Chapter 11 Lemon #2
Satisfaction curls through me at his words.
I feel seen in a way that no amount of attention in New York has ever made me feel.
I might be the brightest, shiniest light in my family, but Hunter and Father have always dulled that shine when they could.
Furyon’s words make me feel like Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, pinkening up the courtroom and shocking the hells out of all those who underestimated her.
I smile as I let him lead me toward the first row of tents. The first place we stop is the bakery I noticed earlier.
Furyon waves at the pixie attendant. “Lemon, this is Alyetta. She’s the best baker you’ll find in any haven anywhere, even the city.”
The pixie female smiles, rustling her translucent purple wings at her back as she blushes.
“Furyon’s compliments are so appreciated. I’d love for you to try some of our cakes or breads.” She opens her arms, gesturing to giant pumpkin-shaped bread bowls to her right. “These are sourdough, but then I’ve got some molasses chocolate chip cookies too, if you’re interested?”
I try a little of everything, I swear. Furyon buys a sourdough pumpkin bread bowl that’s bigger than his head, and I purchase a dozen assorted cookies.
An hour goes by, and I check off a half dozen suggestions from the welcome book’s checklist. Furyon introduces me to other monsters, and it’s a lot like Oz said that first day—everyone’s kind and welcoming.
I feel like I tripped down the Alice hole into Wonderland, except it exists behind the Gulch’s rustic main drag.
By the time we get to the end of the first row, I’m holding a half dozen bags, and Furyon’s got a few of his own. He grins at me. “You want to go the next row over, city girl? Or shall we stash these somewhere and grab a drink?”
His smile is genuine and huge, highlighting the dimple in his chin.
“Drink sounds great.” It might be mid-morning, but, shit, I don’t have anything going on for the rest of the day.
Furyon grabs my things. “I’ll go throw these in my truck if you want to grab us a table up on the auction house porch.”
I hand him my stuff, and he turns to go. It takes me a full five minutes to make my way through the crowd around the outer edge of the garden. It takes another five minutes to make it through the line of folks waiting to get a table. Furyon meets me on the steps, frowning at the crowd.
I push my long waves over my shoulder, noting how his eyes fall to my throat. When he looks back up, we both smile.
“This is nice,” I say. “Despite the wait.”
“It is.” He slides a hand up my back to rest between my shoulder blades as a big minotaur pushes down the stairs and gets in our space. “I heard Echo paid you a nosy little visit this morning at BrewHaHa.”
I scoff. “Did Merit or Bryony tell you that?”
He laughs. “Echo herself, as a matter of fact. She’s been my friend a long time, and she’s protective.”
I purse my lips. “She said I had you all confused. What does she mean?”
His laughter this time is much louder, head reared back. “Confused, huh?” He grins at me. “Guess she means she can tell I’m consortin’ with a mastermind criminal. She’s well and truly convinced you’re to blame for our current ills.”
My nostrils flare at the insinuation, and his eyes drop to my lips.
“Easy, city girl,” Furyon croons.
Before I can respond, a gargoyle hostess waves us forward. She leads us to a table right on the edge of the porch. It’s covered, but we’ve got a great view of the garden.
As we take a seat, Furyon points out over the big space.
“The pumpkin and gourd garden was originally a project by the Gulch’s very first Keeper, Sipan Varien.
He’s been gone for a few centuries now, but he was very beloved, and the Gulch herself adores the garden.
It’s weathered quite a few storms, and somehow, despite the soil being mostly terrible here, the garden is a near oasis. ”
I smile as I look out over intricate swirling rows of golden orange and pale green pumpkins. “And this is the guy whose house sits across from Glimmer, right?”
Furyon grins. “That’s the one. And since he passed, the Gulch hasn’t agreed to a single Keeper we’ve had.
Downtown’ll usually kick ‘em out by tossing ‘em in the street and rolling all their belongings out, too. Some of the bars keep count by hanging cowbells in the bar for every Keeper the town gets rid of. It’s…a whole thing.”
I laugh as a waiter drops two menus on our table, then scurries off to the next one over. “How long did the last one make it?”
Furyon blows out a breath, glancing skyward. “Ah, let’s see. The most recent one lasted twelve days, and she was the thirteenth we’ve had since Sipan died. Longest one I can recall was about a year… I really thought that one might stick around.”
“Damn.” I consider how truly weird that is.
As far as I knew, all havens had a Keeper to function like a human mayor.
It’s how havens work with Hearth Headquarters to keep everything running smoothly within the system.
“No wonder the sheriff’s grumpy,” I muse.
“You said he does the Keeper job in lieu of an actual Keeper, right?”
“Yup.” Furyon catches the waiter’s attention, and we order two pumpkin meads. At the last second, he tacks on two cactus shooters, whatever that is. Sounds painful, but I promise I’m down to try it when he swears it’s good.
“So…you didn’t grow up here, right? You said you’d been here about fifty years.” I sip at the pumpkin mead, and, fuck, it’s really good. Amadala was right.
Furyon shakes his head. “Hearth Headquarters. My family’s into personal security like most dark elf houses. I just never wanted that for myself. There’s something about hitting your first hundred years and realizing what you don’t want, ya know?”
I wave around. “So how’d you end up here after…that other place.” Halfway through, I feel guilty for mentioning the vampire coven he shared with me earlier.
He smiles anyhow, that crooked half grin that’s so damn sexy. “I never wanted a security job, and I always preferred the company of animals to other monsters. After my time with the coven, I needed space to clear my head and get back to what felt right in my bones.”
His smile grows thoughtful. “I visited most of the havens, but nothing ever felt like a fit to me until Pine Gulch. Not to mention the sheriff practically begged me to stay and help him, ironic since I was tryna get away from monsters.”
I lift a brow. “And the accent?”
He chuckles. “I’ve been here fifty years, just about, so that developed over time, and I think it sorta suits me. What do you think?”
Flaring my nostrils, I shrug playfully. “Seems to me like you’re fishing for compliments.”
“I changed my mind, that’s all!”
Raised voices draw our attention, and I glance to my left to see Varek the minotaur developer cross his arms as he scowls at another minotaur across the table from him.
“We had an agreement,” Varek says, his tone dark and peeved-sounding.
“And yet I no longer agree.” The other minotaur rises, fists balled. “You can’t make me sign this contract.”
Varek stands, seemingly oblivious to how everyone on the patio is staring at him and his guest.
“Of course not,” he snaps. “But you’ve got half the fucking money already. So, if you don’t plan to sign, you’ll be returning that immediately."
The other minotaur grits his teeth. “Naturally.”
For a long moment, they glare at each other. I’m worried they’ll lock horns and one or both of them will get tossed around and knock things over. But Varek remains silent, and the other minotaur eventually turns to go, leaving behind an untouched plate of food.
Furyon and I are still staring, although most of the other monsters go back to their brunch.
Varek turns to us, eyes flashing with irritation. “Suppose you’ll be happy to see that deal fall through, Furyon.”
Across from me, Furyon chuckles. “Can’t say I’m sad to see it fall apart, Varek.”
The big minotaur sighs and drops into his chair, crossing one muscular leg elegantly over the other. “Why can’t anyone around here see my vision?” he seems to say it to himself.
When neither Furyon nor I respond, he looks over. “If we had a real Keeper, they’d get it.”
Furyon shrugs. “If you say so, friend.”
But the way he spits the word tells me exactly what he thinks of Varek’s idea. Given how negative all the Gulchers I’ve met seem about it, I wonder why Varek’s stuck it out here this long?
Curious…