Chapter 17
Astrid
My mouth had no filter, and his timing had no mercy.
What were the odds that he and he were the same person? In my world, pretty high. I should have memorized the entire town’s names and family trees to avoid this surprise.
“Mom, I can’t find the keys to the attic storage.” His eyes locked on mine, watching me. My face flushed, guilt written all over it, despite my desperate hope that he hadn’t heard a thing.
“It’s on the key rack,” Mabel said absently, already turning her attention back to me. “So, Astrid, about this Loki you mentioned.”
Abort mission, Mabel, please. Don’t ask about him. He is standing right in front of you.
“Oh goodness, I didn’t even introduce you two.” Mabel said. “Astrid, meet my son, Aeron. Aeron, this is Astrid. She’ll be handling the summer festival this year.”
“Hi, Astrid.” He smiled, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Good to see you.” He paused just long enough for his lips to shape one more word—silent, subtle, and meant only for me. “Again.”
“Mom, the keys,” he reminded her again. “Even Isabel can’t find them.”
“Astrid, give me a minute.” Mabel apologized. “I'll be right back.”
“That’s fine.” My voice came out roughly two octaves higher than normal. “Actually, I should probably get going—”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Aeron interrupted smoothly, his eyes on me. “I’ll keep your guest entertained.”
Entertained . The way he said it, you’d think I was some rare animal he’d been tracking for weeks and finally caught in his lens.
Mabel walked into the house, leaving me alone with him.
Silence.
“Hi!” I greeted, maybe a little too brightly. “We meet again.” I even added a wave for extra cringe points. A smile, possibly the most awkward in the history of awkward smiles, stretched across my face. “Nat Geo photographer huh? That's really cool. I saw Phantom Spring . It’s beautiful.”
His deadpan stare froze me mid-smile.
I’m in trouble. I needed to escape, preferably now.
“Nice meeting you. I have to go. Busy stuff. Planning and all. Bye,” I rambled, awkwardly sidestepping him in to make my escape. I'd barely made it two steps when strong fingers curled around the sleeve of my shirt, pulling me back, face-to-face with him again.
“Loki, really?” He crossed his arms, leveling me with a serious look.
“Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” I shot him an accusing look. My mind served up a picture of him leaning against a door, ear flattened like a cartoon spy, gathering gossips.
His mouth curled into an infuriatingly lazy smile. “Didn’t have to. Your voice alone could wake the dead”—he paused just long enough to land the blow—“Dizzytrid.”
Anger prickled my skin.
Partly because, my voice waking the dead? But mostly because he’d called me Dizzytrid, the nickname he used after my unfortunate trash can fall. For the record, I hadn’t been dizzy. The stool was defective. But he preferred his own diagnosis, insisting I had low blood sugar.
“Still, you still shouldn't listen to people's conversations. It’s rude.”
“Rude as in letting half the town think I’m some kind of villain?” He asked.
“I didn’t tell anyone.” I quickly justified myself.
He gave me a pointed look—the kind reserved for guilty toddlers and puppy-eyed criminals.
“Okay, fine. One person. Kelly—my best friend.” I paused, mentally recounting my crimes.
“Actually, two. Your mom knows now too, but she doesn’t know it’s you. ”
“If I'd waited five more minutes,” he said dryly, “you probably would've given her enough details to sketch my portrait.”
If I'd actually known his name, I'd probably have blurted it out—no sketch artist needed—and landed myself in even deeper trouble. For once, my complete ignorance of the town’s family trees had worked in my favor
“The keys were on the rack, Aeron.” Mabel returned. She handed him the keys. “They even had a label on it. And Isabel said you never asked her.”
“Oops,” Aeron said, sounding zero percent sorry. “I checked the kitchen cabinets. Isabel looked busy. I didn’t want to bother her.”
I shot him a sharp glare, strong enough to drag his eyes right back to me. You sent your mom away so you could corner me on purpose, didn’t you?
His lips curved into a slow, smug smile, the kind that you’d see on a guy who stole parking spots. He held my gaze just long enough for me to read the message clearly: Yep, guilty. And not even a little sorry.
And then he turned around.
I stared after him, speechless at his total lack of shame. He hadn’t even bothered trying to deny it. I should've been annoyed—fine, I was annoyed—but a laugh snuck out anyway.
He was already stepping away when Mabel called after him.
“Aeron, wait.” She glanced between us. “Now that you two have officially met, introductions are out of the way. Aeron will be working alongside you on the summer festival, Astrid.”
What?
“Partners for the festival, Astrid. I'll do my best to make it enjoyable for both of us.”
And he left.
My mind barely registered anything Mabel was saying. All I could focus on was how I'd manage to survive an entire month working side-by-side with Aeron. She even suggested I lean on him to handle Loki—oh, the irony.
When we stepped back inside the house, my eyes immediately found Aeron. His gaze met mine, making something flutter nervously inside me—restlessness I couldn’t quite deny. Mumbling a quick excuse to Mabel about needing to leave, I hurried out.
Relief washed over me until my neck prickled, betraying me. I sensed Aeron behind me. Great. My body had even developed an Aeron-specific radar.
“Astrid.”
My breath caught as I turned around slowly, bracing myself for whatever scolding awaited me. “I didn’t tell your mom anything this time,” I blurted defensively.
“I know,” he said.
He knew?
I realized he hadn’t even accused me of anything yet.
Then why did he follow me?
He lifted his hand, holding out my phone. “You forgot this.” His voice was gentle, almost soft, completely unlike his usual mocking tone.
“Sorry.” I gave him a sheepish smile and quickly took the phone. Our fingers brushed, and a small jolt rippled up my arm.
I turned toward my car, but my feet didn't move.
Aeron’s didn't either.
I waited, half-expecting him to say something, hoping he would, even.
When he didn't, I considered filling the silence myself, but my mind turned frustratingly blank.
Should I thank him? Talk about the summer festival we'd be working on together?
Nothing felt right. Giving up, I took a hesitant step toward my car when… .
“Marsha.” A pause. Long enough for my pulse to trip. “Mallow.”
I let out a breath, heart thumping harder. Marshmallow. The silly name I'd given him before he knew my real one. He brought it back up to tease me again? Or was he reminding me of that awkward moment?
I glanced at him over my shoulder, pulse stumbling, waiting.
“Your phone case, it’s beautiful.”
I gripped my phone tighter, fingers pressing into the cartoon frog. My face turned beet red. He’d called me a talking frog. “Thank you, Sherlock,” I said, slowly and deliberately stretching out the pause to mirror his teasing tone. “Holmes.”
It was the same name he’d given me when I’d introduced myself as Marshmallow. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who remembered that moment.
I stepped into the car without looking back, hoping I looked far cooler than I felt.