Chapter Fifteen Lyra
I knew where Rab lived. In a town of three thousand people, it was pretty easy to learn where most people lived, if you paid attention.
And I had.
Not that I’d admit it to anyone.
I’d told myself that I just wanted to know where he lived in order to avoid running into him.
A soft breeze buffeted Main Street, but I didn’t mind it.
The slap of air against my face sobered me, and I admired the mix of decorations as I strolled down the eclectic cobblestoned street.
Mystic Munchies was the most elaborately decorated—already in Christmas mode because the show’s professional decorators had gone all out.
However, the other shops were still decked out in cozy early autumn vibes, and there were a mix of magical and witchy decorations splashed across the main street.
Pixie Dust Apothecary was coated in silver-and-purple lace spiderwebbing, matching their packaging.
The Familiar’s Nest, the shop for all familiars’ needs, was done up in golden leaf garlands with gourds and pumpkins tucked beside their front door.
I stopped at the Dragon’s Hoard, a curiosity shop, and smiled into the window.
The owner, Dorothy, a true dragon enthusiast, had gone all out.
According to her, dragons loved anything shiny, and her window display was an explosion of sparkles.
Disco-ball dragons swooped through the air, with striped witch hats on their heads, and a forest of glittery gold and silvery trees filled the window.
The Arcane Attic, next door, had its finest Halloween costumes in the window, and Nyx, who owned the Silver Quill bookshop, had made a witchy hat out of stacked books.
Even though nerves jangled low in my stomach, walking through the town soothed me.
I loved Briarhaven and had never wanted to leave.
As a child, it was the longest place we’d ever lived without our curse ruining things for us, though my sisters would argue that living with our parents’ constant arguments was curse enough.
Our mum had reached out to me recently. We hadn’t spoken in years, Sloane fiercely protecting us from her.
My parents had fought constantly when I was growing up, and no matter how many times I smiled and tried to cheer them up, they’d still broken apart.
My charms hadn’t been good enough to keep them together.
After they’d broken up, Mum had dragged us all over the States before Sloane had gotten old enough to spirit us away from her clutches, and after that, I’d worked even harder at charming everyone that I met.
I couldn’t help it. I just wanted everyone to get along.
It was one of the reasons that this whole rift with Rab was so distressing to me. It just wasn’t in my nature to stay at odds with someone.
And yet.
Sloane had been very clear to me that establishing boundaries wasn’t the same as being in an argument with someone.
And so I’d dutifully responded to my mum, letting her know that we were safe and doing well, but not inviting further contact.
It was healthiest, all around, if we kept her out of our lives.
Never once had she put her daughters first. If anything, we’d only been a burden to her. Or an audience when she wanted to smash things. I suppose I’d inherited a flair for dramatics from her.
I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not.
Rounding the corner, I walked to the next street over running parallel to Main Street. Rab’s street.
Sucking in a breath, I stopped in front of a detached two-story house that was tucked into a row of houses along the street. One side of the house had a door with a neat gold sign that proclaimed: Barclay Accountancy.
The lights were dark on that side, so I walked to the next door, painted a bright green with a lion door knocker.
Rab had tied a striped witch hat onto the lion’s head.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I raised my hand and knocked.
I heard movement behind the door, and then it swung open, and my breath caught.
Why did he have to be so damn good-looking?
Rab looked adorably rumpled in a simple gray jumper and flannel pajama bottoms. He blinked at me in confusion.
“Are you real?” Rab asked, and I glared up at him.
“Have you been drinking?”
“I just can’t fathom why you’d be showing up on my doorstep,” Rab said. He crossed his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe.
Annoyance flitted through me.
The man wasn’t even going to invite me in?
A gust of wind blasted the house, and I shoved past him, furious with his absolute indifference to me.
“By all means,” Rab murmured, slapping the door closed behind me. “Make yourself at home.”
The door opened into a hallway with two doors on either side. I veered into the room with the light on in it. Inside I found a deep-seated leather sofa, a fire crackling softly in a stone fireplace, and what looked to be a police drama frozen on the wall-mounted television.
A can of beans sat open on the coffee table, the handle of a spoon sticking out.
I whirled on Rab.
