Chapter 3
Chapter Three
HOPE
Being a waitress means I’m a big fan of sensible shoes. That’s what I packed, since I planned to do lots of walking around town on this trip, and it’s what I should wear tonight.
Instead, I went downtown after leaving Harmony Market, poked around several of the charming shops and bought a pair of glossy candy-apple-red peep-toe pumps that are going to kill my feet after about ten minutes of walking.
That’s probably too generous, honestly. But they’re so pretty.
Infinitely sexier than my comfortable canvas flats with the memory foam insoles.
As usual, I’m ready early. A habit after years of being called in to work ahead of my scheduled start time because some coworker is a last-minute no-show. When my boss calls, it’s never actually a request to come in early. It’s an expectation that never comes with appreciation.
Hence, why I’m pacing the little cabin with twenty minutes to go until Ogram is due to arrive.
Through the window, I spot Glen, the cabins’ owner, in the yard, in front of the inground pool.
He’s humanlike in some ways—arms with hands, a face with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth.
But he’s definitely treelike, and there are enough small vines and leaves sprouting on him for me to assume he doesn’t just look like he has bark for skin, that’s what it actually is.
After putting my foot in my mouth with Ogram and incorrectly calling him an orc, I’m not going to ask Glen about his bark skin.
Or would it be skin bark? Either way, my curiosity is staying locked down.
Some casual conversation should be safe, though.
Talking always makes time pass faster, and I’m going to be back in my sensible shoes before Ogram even gets here if I don’t stop pacing the cabin.
Grabbing my purse from the chair, I step outside, then make my way across the lawn to join Glen where he’s filling an assortment of bird feeders under the canopy of a large katsura tree.
Just like the first time I spoke with Glen out here, the tree is giving off a scent that reminds me of pancake breakfasts when I was a little kid.
“Does this tree smell this good all the time?” I ask, breathing it in as I smile at the tall tree-man.
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Finished pouring black oil sunflower seeds into one of the feeders, Glen carefully closes the bag and sets it aside. “My senses are different from yours, but most horticultural journals state the scent is strongest later in the summer, before the leaves drop.”
“Then I guess I chose the perfect time for a visit.”
“Every day in Harmony Glen is a perfect day to be here,” he says, picking up another variety of birdseed and filling an adorable wooden feeder that looks very much like him, minus the green vines growing from the top of his head. “Did you make it over to Harmony Market?”
“I did, and I figured out why you were so insistent that I go today. You knew Ogram isn’t always in the market store, but he would be there today, giving me an opportunity to meet a troll.”
Using the same seed mix, he moves on to the next feeder in need of a top-up. “How did it go?”
Heat ripples through me. I don’t need to be in front of a mirror to know my cheeks are now bright pink, and from the way the thick ridge above Glen’s eyes rises, I’m sure a verbal answer isn’t required.
Nor do I have an opportunity to give one because the subject of our conversation pulls into the small parking lot, his hulking green form taking up nearly all the space in the front seat of a large pickup truck’s cab.
He’s early. By fifteen minutes.
Glen turns toward the truck. He raises his free hand in a neighborly gesture, then returns his attention to me. “I assume Ogram’s presence here this evening means things went well between the two of you?”
“He was very kind and accommodating. We’re going for a walk, probably along the boardwalk at the beach.”
“That’s more than being kind and accommodating.”
Meeting Ogram’s gaze across the property sends a ripple of warm tingles through me.
Still, this being totally new ground for me, a little reassurance wouldn’t hurt.
“What makes you think that?” I ask Glen as I gesture for Ogram to join us.
I would’ve expected Glen’s laugh to be rough, to match his exterior, but when he chuckles, it’s soft and gentle.
“Trolls don’t tend to be social creatures.
I’ve known Ogram many years, since before the Revelation.
He doesn’t venture into town unless it’s out of necessity.
” Glen tips his head subtly in Ogram’s direction, where he approaching with a bouquet in one large green hand and two paper bags in the other. “Until now, that is.”
My heart feels as if it’s doing the hundred-meter dash in my chest.
