No Sense of Humor, But at Least He’s Handsome
No Sense of Humor, But at Least He’s Handsome
Isit cross-legged on the bed and refold T-shirts as I take them out of my suitcase. My phone lies on the comforter near my thigh. A cord connects it to my earbuds because I can’t keep track of wireless ones.
“It’s fine,” I tell my mom. “The house is cute, and Chester likes the yard.”
It’s after ten here, but it’s only seven at home. I ate a peanut butter sandwich for dinner and started the daunting task of unpacking. It’s absurd, but it feels like Laverna’s antique, pretty things don’t want to mingle with my department store belongings.
“I hate that you’re all the way across the country,” Mom says, “alone in that old house.”
But I’m not alone. Though I’m not sure it’s the right time to bring up my geriatric, feathered roommate. Neither of my parents will be excited to learn Laverna made me the legal guardian of an adult, male mage.
“It’s really cozy,” I tell her instead.
And though it’s not a lie, it’s not completely true, either. The house is adorable, but it doesn’t feel like home.
I think of the bedroom I left back in Washington. The only thing that’s changed since I was a young girl is the bedding. The walls are pale pink, and my furniture is white. I had a collection of Nadine’s pinecone hedgehogs perched along the top of the dresser.
I brought one with me, and he now lives on my nightstand. I smile at him, though he’s making me a little sad.
Opting to travel light, I left most of my books. I wish I had brought more than a few favorites, though I do have an entire library loaded on my e-reader.
“Dad and I will visit you soon, all right?” Mom says, probably picking up on my mild distress. She’s good at that. “Try to get some sleep. If you have trouble, drink a mug of warm cocoa—the caffeine-free one, all right?”
That's my mom’s solution to nearly everything—hot chocolate. She’s an autumn pixie, the embodiment of cozy.
A sharp pang of homesickness makes my eyes sting, but I fight it back. If I’m not careful, I’ll cause a rainstorm, and the weather people hate that. We make their jobs so difficult.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise, preparing to hang up.
“Love you, Kit.”
“Love you!” Dad echoes from somewhere near Mom.
I smile, missing them. “Love you, too.”
When we end the call, I immediately notice the silence. My parents live near the ocean. The crash of the waves on the rocks was the soundtrack to my dreams.
But here, there’s no ocean. Not even a nearby creek. It’s so quiet, I can hear Chester’s soft, rhythmic breathing as he sleeps at the foot of the bed.
It should be peaceful, but it feels empty instead.
I don’t know where Rowan is. Probably out, since it’s night and he’s an owl. At least I hope he’s out. A man trapped in a bird’s body is still a man, and it’s weird to think I’m going to sleep with a stranger in the house.
I keep the light on, scared to be by myself even though I’m a grown woman. When the first few raindrops patter against the window, I groan and pull out my phone. Maybe it was supposed to rain?
But no, there are no clouds in the forecast.
“Darn it,” I say softly, curling up on my side and pulling my knees to my chest.
I haven’t brought rain since I was a child. The city council is going to hate me—I’m probably breaking one of their rules.
A notification vibrates my phone. I grab it off my pillow, hoping it’s a precipitation alert. Maybe the fluke summer shower isn’t my fault.
But it’s not a weather alert.
Unknown Number: Hello, Kathleen. This is Ash, your next-door neighbor. We met earlier. I’m filling out paperwork and need to verify this is your number.
I sit up, nervous. He needs to do that at ten at night?
Kit: Hello, Ash. Yes, it’s correct.
Ash: Good. Thank you.
Well, that was weird. Since that seems to be the end of it, I set my phone down.
And then it buzzes again.
Ash: Did you read the printouts I gave you?
Is he serious?
Kit: I haven’t had a chance yet, but I’ll try to get to it tomorrow.
Ash: That’s fine. If you have any questions, please let me know.
Kit: Will do.
I stare at Chester, wishing he were awake for cuddles. I almost nudge him with my foot, but it seems mean to rouse him just because I’m lonely.
The rain picks up, beating harder on the window.
I don’t have hot cocoa mix, nor the ingredients to make it from scratch, so I stare at the delicate rosebuds on the aging wallpaper, listening to my storm.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes again.
Ash: The deadline for planting annuals in the window boxes was this weekend.
What is with this man?
Also, it’s Sunday night now. What does he expect me to do about it?
Kit: Okay. I’ll figure it out.
Ash: I’m planning to visit the local garden nursery tomorrow. We could go together if you’d like.
A teeny seed of sunshine kindles in my stomach, and some of my loneliness ebbs.
Ash: I’ll introduce you to the other shop owners as well. Let’s say we meet at your house at nine?
