“Oh,” she titters, “I forgot something and we finished up early, so I figured I would stop by and collect my copy of the book before book club tonight. I need to double check my tabs to lead the discussion!” She shakes the paperback in my face.
With a bunch of very awkward flustering (mostly on Betsy’s behalf) and a lot of avoiding any sort of contact on Flint’s end, we get Betsy on her way again. At this point, I just close the door, make sure the closed sign is visible, and collapse on the couch.
Flint seems similarly exhausted, although I’m not sure why. When you’re not any employee, Betsy is great. Maybe the groping threw him off. Who can blame him?
What right do I have to blame Betsy for groping him when I’ve been basically eye fucking him from the get-go?
I’m giving up. Today is a wash. I gesture to the burnt box of books. “Do you think you could haul that to the dumpster out back? And maybe check on Calida? I’m estimating out of my ass, but I feel like she should be done with her tasty treat by now.”
Flint gets up, and I’m not noticing his thighs flex because I am perfectly normal and not weird at all.
He picks up the box of charred books, putting it on his shoulder, as he maneuvers through the stacks. It's an odd dance, given the width of said shoulders with the box.
Once he’s out of sight, I drop my head in my hands.What the fuck am I going to do? I have some elite male Fae warrior in my care (possession?) with a fucking dragon. I have a shitty, tiny apartment. Calida sets fire to books, so even if I wanted to, I can’t leave them here overnight. Aren’t all reptiles cold blooded? Logically that means that Calida needs somewhere warm to sleep.
How the hell can she be cold blooded if she breathes fucking fire?
Nevermind. I feel like there are so many more important things that I need to figure out before I start worrying about dragon anatomy.
I can’t leave them sleeping on the street. It’s too cold for her, for one, and I have no idea if Flint brought, or even knows about the proper currency in this world. Do the Fae use dollars and cents?
Shit. Not even the entire Earth uses those. I don’t know why I would think that other worlds would.
My phone goes off as Flint comes back in, dusting the ashes off his sleeve.
I choose to ignore it. I have enough problems right now without adding in the creepy testi-pics and texts that have been coming in for months.
“I’m about to head out,” I say. “Where are the two of you staying?”
I shouldn’t care, but… they’re strangers in, apparently, a strange land.
“Oh…” he isn’t making eye contact again. “We’ll… find a place. Don’t worry on our account. Calida and I will be fine.”
I study him, but he’s busy looking at the floor and avoiding my gaze. It occurs to me, belatedly, that while Calida has eaten, I haven’t seen Flint eat anything since he appeared on my doorstep.
“OK… Do you have a dinner plan?”
He looks up, sharply.
“I mean. I don’t have a lot at home, but I could probably stretch it to feed someone else if you’re hungry.” I glance towards the still open back door. “I can’t promise I have anything for Calida, but if she’s satisfied, we can go?”
He cocks his head in a way that, I assume, means he’s having a conversation with Calida that I’m not supposed to hear. But I’m her chosen person so shouldn't I hear it all? You know what — that’s a problem for another time. Future Casie is going to be so pissed.
“Calida is fine,” he says. “But I would be happy to share a meal.” He suddenly seems shy.
“Okay. Well, let’s lock up and go.”
I put what I think I need in my bag and check to make sure we’re locked up.
Fuck. If I forget important things on a good day, how much am I forgetting tonight?
Somehow, Flint has bundled Calida up, and the three of us make the short walk to my apartment. The whole way, I’ve been frantically trying to remember what I have for food. I’m pretty sure it consists of a salad, an emergency chocolate stash and wine. A writer’s trifecta. Shit. Well, food delivery was invented for a reason.
I unlock my door and wince as Flint walks in. He glances around and I can only imagine what he’s seeing. Books are piled everywhere, including on the floor. My walls are a non-descriptive shade of grey-eigh. The altar in the corner needs to be refreshed. I’m lucky the Morrigan hasn’t smote me yet.
“It's not much,” I mutter, “but it’s home.” I shut the door behind us.
I quickly try to tidy up while he stands just within the threshold.
