Chapter 3 #2
In the middle of it all, standing at a long, beat-up folding table strewn with tomatoes, pears, cucumbers, and an obscene number of apples, Beth.
Her fists were on her hips as she glared at the produce like it had personally wronged her.
Shorts, a faded tank, skin sun-bronzed and smudged with dirt.
Scratches on her shins. Knees streaked with garden grime.
Her hair was piled into a gravity-defying mess, held together by hope and a rogue pencil.
Sweat slicked the back of her neck, gleaming at her temples and probably everywhere else.
She was radiant.
There was something real, grounded, generous in the sight of her.
She didn’t belong in the garden as much as she was part of it.
A modern-day Mother Earth with a stubborn streak and a glare that could wilt weeds.
He caught the scent of earth and wind on her skin, the hum of life singing quietly through her aura.
Gael’s breath caught as desire detonated, and it was not some soft, silken fantasy. He wanted her here.
Sweaty.
Messy.
Sun-kissed and barefoot, pressed into the warm soil, tangled in roots and sex. He wanted to roll her beneath him, her moans in his mouth, her legs locked around his hips while the earth swallowed every sound they made.
Filthy. Feral. Unthinkable. It owned him.
He clenched his fists in his pockets so tightly the fabric strained, trying to wrestle the heat back under control. Shield up. Shield up now.
A long breath. Then another.
Gael forced his magic inward, cool and grounding, a rush of stillness borrowed from stones and deep roots. He shoved the hunger down, folded it into layers of calm like packing fire in snow. Control. Discipline. Dignity, for stars’ sake.
By the time he leaned on the fence, he had composed himself.
And then the wood creaked.
Beth’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide with surprise. They narrowed almost instantly when she saw who it was. “It’s a way from the Festival,” she said with a frown. “How did you get here?”
“I got lost,” he said, voice as neutral as his face.
She arched a brow. “Your kind doesn’t get lost.”
The reference didn’t sting. It wasn’t a swipe at elves in general, it was all for him. Which, frankly, was fair. “My kind does take long walks,” he offered, managing a faint smile. “Sometimes we end up in interesting places.”
She crossed her arms. “My backyard?”
“I wouldn’t call this a backyard,” he murmured, sweeping his eyes across the chaos of blooms and bounty. “More like a cultivated riot.”
She snorted. “That better not be an insult.”
“It’s not,” he said quietly, looking at her. “It’s beautiful.” And this time, he meant it with zero subtext. Okay, maybe a little subtext.
“I like growing stuff.”
“I can tell,” he said, nodding toward the table. “And you’re also very good at it. You’ve got an impressive harvest there.”
The compliment mollified her—barely. Her gaze dropped from disdainful and hateful to merely annoyed, which, for Beth, equaled to a standing ovation.
It wasn’t enough to earn an invite in, though, which only made him want to get in more.
He nodded to the mess of produce spread across the battered table. “What are you doing with all that?”
Beth narrowed her eyes. “Why are we having this conversation?”
“Because,” he said smoothly, “I happen to like your garden and what you’re doing in it. And so, it’s only reasonable that we converse about it.”
Her arms crossed again, her stance defensive but not completely closed. “What if I don’t like you?”
“Please,” he scoffed, amused. “You don’t know me. You think you do, of course. And being a very, very stubborn woman, you won’t even consider that your knowledge might be flawed at best.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
“I am certainly not, and—” She stopped herself, lips twitching as she realized how perfectly she’d just walked into his point. “It was supposed to be canning day.”
“Makes sense,” he said. He stepped closer to the fence and leaned in a little, resting his elbows on the top rail. “So why is everything still out here?”
Frustration pinched her brows as she glanced at the table.
“Because I got so caught up in the idea of doing everything that I forgot to factor in how long it takes to peel and prep everything. Now...” She gestured helplessly to the chaos of fruit and vegetables.
“Now I have to pick one thing and just try to finish it because there’s no way I can do it all. ”
“What a conundrum.”
She shrugged. “I’ll make it work. I just wish I’d thought it through.”
Gael tilted his head. “You know,” he said, keeping his tone light, “I could help.”
Her eyes narrowed instantly.
“Not with my actual hands,” he clarified, quickly holding up his palms, fingers wiggling. “There’s enough produce to need four people, anyway. I could help with magic.”
