“Was it smooth for you?” Desperate to change the subject, to not allow her anxiety take over, Pru forged forward. It’s not like she didn’t care about the topic. The power of water was fascinating, and Ceridwen mentioned it was one of the most difficult ones to master.
“It was and it wasn’t. But I was never alone while learning. Growing up with a twin, one with a directly opposite element of mine was, shall we say, interesting? Everything was a competition, school, magic, girls.”
Seren grinned, and Pru blinked. She knew the younger Crowhart was objectively attractive, but this? With mischief playing in her deep aquamarine eyes, Seren was irresistible, and Pru could swear she could hear a patron swooning to her left.
She had known Seren for most of her life. The quiet Crowhart. The silent one. One of the few professional firefighters on the island, now that it had a permanent station, she also ran her small yet crazy popular coffeehouse. Tucked in an alley to the side of the Town Hall, just off Market Square, it offered the option of privacy and exclusivity that patrons couldn’t get at the Rooster, the older and more touristy place.
There were rumors about Seren’s conquests, but Pru never gave them any credence. Until now. Whatever that smolderingsmile was, it was criminal. Heck, Seren probably had outstanding arrest warrants galore.
And speak about women definitely and permanently banned from places for being too beautiful…
“Are you flirting with Prudence, Seren?”
Pru sensed her before she heard either the doorbell ring announcing the new customer or the words. The sly, teasing, tantalizing words, spoken in that low seductive tone. Pru closed her eyes and counted to three. When she opened them, Rhiannon was sitting on the barstool next to hers, the flowing dark blue skirt touching Pru’s white summer slacks. She felt that touch in her bones, in her sinew. It was like her knotted muscles suddenly uncoiled. She could breathe. The sounds and the scents all around her became louder, sharper.
“Seren wasn’t flirting.” Even the sound of her own voice was different, deeper, stronger.
“I very much was, but I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job at it.” Seren set a cup of what looked to be a latte in front of Rhiannon and winked at Pru. The woman sitting at one of the tables just behind them gasped. Pru smiled. Rhiannon rolled her eyes.
“You are a menace. And you are out here menacing people, sister of mine.”
“Just making coffee. Another day in paradise.”
But Pru could hear the tiny note of distance in Seren’s voice when she spoke to Rhiannon, and for some reason it saddened her, her tired heart thudding painfully in her chest.
“You left yesterday, Prudence.”
Out of all the scenarios that Pru ran through her mind while tossing and turning all night, Rhiannon tackling the issue head-on did not feature at all. Rhiannon, who fled from conversations, who avoided anything resembling sensitive subjects…just forgedright ahead and laid the stick of dynamite on the table. Or, well, coffee shop counter.
“I…I came back an hour or so later. Ah… I had to get Patches. She could’ve… ah… I don’t know.”
Pru ended on a rather pathetic note, her brain devoid of any and all plausible explanations. How was she to talk about being so overwhelmed by Rhiannon’s surrender, so utterly blessed to have been allowed to cause it, to witness it, that she did not want to see the aftermath? Rhiannon falling apart was one thing. Rhiannon talking about said falling apart, discussing what had happened? That was an entirely different subject.
“You thought I would be uncomfortable had you stayed.” It wasn’t a question. Rhiannon didn’t seem to need her to actually answer, so Pru just nodded and took a sip of her quickly cooling coffee.
Rhiannon set her palms down on the counter, and for a moment Pru was mesmerized. Long fingers, translucent skin, rivulets of veins transcending it. Prominent knuckles. Hands of someone who used them, who worked with them… To feel those hands on her… Pru immediately choked on her mouthful of lukewarm coffee yet again and covered her face with her palms.
“Sorry, sorry… I’m sorry.”
“Are you sorry for not letting me reciprocate?” The Devil’s voice was so close to her ear. “Or for imagining me doing it right now… Because I can do it, you know. Pull you closer, slide my hand in your panties… Would I find you already wet, Prudence? I think I would. I think you are wet as we speak, imagining what I’d do. And I’d do so much. I’d start by fingering your clit so softly, barely a touch at all?—”
“Prudence, daughter!”
The loud greeting of her father made her jump a foot in the air.
This is not happening!
“Mayor Fowler! How nice to see you again!”
Rhiannon’s sticky-sweet tone was back, and so was her father’s fake smile. Even his voice was permeated with it.
“I saw a truck unloading boxes in front of the Atelier, Rhiannon. Getting more stock?”
“Oh no, some personal effects. You know how life is, one tends to accumulate so much, books, diaries. I can’t say I am looking forward to going through all those things and deciding if I want to keep something or set everything alight in a big bonfire.”
Rhiannon waved her fingers in a dismissive gesture that didn’t quite deliver on its message. Her father’s too-cheerful reply grated on Pru’s nerves just as much as the little wave.
“Ah, but we do prohibit those, and what kind of mayor would I be if I didn’t advise you against arson?” He guffawed, and Rhiannon’s smile did not reach her eyes.
