He shrugged.
“It was always called that. Sometimes they add Old ‘Jerome’s’ Atelier to it.” Pru tried to remember the man whoonce owned it, but he passed away when she lived on the mainland, and all she ever heard of him was never anything she cared to dwell on.
“Is the reason they didn’t keep the name because he was horrid? I swear Rhiannon shuddered when she stepped into the Atelier weeks ago. Did some awful, horrible, stuff-of-nightmares ordeal happen in there? Is it haunted?” Lachlan’s face was transformed with morbid curiosity.
Pru shook her head at him.
“Not to my knowledge. But then this island has the history of being…shall we say…unorthodox. Still, since the place has always been super high on developers’ lists, I assume nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Though would those vultures even ever care?”
He nodded comparably.
“Judging by the ones I had the displeasure of meeting—and yes, several already tried to drop by and persuade Rhiannon into selling before being run out on their ear—they’re vultures indeed. And she made them shake in their boots.”
The picture Pru’s vivid imagination drew of vengeful Rhiannon throwing the developers out of the Atelier was too hot to dwell on. She might do so later, but not now when Lachlan was watching her every move. She decided to change the subject.
