CHAPTER 45 – CASPIAN
Baywood is buzzing with Living History Day energy.
Like all our annual events, it started out logical enough before evolving into chaos.
Half the town has dressed up as historical characters, Ann-Sabrina is in full Fae regalia, and the rest of us are here for the pie.
The self-appointed town spokesperson, Harold Bramble, might be the only one actually interested in history. I can’t wait for Antonio to vaporize him with superior knowledge.
I do a double take when Eliot and Juniper stop in front of us.
I’m used to seeing our librarian in imaginative outfits, but today she looks particularly peculiar. Her blue hair is swept back in a magnificent wave, and she’s wearing a worn leather jacket and goggles. She gives us a serene smile.
Eliot’s face is bright red, which is no wonder. He’s wearing a wool sweater and winter boots. For some reason, he has goggles too, but they keep sliding down on his sweaty forehead. A tiny tin mug is hooked on his belt and a coil of rope hangs from one shoulder.
“Most delighted to meet you,” he says to Antonio, shaking his hand. “I was present when Caspian was planning his perfect date with you.”
“We ended up having a wonderful discussion about choking on nuts,” Juniper adds fondly.
“Please note those things weren’t in any way related,” I splutter.
Antonio inspects the Thorne couple with great interest.
“I like the theme,” he says. “It’s giving pioneers and dangerous journeys.”
“There’s a theme?” I ask, astonished.
Pride swells in my chest. Of course Antonio would know immediately what Eliot and Juniper are supposed to be.
God, he’s brilliant.
Juniper beams.
“We’re Shackleton and Earhart!”
“I don’t know them,” I say.
Antonio gives me a tender look that short-circuits my brain even more. I need to calm down.
“Did you know your name means highly praiseworthy in Latin?” Eliot asks Antonio, tilting his head.
Antonio nods shyly.
I didn’t know that, but I’m certainly thinking about it now. Blood rushes south instead of staying in my brain like it should.
I brush his hand.
I want to kiss him so badly right now—tease his lips open, hear those soft moans again.
Antonio looks at me, and I can tell he’s thinking along the same lines.
The appearance of Steve Pell brings a much-needed distraction.
“Fancy seeing you here, Stone,” he says. “I thought history bored you.”
If looks could kill, Steve Pell would be no more.
“I happen to find history extremely interesting,” I claim.
He opens his mouth, so I quickly guide Antonio toward the food stalls where Earl is waving enthusiastically.
“See the man who looks like he’s directing air traffic without a permit? That’s Earl.”
“Caspian and Antonio!” Earl says, smiling brightly. He gives Antonio an enthusiastic once-over.
“Dorothy and Delilah were right. You are cute as a bottom.”
Antonio’s mouth opens.
I groan.
“Earl, I think they said cute as a button.”
“Right then,” Earl announces, rubbing his hands together. “Popcorn time!”
At the popcorn stand, he stops and clutches his throat.
“It flew in!” he shrieks. “It flew right in!”
Dorothy’s loud sigh tells me this is not the first Earl-emergency today.
She peers at Earl from behind the stand.
“What flew in?”
“A bee!” Earl panics, flailing.
“There was a buzz, and a zing, and it swooped in! What if I’m allergic?”
“It was a stray popcorn,” Delilah says.
Earl pauses.
“It did burn,” he admits. “I thought maybe the bee was warm from the sun?”
Antonio snorts.
“Caspian!” Harold bellows from across the park. He stands guard beside a plaque like someone would steal it the second he averted his gaze.
“That’s Harold,” I tell Antonio as we approach. “He offers free history lectures. No one ever goes.”
Harold shakes Antonio’s hand pompously.
“Finally a fellow historian!” He taps the plaque with a pointer. “Installed in 1994. I personally oversaw the wording.”
Antonio studies the sign.
“The part about the Baywood militia forming in 1812 is incorrect.”
“Excuse me?”
“The first organized response wasn’t until 1814,” Antonio explains.
Harold looks scandalized.
“This is a long-standing tradition.”
“More like long-standing misinformation.”
He’s lethal. I love it.
He proceeds to dismantle Harold’s entire worldview with polite but terrifying efficiency. He cites journals, talks about a missing diary, and mentions some obscure-sounding biscuit taxation.
Harold blinks like a glitching Christmas light.
“Well,” he says gruffly at last. “I stand corrected.”
“You’re welcome,” Antonio says.
“That was incredible,” I say once we’re out of earshot.
“You’re so smart. An inspiration.”
“Stop it,” he mutters, but he looks pleased.
We’re heading toward the lemonade stand when Antonio stops.
“Look, the Statue of Mayor Billings!”
He sounds excited.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Everyone knows the story of Billings and his squirrel.”
Jaws drop around us.
“No one knows that story,” I say gravely.
“No one,” Earl agrees, popcorn stuck to his shirt. “Sometimes I wake up at night and the question haunts me.”
Ann-Sabrina nods, for once agreeing with Earl.
“I bet there was something going on between them.”
“Are you saying the mayor was involved with a squirrel?” Steve looks incredulous.
“Shifter squirrels exist,” Ann-Sabrina points out.
“It wasn’t a love affair, but it was definitely something,” Antonio says carefully. “After the Rodent Accountability Initiative went haywire, they formed a bond.”
A hush falls.
“Why did the initiative go haywire?” Earl whispers, putting the popcorn from his shirt to his mouth.
“The squirrel in the statue, Aracorn, outsmarted Billings at every turn. It also stole things from his office. Once it got drunk on Billings’ whiskey.”
“I hope it was the good sort,” Steve says.
“That’s when Billings took it home,” Antonio says. “He nursed it through the hangover and tried to keep it as a pet. But Aracorn grew restless and left. It visited Billings but never stayed for long.”
“That’s beautiful,” Earl says, sniffling.
“When Billings died, his widow ordered the statue,” Antonio finishes.
“I’m going to write fanfiction about them,” Ann-Sabrina says, straightening her crown.
“If you ever want to start a podcast, I’ve got connections,” Steve says.
Antonio’s fingers lace with mine. He tugs my hand lightly but the meaning is clear.
I give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“We were about to get lemonade,” I say mildly, already steering us away.
I hand him an ice-cold soda, then lift my own.
“You stole the entire town’s heart,” I say. “I’m so in awe of your mind.”
He shifts his weight, looking anywhere but me at first, but then he gives me a soft, private smile, and it makes me want to — Jesus.
It makes me want to do everything.
All at once.
Repeatedly.
I almost tell him then. I almost confess that I’m already so in love with him that there’s no going back.
Not that there ever was. I was his from the first scowl.
But this moment is not about my feelings. This is about his brilliance, his passion, his competence.
My love is not going anywhere.