5. Gordy
Chapter 5
Gordy
I’m balancing a stack of graphic novels Alice might like when she breezes into the bookstore, her silky sable hair as vibrant as the first brushstroke on a blank canvas. Her dark blue eyes scan the shelves before landing on me.
“Hey,” she says with that quiet intensity that always pulls me in. “You won’t believe what happened at my place.”
“Try me.” I set the books down on a nearby table and lean against it, trying to look casual despite the butterflies doing acrobatics in my stomach.
“It started in my art studio,” she says, using air quotes for “studio,” which means the sunny corner of her bedroom. “I woke up the other morning, and there was paint on my new canvas. Not just any paint, paint in a style that isn’t mine. And this morning, there was wet paint mixed on my palette, colors I’ve never used before.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a poltergeist with a master’s in fine art,” I say with a polite smile. I want to keep things light, but the revelation sends a shiver through me.
Her brows knit together as she steps closer to me. “Or someone is breaking in and doing a Banksy.”
I feel the agitation from the top of my head before I hear it, a chorus of hissing that makes both of us flinch. My snakes have been on edge around Alice from day one. It’s frustrating. Why can’t they see how amazing she is?
“Sorry, they’re not fans of mystery, I guess,” I murmur, reaching up to calm them. Their writhing under my touch tells me it’s no use. They’re not settling down. Sighing, I pull a knit cap from my back pocket and tug it over my snake-laden scalp. Instantly, the hissing subsides into a disgruntled murmur against my skin .
“Better?” I ask, hoping my embarrassment doesn’t show.
“Much,” Alice says with a sweet smile that sends a jolt straight to my heart.
She steps closer, and my snakeswrithe beneath the knit cap. One particularly bold snakeslips free from under the fabric, flicking its tongue at Alice like it’s scolding her.
Alice raises an eyebrow. “Really? What’s your problem, buddy?”
The snakehuffs—I swear to the gods it actually huffs —thencoils back, sulking.
“Great,” she mutters, crossing her arms. “I’m being judged by a pile of sentient spaghetti.”
I rub a hand over the cap, forcing the snakes tosettle down. “They’re just… not used to you yet.”
“Or they know something I don’t.” Her voice is light, but her eyes hold a flicker of unease.
She’s not wrong. And that worries me.
The thing is, as much as the snakes seem to dislike her presence, I’m falling for her. Hard. Like, dreaming-of-her-smile-and-the-sound-of-her-laugh kind of hard. I want to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but I’m no monster in behavior. I’ll wait for the right moment—if it ever comes.
“Maybe your mystery artist is a fan,” I suggest, steering us back to safer waters. “Ever thought about setting up a camera?”
She shakes her head. “Too logical. I prefer to believe in the supernatural explanation. Makes life more interesting, don’t you think?”
“Definitely more your style.” The corner of my mouth quirks up. I’m hooked on every syllable she utters, even when my words are drowned out by the muffled protests under my cap.
“Anyway, thanks for listening,” she says, her gaze holding mine. “It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t automatically suggest calling the cops or getting a carbon monoxide detector.”
“Anytime, Al. You know where to find me.”
We stand there for a second too long, the tension as thick as oil paints on canvas. But I don’t move closer, even though everything in me screams to close that gap. No, I won’t be the guy who takes advantage, not when I could be dangerous to her in ways she doesn’t even know.
“Next time, bring pictures of the painting,” I say instead, backing away slightly. “I’d love to see the ghost’s handiwork.”
“Deal.” She grins, and it lights up the whole room, or maybe that’s how it feels to me.
As she turns to browse the stacks, I watch her, the heat of our almost-moment lingering like the final note of a song. And I wonder if she feels it, too, this electric current between us, waiting to spark.
Time for a subject change.
“Al, you know how you’re always saying you’re such a ‘clumsy mortal?’” I start, watching her fingers trace the spine of a dusty volume of Fae folklore. She pulls out the book and looks up at me, a lock of sable hair falling into her curious blue eyes .
“Umm, yeah,” she replies with a half-laugh. “Why?”
“Because I don’t think it’s clumsiness.” There’s no use beating around the bush anymore. My snakes seem to have calmed down for the moment, so I plunge ahead. “I think you might be, well, magical. Like a witch, maybe?”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she blinks rapidly, clearly taken aback. “A witch? Me?” The disbelief in her voice is genuine, but it doesn’t deter me.
“Think about it,” I urge, leaning against the counter, trying to keep my tone light despite the gravity of my words. “The strange color mixtures of paint, the painting with additions you didn’t do…”
“Are you serious right now?” Her voice holds an edge of laughter, but underneath it, I sense her wheels turning. “I’m not hiding anything. Why would I hide being a witch?”