Kit: That would be nice. Thank you.
Ash: Have a pleasant evening. I’ll see you in the morning.
This time, I think he’s actually done.
I crawl under the covers, feeling like I might be able to sleep. The rain is light now, and as I drift off, it lets up completely.
“Interesting weather we had last night,” Rowan says from his perch as I stare into the empty fridge.
I need to go grocery shopping. I have a lifetime supply of tea but no food.
But how do you shop for groceries without a car?
“It didn’t last very long,” I finally answer the owl, choosing a banana from the fruit basket Ash gave me, wishing it were a muffin. “I’m fine now.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding both repulsed and intrigued when I set peanut butter and bread on the counter.
“I’m making a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I didn’t bring anything else with me, and I haven’t had a chance to shop yet.”
“You drove all the way from Washington with only peanut butter and a loaf of bread?”
“I stopped for fast food a couple of times.”
“I’ve never had fast food,” he says disdainfully.
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Laverna cooked everything from scratch,” he adds.
“I’m sure she did.”
Most pixies enjoy those domestic sorts of tasks—the quiet, homey things. Cooking, crafting, sewing, gardening, and the like. I enjoy gardening, but the rest? Not so much.
I toss the butter knife into the sink to wash later and take my sandwich to the breakfast nook table. It sits in a bay window and looks into Laverna’s garden. Rose bushes grow against the lower panes, covered in blush-pink blooms. Dark purple clematis climbs an arbor just beyond it.
This might be my favorite spot in the house.
“Does anyone else in town know you’re a mage?” I ask Rowan.
“No—and I’d like to keep it that way.”
His answer is curt, making me think he doesn’t want to talk about himself. Which is fine. Even if I am a bit curious about this mage who turned himself into an owl, I have too much on my plate to worry about his past.
“Ash is going to be here in twenty minutes,” I tell him. “I’m going to check out the tea shop, maybe buy some flowers for the window boxes, and meet some of the other shopkeepers.”
Shopkeepers. What a strange, old-fashioned word. The town is already affecting me.
“And you’re going with Ash?” Rowan flaps his wings, his birdy body language matching his disgusted tone.
“He texted me last night,” I explain.
The owl’s gaze sharpens on me. “When?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I hedge. “It was after ten.”
“Before or after it stopped raining?”
The bird is annoyingly observant.
“While it was raining,” I admit.
I expect him to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just sticks his sharply hooked beak into his steaming mug of fancy tea and then lifts his head, repeatedly moving his jaw to swallow it. It’s sort of adorable.
“So, I did some research, and owls don’t really drink water,” I say. “They get their hydration needs from their prey.”
“This isn’t water.”
“Which makes it stranger.”
“And I’m not an owl.”
“I really hate to break this to you…”
He dips his beak back in, ignoring me.
I go back to my breakfast, deciding this has to be the last peanut butter sandwich I eat for a while. I need to ask Ash how grocery shopping works around here. I can’t possibly get everything I need on a bike.
“I’m going to leave Chester here today,” I tell Rowan. “Don’t terrorize him, all right?”
“Why would I terrorize your dog?”
“I don’t know what you do for fun.”
If an owl could roll his eyes, Rowan would be right now.
It’s clear he’s done talking, and that’s fine. I can handle silence. I’m great with silence.
“I have to go grocery shopping,” I say. “What kind of foods do you like?”
“Meat,” he answers reluctantly. “I can’t digest anything else in this form.”
“So, you admit you’re an owl.”
“Has it been twenty minutes yet? Aren’t you supposed to leave?”
“No, but I should get ready.” Finished with my sandwich, I leave the crotchety bird in the kitchen.
I curl my hair, taking my time not because the handsome councilman is picking me up, but because I want to make a good impression on everyone I’m going to meet today. And I don’t pick a tinted lip balm because of Ash, but because it’s nice to feel pretty sometimes.
I’m scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror when the doorbell rings.
“Okay,” I tell myself. “Everyone will like you, and you’re going to make friends.”
Because sometimes I have to talk to myself like I’m five.
Chester, being the strong, silent type, stares at the door instead of barking, looking over when I enter the living room with concerned eyes. It’s easy to guess what he’s thinking: there’s an intruder on the front step.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
Not believing me, he reluctantly leaps onto one of the sofas and watches the door from higher, safer ground. He lets out a solitary woof, just to make sure whoever is out there knows he means business.
A little embarrassed that I’m looking forward to this as much as I am, I answer the door.
Ash stands on the welcome mat, dressed in khaki-colored trousers, a white dress shirt he’s rolled up to his elbows, and a fine brown vest.
And he wears them well.