He walks back to his tea. “I imagineheknows better than to take advantage of a nice girl’s living situation.”
Oh my word.
“Dad!” I exclaim, glancing toward the ceiling, doubting Rowan heard but not entirely certain.
Mock innocent, Dad looks back at me. “What?”
I lower my voice. “Rowan was anowlwhile he lived at the cottage. It was nothing. And besides, he lived there first. If anything,Iam to blame. I invaded his home.”
“I don’t care about the circumstances. I don’t like it.”
Sighing, I say, “Dad…you do realize I’m twenty-six years old, don’t you?”
He gives me as stern a scowl as he is capable of. “Don’t start that human logic on me, young lady.”
I roll my eyes, laughing because this is ridiculous, and go back to the task of preparing his tea. As I pull the infuser out of the cup, I say, “Listen, you’re probably not going to want to hear this, but I was glad Rowan was around. The cottage was new and lonely, and I hated being by myself.
“Sure, I was a little freaked out at first. He was a stranger. But Laverna loved him. You always spoke so fondly of her. If you can’t trust my judgment, can’t you trust hers?”
“I had great affection for my aunt, but it’s clear that she wasn’t mentally stable toward the end. That’s the only explanation for her writing apersoninto her will and then saddling you with his care.” He huffs. “And I’m sorry, I know you like him, but I don’t think I can trust a mage who took advantage of that sort of situation. I tried to get past it, Itried.”
“Well, try harder.” My hand trembles as I set the infuser aside. “Because Rowan is important to me.”
“Kit—”
“I told him you were kind and welcoming!” I exclaim at a whisper. “You don’t think he’s self-conscious about the situation? Of course he is. But we told you the truth. We didn’t lie—and we could have. I could have said Laverna’s stupid owl flew away. Or that we…ate him or something.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them back, feeling stupid and emotional andhating it.
Dad laughs carefully, sounding concerned now. “People don’t generally eat owls.”
I yank a paper towel from the holder and dab the edges of my eyes. “You get the point.”
Dad studies me, sighing heavily. We don’t argue. We never have. Our disagreements are civil or avoided altogether.
“Okay,” he finally says, his voice heavy. “I’ll try harder.”
A small sob escapes me, and a gust of wind beats against the tea shop windows, carrying moisture.
“You called a storm,” Dad says.
“Me?” I eye him, blinking quickly. “I think you helped this time.”
He presses his mouth into a firm line before he admits, “Maybe.”
Silence blankets the air, highly uncomfortable.
“Your tea is done,” I finally say.
“Oh, okay.” He accepts the cup. “Thank you.”
Just so I’ll have something to do, I begin filling the glass case with the new pastries. “You’ll be nice to Rowan, won’t you?”
“I’ll be nice.” He glances over his shoulder when a human couple walks into the shop and then drops his voice to a whisper. “I should let you get to work.”
“Okay.”
He takes his tea and his half-eaten turnover. “Have a good day. I’ll see you this evening.”