Denim molds to Ogram’s long, thick legs as he walks toward us. His eyes don’t waver from mine until he reaches us, and even then, he spares my short-term landlord only a momentary glance while greeting him. “Evening, Glen.”
“Good to see you.” Despite four bird feeders being empty or darn close to it, Glen gathers the birdseed bags in both hands, gives each of us a nod, then makes his way to the building which serves as the office, and possibly his residence, though who knows with a man who’s also a tree.
Even though Ogram and I are outside and any number of people could be watching from the cabins surrounding us, being alone with him makes it feel as if the world has shrunk to include only the two of us. Birdsong and crickets’ chirping are distant sounds compared to my pulse in my ears.
He seems even bigger than when I met him earlier. Without the wooden counter separating us, I legitimately have to tilt my head back to get a proper look at his face. “Hi.”
“I’m early,” he says, his fingers flexing where he grips the stems of the bouquet.
“I’m glad.”
Some of the tension eases from his expression. “These are from my garden at the farmhouse,” he says, offering me the bundle of purple flowers with long, thin petals and yellow centers, the stems wrapped in brown kraft paper and tied with twine.
Our fingers touch as he transfers the bouquet to my hands.
An innocent brushing of skin that my body responds to in a far from innocent way.
My nipples tighten and my clit tingles as if I’ve been working myself up during the spicy part of a one-handed read.
“Thank you, they’re so pretty. All those fields of crops and a flower garden too? You really have a green thumb.”
“Two of them, in fact,” he says, his eyes twinkling as he smiles at me.
“But yes, trolls of my kind have a special affinity with the earth and its bounty.” He sets one of the bags on the ground, then offers the other before I can ask any of the multiplying questions his comment ignites in my curious brain.
“That is not part of the gift.” He motions toward the bag on the ground.
“It is the apples you brought to the counter at the market. You left without them. This one goes with the flowers. I wasn’t sure there would be a vase in the rental cabin. ”
“Thank you.”
Without being asked, he takes back the bouquet, giving me two hands to open the gift.
Knowing what’s inside doesn’t diminish my reaction when I remove the tissue wrapped around a textured amber-and-green glass vase with a soft, rolled edge at the top that reminds me of a leaf unfurling. “This is beautiful. I assume it’s yours. I’ll make sure to return it.”
“It’s yours. I got it for you.”
I turn it over in my hands, tracing the contours and curves. “Is this handblown?”
He nods. “A local artisan.”
“It’s amazing. I didn’t notice anything like this in your store earlier.” The truth is, I barely noticed anything other than Ogram from the moment I entered. Still, I’d like to think something as beautiful as this would’ve at least caught the corner of my eye.
“I don’t carry them at Harmony Market. I would of course, happily, but the artist has a shop of their own downtown that keeps them quite busy.”
On the surface, Ogram’s answer is a simple explanation. With everything I’ve learned about him, and from Glen’s earlier comments, I know the actions he took to get this vase are anything but superficial.
“I love the vase and the flowers.” Unintentionally, my voice comes out soft and breathy.
Is it because I used the word love? It was about the gift, but the rapid thumping in my chest tells me saying it about him would come just as naturally.
A ridiculous thing to think about someone I just met and have spent all of fifteen minutes with.
Logically, I know this. Logic doesn’t feel like it has a place here, though.
“Do you want to come to my cabin while I put them in water?”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods, but the way he’s looking at me… I can’t help wondering if he’s feeling the same inexplicable, magnetic pull.
We cross the lawn to my cabin in a matter of seconds.
At my door, Ogram doesn’t crowd me, giving me an arm’s length of space—one of my arms, that is—while I unlock the door with sweaty-palmed hands.
He waits until I’m fully inside before following, and that pause gives me the opportunity to turn and watch him enter.
Though the cabins are quaint, freshly painted and very clean, they’re not updated.
Like the cabinets and fixtures, the doors are from a bygone era, when the standards leaned toward practical rather than grand.
Ogram has to duck his head to get through the doorway, and his shoulders barely clear the frame.
He’s huge. A monster whose species I know nothing about, beyond the little bit he and Glen told me today.