“I was hoping he’d move on.” Ash sets aside the pen and rises. “We can’t ignore it any longer. Let’s go see Emerson.”
I follow him out of his office, suddenly nervous. “Maybe he called to apologize? What if we’re jumping to conclusions, and the phone call wasn’t nefarious at all?”
“He lost his right to speak with you when he forced you into his car and stole your magic. If he’s feeling the need for closure—and I doubt he is—then good. He can stew in his grief. It’s the least of what he deserves.”
I laugh, uncomfortable. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
He holds the door open for me as we step outside. “Says the woman who sparkled for me and then ran off with my cousin.”
I wince because he’s not wrong—I did that. But he wasn’t exactly innocent in the whole thing either.
Ash glances at me when I don’t respond, looking chagrined. “That was supposed to be a joke, but perhaps it was a touch too dry?”
I don’t know how to answer, so I pretend the question was rhetorical.
“Has Rowan figured out a way to undo your fused magic?” he asks.
“Not yet. Things have been a little chaotic, what with the kidnapping, my parents’ visit, and the gnomes.”
Ash comes to a dead stop. “Gnomes?”
A sinking feeling of pure dread settles in my stomach. “I didn’t mention it?”
“Mentionwhat?”
I glance around, making sure we’re alone. “A family of gnomes has moved into the tea garden.”
He groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, looking as if this is the worst news he’s received all summer. “We cannot have the Preservation Society coming in and closing down your shop in the busiest season of the year.”
At least someone grasps the gravity of the situation, though I suspect he cares less about my bank account and more about Main Street’s aesthetics. Either way, he’s on my side.
Composing himself, he looks back at me. “Please tell me you haven’t contacted them.”
I shake my head quickly. “I called my dad, and he came to help. He does volunteer work for the Preservation Society, and he’s going to attempt a quiet, unofficial relocation.”
“Without getting anyone involved?” Ash asks, looking hopeful.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.” He nods his approval. “Keep me posted.”
“I will.” I motion toward the tea shop. “I need to let Rowan know I’m going to the sheriff’s office before we go.”
Ash doesn’t argue, though it’s clear he would like to. He follows me across the street and into the tea shop.
There are customers at the tables, but there’s no one lined up at the counter right now.
Rowan watches Ash and me enter together. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him jealous, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But it doesn’t bother me. After all, I’ve been struggling with it myself.
His irritation is tangible through our bond, but I sense a good portion of it stems from his lack of control. He’s a man of academics, a soon-to-be sorcerer who’s spent years learning how to control magic, and I know he’s frustrated by his body’s raw, instinctive reaction. So he fights it. Fights it and fails.
“Russell attempted to contact Kit,” Ash says as soon as we reach the counter, either oblivious to the heated look on Rowan’s face or ignoring it completely.
Rowan yanks his eyes from Ash and demands, “When?”
“While I was walking back from the bakery,” I say. “I thought I should tell Ash since he’s been handling all this for me.”
“I’m going to take Kit down to the sheriff’s office to start a restraining order,” Ash says.
