Chapter 5
five
By morning, my little victory has paled into insignificance after a night of restless sleep. That damn faerie haunted my dreams and left me lying awake for hours, my brain unable to stop churning.
As a result, when my alarm goes off I’m hollow-eyed, exhausted, and in a very bad mood. Just what I need before a busy day working retail.
I haul myself out of bed and stumble toward the door, pausing for a second with my hand on the knob to listen. It’s quiet out there. Is my sexy faerie sleeping still?
Or was the whole thing just a really fucked-up dream?
A dizzying combination of hope and disappointment crashes through me. I had a really rough night with really vivid dreams—it’s entirely possible summoning the faerie was just the first of those. That’s the most logical explanation—and what I should be hoping for.
On the other hand, summoning a faerie is without doubt the coolest and most interesting thing I’ve ever done, and I don’t want that taken away from me.
Buuuuut… living with a faerie who clearly doesn’t like me for the next three weeks would be terrible.
“Are you going to stand there all day, or do you plan to emerge at some stage?”
The smooth-yet-biting voice reaches my ears clearly despite the closed door, and my inner self cackles with glee. I summoned a goddamn faerie!
I yank open the door and glare at the tall, even-better-looking-in-daylight, shirtless faerie standing in my kitchen, my favourite mug cradled in his hands.
Despite the relatively early hour, he looks as fresh as a daisy.
Clearly he got a better night’s sleep than I did, even though he was on a couch in a strange place.
Arsehole.
“Would you like some tea?” he offers. “It’s not bad, despite the poor quality.”
The growl that erupts from my throat is entirely unexpected, but it doesn’t faze him at all. He just sips my tea that he insulted from my mug, in my kitchen, like he’s in his own damn home. I don’t bother to answer, just stomp into the bathroom.
A shower goes a long way toward waking me up, and I even feel a little bit guilty by the time I’m done.
After all, if I’d been torn away from my home by someone I’d never met, I’d probably be an arsehole too.
When you get down to it, this situation is my fault, and he’s doing the best he can to cope with it.
And I did tell him to make himself at home in the kitchen.
The front door is open when I emerge into the main room again, and I catch a glimpse of my sexy faerie standing outside, his head thrown back as he inhales deeply.
I don’t blame him—at this time of year, the early morning air is addictive, still cool and fresh but not cold, carrying the sharp tang of eucalyptus plus newly-turned dirt and fuck knows what else.
It’s one advantage to living in the country that I’ll never be upset about.
I get dressed for work quickly, planning to hit one of the cafés in town for a coffee and something breakfasty before I have to open the store. I’ve got food here, but after the night I had, I think I deserve to have someone else cook for me. Plus, it’ll get me out of here sooner.
I head for the door, pausing only to grab my wallet and keys, then find myself hovering awkwardly once I step outside. His eyes are closed. Is he communing with nature? Or… something? I don’t want to interr—
“Aghhh!” I shriek as his eyes pop open. He blinks, unfazed, as I clutch my chest and try to breathe. “You scared the living crap out of me.”
“Did I?”
“I’m going to work,” I announce, telling myself it’s fine that he didn’t apologise. Maybe it’s a cultural difference. “I should be back by six.” Does he even know when that is? What’s the fae concept of time like?
He nods. “Very well.”
I wait for him to say more—maybe ask some questions—but he doesn’t, so I step past him and head to my car.
It’s not until I’m opening the door that I realise he’s followed me and is about to get into the passenger seat.
“What are you doing?”
The look he gives me questions my intelligence. “I’m getting into your vehicle.”
I grit my teeth. “I can see that. Why are you getting into my car?”
“So I can accompany you.”
Getting a straight answer out of him is going to be impossible, and I don’t have the time for a fight—not if I want the bacon-and-egg muffin I’ve been picturing. So instead I simply say, “No. You’re staying here.”
He shakes his head. “I go where you go.”
“Absolutely not.” I can’t take him to work with me!
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck no.”
He folds his arms across his chest and glowers at me. “I am here to be your companion. How am I supposed to do that if I don’t accompany you?”
Oh my god, this is a nightmare.
“I’m going to work,” I explain, a desperate edge in my voice. “There will be people there all day. I won’t need company, believe me. So you stay here, and you can keep me company when I get home.”
He shakes his head again. “That’s not how it works.”
I stare at him, my brain whimpering from lack of coffee and this whole ridiculous situation.
What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t take him to work with me—what’s he going to do in the bookstore all day while I’m telling tourists that we don’t have David Baldacci’s backlist?
But the stubborn set of his jaw and the gleam in his eye tell me clear as day that he won’t back down easily, and I don’t have time—or the energy—to stand here arguing.
“Fine,” I capitulate. “But there are rules, and you have to follow them because I don’t want to lose my job, got it?”
He gives a curt nod. “Of course.”
“You sit in a corner and read or something. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself.
Don’t tell anyone you’re fae, or that I summoned you.
If anyone asks”—oh fuck, someone’s going to ask, it’s a small town even if it is overrun by tourists—“we’ll tell them you’re a friend from Melbourne staying with me for a few weeks. ”
“That’s acceptable.”
I wasn’t asking for his approval, but I let it slide. The time I have left for breakfast is getting shorter by the second.