“Are you eating a can of beans for dinner?” I asked, exasperated. Turning, I snatched up the can and was distraught to find it cold.
“It’s an easy meal,” Rab said. “I’m not a foodie, Lyra.”
“Yeah, but you can also be an adult.” I glared, stomped past him into the room across the hallway, and turned on the light to reveal the kitchen.
Muttering under my breath, I found a pot and put it on the stove, then dumped the beans in.
Turning, I opened his refrigerator and pursed my lips as I studied the contents.
There wasn’t much to go on, but I was a master at making something out of nothing. I grabbed a hunk of cheddar and found a package of dried noodles in a cupboard. Putting another pot on to boil water, I worked quickly to whip up some mac and cheese to go with his beans.
“Sit,” I ordered, pointing a finger at the small bistro table in his kitchen with two chairs.
“Care to tell me why you’re here ordering me around my own kitchen?
” Rab asked. Instead of sitting, he reached for an open bottle of red wine breathing on the counter and topped up his glass.
He hesitated and then opened a cupboard and filled a second glass.
Sliding it to where I stirred the pot at the stove, he then took a seat.
I could feel his eyes boring into the back of me, and I kept my attention on stirring the beans, doing everything in my power to ignore the magick that desperately wanted to unfurl inside of me.
I didn’t know how to explain it, but as soon as I was in a kitchen, my magick just hummed to life, desperately wanting to be used.
It took a conscious effort to not engage it at this point, but the last thing I needed was to explode boiling water across Rab’s kitchen.
Third-degree burns probably were not the way to a working partnership.
My dragon-scale necklace warmed at my neck, and I reached up, wrapping my fingers around it. As I did, my nerves cooled. Considering, I turned to look at Rab.
“Do you have a cheese grater?”
Rab laughed and ran a hand through his hair.
I turned quickly, his laughter sending a warm tendril of lust down my spine, and took a deep breath to soothe myself. Instead, I found a knife and cut up the cheese.
It had always been this way with Rab.
I’d been intoxicated as a teenager in love.
And even now, the pull of him was almost impossible to ignore.
“Lyra. Why are you in my kitchen right now?”
“Because we need to talk. About the show.”
“Do we?” Rab asked, and I shot him an annoyed glance over my shoulder. Dumping the pasta into the water, I dug for some milk and butter and another pot to mix the sauce.
“I think you know that we do.” I was determined to muscle my way through this.
Blowing out a breath, I took a sip of my wine before turning to face him as his dinner simmered on the stove.
Leaning against the counter, wineglass in hand, I gave him an aggrieved look.
“I need you to know that I didn’t plan this.
It’s true what they say—you really don’t know who your partner is going to be.
Trust me, you’d be the last person I’d vote for. ”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rab lifted his chin at me, and I turned to stir the sauce.
There was something about the way he challenged me that set a fire burning inside me.
“I have zero desire to be partnered with you, Rab,” I said, my voice even.
“Aye, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Rab said, and annoyance flashed through me.
“Och, I’m not the one who—”
“How do I even know you’re telling the truth?” Rab asked. He got to his feet, his face twisted. He gestured to the stove. “Look at this.”
Distracted, I glanced at the stove, where his meal bubbled away.
“At what?”
“This.” Rab slapped a hand down on the counter, and I jumped. “What was that shite earlier? When filming?”
“Um…” I trailed off, taking a deep breath. Here was where I’d have to admit to him my magick was broken.
“You were a mess. Flinging eggs about, every step going wrong. And now this?” Rab held out his hand to the perfectly cooked pasta. “Nothing. Not a thing wrong. Why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying,” I said, frustrated. Digging an elbow into his ribs, hard, I pushed him aside and opened cabinets until I found a strainer. Dumping the boiling water and pasta out in the sink, I tossed the pasta back in with the sauce and turned the power on the beans off. “Bowl?”
Rab swore under his breath, but then bowls clunked down next to the stove.
Two bowls.
Taking that as a sign we might have a semblance of a respectable conversation, I quickly dished out some food.
Forgoing the beans, I scooped a small bit of mac and cheese into my bowl, and the rest into his.
I always remembered how much he loved to eat what I made for him, even if in those days it was as simple as what I was making tonight.