“Then it’s probably Patrick,” I decided. This silly git was friends with some of the mushrooms that my friend Solandis had encouraged to infest my orchard, claiming the little biters helped my trees. He was always getting himself into a pickle. “You said he was inside your house?” I asked, trying to distract her again. “See if you can put your toe on the ridge of that bark, there on the trunk,” I suggested, pointing to the spot where I thought she had the greatest chance of attaining traction.
“Um, yes,” she confirmed as she carefully focused on simultaneously answering my question, following my suggestion, and not on looking at the ground, as I had hoped. “Do you know how he gets in? I’ve checked everywhere.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” I didn’t even know how he could have gotten there from the orchard. But maybe the mushrooms just hung out with any old frog? “Can you reach that limb there?”I asked as I pointed. Dropping from the limb I had perched on, I lowered myself to be able to get a better vantage point.
“I think so,” she replied, her voice a little shaky again.
“You’re doing fantastically. Just look at me—no, don’t look down, focus on me—I won’t let you get hurt,” I encouraged, producing the most soothing buzz I knew and keeping a hand close to her so she had a safe place to grab onto if she needed. Her tremulous smile made my heart beat faster. I hadn’t paid enough attention to notice how pretty she was before this evening, or perhaps her smile simply amplified her beauty so much that I couldn’t miss it.
She did take hold of my hand as she climbed, startling me enough that I had lost the train of the conversation when she asked, “Is he fae?”
“Pardon?” I asked, trying to ignore the swarm of moth wings beating frantically in my chest.
“The frog,” she clarified, reminding me of the slimy little body in my hand that I’d conveniently forgotten about. She leaned more of her weight onto my hand and bravely reached for another branch with her foot. “You said the mushrooms were low-fae. Is the frog fae too?”
“Oh, no. I’ve never seen a frog-fae. Though if you see one of the jackalopes around here, that’s a fae.”
She stumbled into me as I helped to lower her onto the ground. “Jackalopes are real?” She asked incredulously. “Wha—what about other cryptids? Is Bigfoot real?”
“Of course,” I assured her, helping to steady her and checking her over to make sure she was unharmed. Bigfoot was the name of one of the members of a group of brown forest yetis, but he was certainly real. As my friend Jordan would say, Bigfoot was a real dick. And he was sorely lacking in personal hygiene. But that wasn’t what she’d asked.
Lilith blinked at me rapidly, and then her surroundings, finally realizing she was safely on the ground. “Thank you,” she said, her voice pitching high again as she released my hand and stepped back. I immediately regretted the loss, but withdrew my hand as well.
“We did it!” she exclaimed, turning to look at the tree before fixing me with her gaze. “But you never told me what your most ridiculous fear is.”
I’d already forgotten my impulsive challenge. Sigh. “Bugs,” I admitted, steeling myself for her reaction.
She jerked her head back, clearly startled by my confession. “Bugs? But you’re—”
“Not a bug,” I clarified haughtily, straightening one of my antennae that had become absurdly mussed in the branches. “I may appear similarly built to an insect, but it’s called ‘convergent evolution.’ You can look it up.”
Half a dozen reactions flickered across her features again before she settled on incredulity. “You’re afraid of all bugs? Or just certain ones?”
“I dislike most of them immensely,” I hedged, “but cicadas are the worst with their incessant screaming.” Bees and other pollinators were tolerable due to their work for my beloved fruit trees. No amount of hand pollinating could compare to the natural course of things, no matter how many hands I had.
Lilith wrinkled her nose, highlighting the delightful freckles dappled across its dainty bridge, and let her head dip, trying not to laugh. I was taken by the way her hair skimmed across her cheek bones. “They are pretty creepy,” she agreed, “but they’re only singing their love songs with their butts.” She erupted into a fit of laughter so forceful that I found myself beaming at her entirely against my will, as if she had drawn my mouth into an involuntary grin. She was adorable.
Silence began to stretch, and she cleared her throat. I straightened quickly, realizing I was listing toward her slightly, entranced by her warmth and good cheer. There was no reason to stay any longer, as she was safely on the ground and I was free to take Patrick back to the orchard. But I found myself desiring to prolong our contact.
“I should probably find a better place to release the frog—”
“How are your—”
We both spoke over each other and then stopped. She blinked at me and rolled her lips in to bite them, embarrassed.
“Pardon me,” I apologized for interrupting her. “Seeing as my hand is already sullied with amphibian secretions,” I paused to heft the slight weight of his cool, damp body in my hand, “I might as well take him back to the orchard on my way to the office. There is no danger of crows finding him there,” I assured her. The mushrooms would see to that. Vicious little creatures.
“Oh! That would be lovely, thank you.”
I flashed her a wistful smile as I accepted that our interaction was over and stepped away, lifting the frog toward her as an awkward parting wave.
She stopped me. “Oh, wait, was there something you were going to ask me just now?” Her face looked curiously hopeful when I turned back to her.
My antennae flushed hot again as I took in another whiff of her pleasant scent. Whatever that was, she should bottle it up and sell it. I wracked my brain, trying to remember my question. “Oh, yes! I was going to ask how your trees were doing?” I was still feeling smug that she’d liked my Moon Blush apples enough to buy out all the rest of the bare root stock of our four-foot semi-dwarf saplings.
The curious hope immediately drained from her expression.
Chapter 4