“Get in, then.”
We’re halfway to town, and I’m mentally rehearsing the casual tone I’ll use to explain his presence to Godfrey—maybe I can tell him it’s “Bring a Friend to Work Day”—when I realise something.
Coughing to clear my throat, I slide a sideways look at my sexy faerie and consider how best to do this. It’s damn embarrassing but can’t be avoided—not if he’ll be here for three weeks.
“So… in all the, uh, drama last night, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Lachie. Lachlan. Uh, Lachlan Herriot.”
He doesn’t spare me a glance, seemingly enthralled by the passing farms. “I know.”
“How—” I bite off the rest of the sentence. Faerie. Summoned to be my companion. “The summoning spell probably gave you that information, huh?”
“No, I saw your name on the letter stuck to your… refrigerator.” There’s the barest hesitation before he says the word.
“You snooped?” I demand indignantly, though I can hardly blame him for glancing at something while he opened the fridge. I really need to pay that speeding ticket soon, anyway.
“I’m your companion,” he replies calmly, as though that gives him license to snoop. I force myself to make like Elsa and let one more thing go. I need to stay on track.
“Well, anyway, it’s nice to meet you…” I let my voice rise expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
He does not.
After a few seconds of silence that make me want to bludgeon him, I give up and ask, “What’s your name?”
My sexy faerie turns his head to look at me, those dark eyes inscrutable.
“Cillian,” he says. “You can call me Cillian.”
That’s good enough for me.
“Great. Are you hungry, Cillian? We’re going to stop for breakfast. Is there anything you don’t eat?” Please god, don’t let the fae have some sort of complicated diet that’s going to be hard to get hold of.
“I can eat what you eat.”
“Bacon butties for all,” I mutter, and then we lapse into silence.
When we get to town, I park the car in my spot behind the bookstore, then lead Cillian to Main Street.
At this time, only the cafés and the hot bread shop are open, but most of them are already busy with tourists.
I don’t have a favourite—I like to spread my food love indiscriminately—so I pick the one that looks the least busy and stride in.
The realisation that I’ve made a mistake is almost immediate. Karen is manning the register this morning, and she’s an old friend of my aunt’s. Even as the customer ahead of us steps aside, Karen’s eyes skate from my face to where Cillian is skulking close beside me, and her smile falters.
And then it’s back, along with a gleam in her eye that makes my stomach sink.
“Good morning, Lachie. What’ll it be today?”
“Double-shot latte,” I say desperately, then, when her brows shoot up, I add, “I mean, hi, Karen. Great to see you. Could I have a double-shot latte, please? And, um, two bacon butties?” Reluctantly, I turn to Cillian.
“Do you want coffee?” Does he even know what coffee is? “Or something else to drink?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Two lattes,” I tell Karen. “Thanks.” I hold out my phone, ready to tap the card reader, but it’s too late. She’s scented blood—I mean gossip—and is smiling at Cillian.
“Hello,” she says warmly. “I’m Karen. Are you new to town, or just visiting?”
He stares at her expressionlessly.
Karen darts a glance at me, then tries again. “Are you a friend of Lachie’s?”
Slowly, Cillian turns his head toward me. “Who is this person?”
I bite back a groan as Karen’s eyes widen in affront.
“He’s not very social,” I tell her. I’m a little envious, because there have been many times I’ve wanted to brush people off with a rude comment, but I never dared.
“Cillian, this is Karen. She makes the best coffee you’ve ever tasted.
” Not really, but a compliment can’t hurt at this stage.
The gossip is going to be rampant. “Cillian’s a friend of mine from Melbourne. He’s visiting for a few weeks.”
I can literally see the battle behind Karen’s gaze between her curiosity and offense, and I decide to get ahead of it. “I wish we had more time to chat, but I can see how busy it is in here, and I have to get to work, so why don’t I just pay and get out of your hair?”
She’s distracted enough—probably trying to decide who to call first—that she nods and sends my order to the card reader so I can tap, and then I declare, “We’ll just wait outside,” and hustle Cillian through the door before he can speak again.
The first thing he says when we’re back on the wide footpath is, “Are people going to expect me to talk to them?” The note of disdain in his tone makes it very clear what he thinks of that idea.
“Yes,” I hiss. “You don’t need to be chatty, but saying ‘hello’ won’t kill you.”
His huff is a work of art. “Don’t be so certain.”
My jaw is clenched so tight that I have to force the muscles to release.
“Look, you were the one who insisted on coming with me today. You could have been nice and comfy and alone in the cottage, but instead you’re here, in a town full of people, about to spend the day in a retail establishment.
Where there will be more people, and some of them may speak to you. ”
“Not for long,” he says darkly, and I swear, my vision goes dark with panic.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t do anything to anyone! Remember what you promised about not drawing attention or letting anyone know you’re—” I look around, but there’s nobody close enough to hear. “Nobody can know you’re fae,” I whisper.
“Yes. I know. We’ve discussed this.” His tone implies that I’m the one being difficult right now, and I throw up my hands in frustration.
“Wait here while I get our breakfast,” I snap, then stomp back into the café. Behind the counter, Karen is making coffee with a phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, and when she catches sight of me, she half turns away.
Great. Just great.