Beth looked at him like he’d offered to barbecue Nick, the beloved town veterinarian and unicorn shifter. “That’s cheating.”
“I didn’t realize this was a competition.” He shrugged. “I see it more as efficient management of resources. I have a skill that can help, why not use it?”
He let his shields down, just a little. Enough to feel her. The wariness, the heat. The dislike that wasn’t as simple as she made it seem. And beneath it all, a dash of temptation. Maybe even curiosity. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting help,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
She tilted her head. “Even if a demon’s offering?”
“Well,” he said dryly, “I’m hardly a demon. And honestly, demons get a bad rap. I know a few. Delightful dinner guests.”
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but not not a smile, right before the harder question. “Why do you want to help so badly?”
He hesitated. He could’ve given her something neat and smooth.
Forgettable, like community goodwill or seasonal spirit.
But the truth was, she’d gotten under his skin and the thought of her, or of her and Bryn, had taken up more mental real estate than he had to give.
And he hated being preoccupied almost as much as he hated being misjudged. Especially by her.
So he gave her the truth. “Because I like it,” he said simply, glancing toward the chaos of her garden. “Because this,” he gestured at the table, the plants, her, “is the closest thing to perfection I’ve felt in weeks.” A pause. “Maybe longer. And because it’s Mabon, it fits even more.”
She blinked, thrown just enough for him to see it.
“What about the festival?” she asked.
“It’s fine. Loud. Fun.” He met her gaze, steady and sincere. “This is better.”
Beth stared at him a second longer, then let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes in the most dramatic, I-regret-this-already kind of way. “All right. The gate’s around the –”
She never finished the sentence because Gael vaulted the fence in one movement that had a touch more flair than what was strictly necessary. A little showing off had never killed anyone.
She noticed. And he noticed her noticing.
Perfect.
“So,” he said, rubbing his hands together like an elf about to have the time of his life. “What are we doing first?”
Beth blinked, clearly thrown by his eagerness. “Uh... the apples are probably the worst of it. There’s just so many.”
“You want them peeled, cored, diced, and in there, yes?” he asked, nodding toward the large ceramic pot resting on the other side of the table.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll grab the sugar and some lemons to juice into it.”
“Consider it handled.”
She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder as she walked away, to which he merely smiled.
He pulled a rickety chair close, dropped into it, picked up a glossy red apple, and rolled it thoughtfully in his palm before taking a bite.
Sweet, crisp, tart at the edges, exactly as he liked them.
Gael let his focus drift outward as he chewed, and apples lifted from the table, hovering lazily in the air.
Just a half-thought and the air shimmered faintly as telekinetic force flickered to life. Telekinesis peeled, cored, and cut in light-speed succession, then the pieces floated into the large ceramic pot like obedient dancers, while cores dropped neatly in a bowl and peels into another.
He popped a piece into his mouth and leaned back just as Beth returned, lemons in one hand and a bag of sugar in the other. She’d tamed her hair some, but the smudges of dirt were still all there.
She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes jumped between him and the neat arrangement of fruit, then she only asked, “How... how did you do that? I was gone for, like, five minutes. I knew magic would speed things up, but this...”
He gave a modest shrug that wasn’t modest at all. “Not magic, per se. Telekinesis. Very high-end, centuries-refined telekinesis. I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”
Beth set the sugar down and picked up a chunk of apple, examining it like she expected it to be a trick. “I didn’t know telekinesis could work like this.”
“It does for me.” He winked. “There’s a reason I’m third in line.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So that’s how Elara chops everything so fast.”
“Caught red-handed,” he said with mock solemnity. “What a little fiend my sweet cousin is.”
She shook her head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “show-off,” but the corner of her mouth twitched, just barely.
That counted as a win.
“Hey,” she added, jabbing a thumb toward the remaining produce, “since you’re clearly the Fruit Whisperer, you can keep going.”
“Oh no,” he said, rising from the chair with exaggerated flair. “I’ve demonstrated my power. Now we do things the rustic way so you don’t feel like cheating.”
“What, you’re going to actually peel something?”
“I’ll supervise.”
She handed him a paring knife. “You, sir, are on pear duty.”
He took it, flipping it once between his fingers before settling in at the table beside her.