“Maybe because they aren’t exactly popular?” I suggest, tilting my head and giving her a knowing look. “Witches have had a rough go throughout history. If your family knew, they might have wanted to protect you from all that.”
She chews on her lower lip, pondering.
“But why wouldn’t they tell me?” Her hands grip the Fae book like it’s a lifeline.
“Parents do crazy things for their kids,” I say with a shrug. “Especially if they think it’ll keep them safe.”
“Safe…” Alice echoes, her gaze distant. “That would explain so much. Like why magical stuff either goes haywire or fizzles around me.”
“Exactly.” I nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “You could be suppressing something big, Al.”
“Great,” she huffs, slapping the book closed. “So I’m a walking disaster because I’m a closeted witch.”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself.” I can’t help but crack a smile. “At least you’re an interesting disaster.”
“Thanks, Gordy,” she says dryly, but I catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She taps her chin thoughtfully. “So, if I am a witch, do I get, like, powers? Can I fly? Turn things into frogs? Because I gotta be honest, I feel wildly unqualified for this gig.”
I shake my head. “I think witchcraft is a little more complex than that.”
She snaps her fingers dramatically. “Darn. No instant broomstick privileges.”
Then, her gaze lands on apile of books on the counter. “What if I just… try something?”
I frown. “Try what, exactly?”
She wiggles her fingers over the books like she’s casting a spell. “Move, O Books of the Ancient Texts! Fly forth and reveal your secrets!”
Nothing happens.
She pouts. “Lame.”
Then—one of the books suddenly topples over .
We both freeze .
Alice gasps. “Did I just?— ”
I glance around, skeptical. “Could’ve been gravity.”
Alice narrows her eyes. “Or could’ve been witchy prowess .”
The bookshifts again, and my snakesall go still like they’re listening.
Alice takes a slow step back. “Okay. Little spooky. Not gonna lie.”
I shuffle a step closer to her, drawn by the intensity in her eyes as she contemplates the possibility of hidden magic in her veins. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, and she absently bites her lip, lost in thought. It’s adorable and maddening all at once. The bookstore around us fades into a blur. It’s just Al and me in this bubble of revelations and rising tension.
“Gordy?” she says, her voice pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts. “You’re staring.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, my gaze dipping for a moment. “It’s just…you make thinking look good.”
“Is that a line from one of your dusty romance novels?” she asks, though her cheeks are tinged with pink, and her eyes hold a sparkle that wasn’t there before.
“Maybe it’s a new one I’m considering writing,” I fire back, allowing myself a small grin. “The Tale of the Enchanting Bookworm and the Gorgon Who Loves Her.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re the star,” she retorts with mock arrogance. But then she glances up under long lashes, and the air between us charges with something unsaid but felt deeply.
“Stars are overrated,” I whisper, leaning in an inch too close. “I’d rather be the guy who falls for one.”
Her breath catches, and the sound sends a thrill straight through me. The urge to kiss her is like a physical ache, growing more insistent with each passing second. But a gnawing fear nags at the back of my mind, a worry about the creatures that crown my head, hidden beneath the knit cap I’ve hastily slapped over them.
My snakes hiss softly as if they can sense my desire, and their displeasure is palpable. Their cool scales brush against my scalp, a constant reminder of the danger I pose. What would happen if one of them bit her? If my gaze met hers for a fraction too long?
“Gordy?” Alice’s voice is soft, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “Just thinking about things.”
“Like what?” She tilts her head, her curiosity piqued, unaware of the internal battle I’m waging.
“Like how much trouble we might get into if I’m not careful.” My words are light, but the meaning behind them is heavy with implications.
“Trouble’s not always bad,” she says, her tone teasing, yet I catch a flicker of daring in her eyes. She’s challenging me without even knowing it.
“Depends on the trouble,” I reply, feeling reckless. “Some kinds are worth the risk.”
“Then maybe…” She trails off, leaving the invitation hanging in the air between us.
“Maybe,” I echo, the word circling us like a promise. A promise filled with the unknown, with risks and wild chances.
But for now, I step back because as much as I want to leap, I need to be sure it’s safe for her when we land.
“We need to figure out if you’re a witch or… something else,” I say, my voice rough with the effort of restraint.
I hope she’ll let the moment pass, even if it’s the last thing I truly want. I need to get myself under control before I can even think about kissing her. Or anything else.
Alice nods. “I think it’s time we visit my parents. Find out if I’m a witch or if I really am the world’s biggest jinx.”
I sigh with relief. She’s letting it go. For now.
So why does that make me a little sad when it was exactly what I wanted?