“Aye.” My heart twists at how very upset he seems at the idea. I mean, I get it. I was too, but honestly, I was starting to get excited about it. Nervous, yes, but also hopeful.
Archer swearsunder his breath. “I’m shocked that we’re being coerced into this.” He walks with me toward the back of the inn. He’s carrying a satchel that is perfectly clean but worn at the strap where it hooks over his shoulder. “I have an idea for a premise if you’re open to suggestions. I will give you the lead on this project because you’re the one selling books.”
The fire rises and pops as Archer walks by.
Archer laughs nervously. “Was that the inn sayinghelloorget out?”
I give him a pained smile. “I’m not sure, actually. So as for the co-writing thing, I tried to fight it. As I’m sure you did,” I say, leading him up the stairs. “I didn’t do as much as I probably could have because the charity auction started.” I point down at the table at the far side of the gathering room, which I set up with Kaya the baker earlier this morning. “It’s to help Southoak.” The town had a massive fire recently.
Archer eyes the table. “That’s amazing. Kaya runs Two Cats Bakery, right?”
“She does.”
“I suppose we are trapped in the short story project,” he says, going back to the subject of writing.
He trails me with light footsteps that don’tmatch the size of him. He’s very tall and heavily muscled. I guess light feet is a vampire thing.
I shrug. “Might as well make the best of it.”
He glances back toward the guests below. “I’m surprised I wasn’t accosted the moment I arrived in town.”
“Our mayor set a rule that no one could linger here without reason.” My bedroom door swings open by itself, and we walk inside.
“Oh, that’s good. Maybe we’ll have some privacy then. Do you have many staying here at present?” Archer asks.
“Three tourists as well as Magnus, Aila, and their younglings.”
Panic floods his eyes. “Ah, right.”
“They won’t bother us,” I say. “I told them we are on a tight deadline.”
I try hard not to recall the way he looked at me when I was in my underclothes last time. Now, he’s staring so hard at my desk that I have to wave my hand in front of his face to get his attention. I can smell the candles he must burn at his house, beeswax and rosemary.
“That’s…” he starts, his words fading.
“My desk, yes. What?”
He purses his lips and crosses his arms. “It looks like a magical storm hit a candy shop.”
“I know where everything is like this. Don’t you dare put your frighteningly tidy hands on a thing.”
Spreading those hands, he shuts his eyes briefly before staring again. “I wouldn’t dream of getting anywhere near that disaster.”
“Want to see the missive my publisher, Mistress Avalon, sent over?” I grab the letter from my desk and hand it over.
He scans it, biting one side of his lower lip with a fang. My heart flips over. What would fangs feel like against my neck? He glances up at me through his sooty lashes. Warmth gathers in my belly.
“About the same as mine. A short story by Snowlight,” he says. “May I?” He gestures to the small table and high-backed chair where I sometimes take my meals.
“Yes, of course,” I say. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He settles himself into the chair and takes out a quill, an ink pot, and a single sheet of parchment. Holding up the quill, he regards me. “I must apologize.”
“For what?”
“For barging into your room before I left,” he says.
“You already apologized, plus it was the inn doing that. Not you.”
