Chapter 4 #2
“Hello,” he said, voice low and warm. “Returning some late books before they cross the line into delinquency. I’d hate to make enemies of the library spirits.”
Goldie’s stomach did a little flip. Not the usual sparkly-flirty kind she sometimes conjured for effect, not even the swoop she got when Ezra smirked just right. This was something quieter. Warmer. More real.
It startled her—and delighted her, too.
She let herself shine a little brighter, just enough to catch the light and toss it back with flair, and was rewarded when his face lit up in kind.
“Well,” she said with a wink. “I hope you brought a bribe. The library spirits can be… particular.”
He lifted a waxed paper bag stamped with the golden sigil of Brimstone she read aloud with a mock-serious tone.
“Guide to Bellwether Flora. An Oral History of the Green Holdings. And… Mourning and Memorial in Bellwether. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually check this one out.”
Her brow arched, amusement brightening her face. “Most people just borrow the bestsellers and forget about them for a month, you know.”
He offered a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m on the Beltane Planning Committee this year, so I have a civic duty to do my homework. Especially with all the rumblings around the Green Holdings lately.”
Goldie’s brow lifted as she thumbed through Mourning and Memorial. “Rumblings? I must have missed that in the society pages.”
He let out a short, amused laugh. “Really? I suppose it’s all anyone in the civic loop talks about, but you get a bit numb to the drama when you live it day in and day out.”
He tapped his fingers on the worn cover of the Oral History. “A few months ago, Ashenvale Ventures put in a formal offer to purchase the Holdings. Believe me, it’s stirred up more controversy on the Land Trust than a miscast Beltane bonfire.”
Goldie gestured vaguely with the book in her hand. “What does a corporate behemoth like Ashenvale Ventures even want with the Green Holdings? I mean, it’s adorable, don’t get me wrong—all those cute little artisan shops and the festival grounds—but it hardly seems like their usual target.”
The man shrugged, a wry, almost rueful smile touching his lips. “Oh, they don’t tell me the important details. I’m not nearly ‘Bellwether enough’ to have an actual say on Beltane planning, let alone get invited to the closed-door meetings where the real decisions are made.”
He gave a small sigh. “That’s the price of being a transplant, I suppose.
So, I keep to my lane”—he gestured vaguely to the stacks of books—“which, for me, mostly means wading through the tedious parts of festival planning that no one else wants to touch. It’s the glamorous life of a junior committee member. ”
A teasing smile played on Goldie’s lips. “Well, I’m impressed. It takes a certain kind of dedication to make civic planning sound appealing. It’s definitely not my usual scene.”
She tapped the final book’s spine, slow and deliberate, before sliding it into the returns bin.
“So,” she ventured, letting the word coast on her breath, “if you’re on the Beltane committee, you must know Tamsin Donover.
My coven leader. Tall. Terrifying. Cheekbones that could slice quartz.
Owns a rotating collection of vintage caftans that never wrinkle? ”
The man’s eyes sparked. “Tamsin? Oh yes. She’s quite something.”
Goldie grinned. “That’s a suspiciously diplomatic tone. Did she scare you or hex you? There’s no third option.”
The man laughed. “Let’s just say I respect her power. And her fashion sense.”
Goldie chuckled. “That’s fair. She once hexed a zoning officer for calling her ‘young lady.’ He still hiccups glitter.”
She finished checking in the last book and glanced at the screen. “You’ve got a fine,” she said, all business, then waved a dismissive hand before he could reach for his wallet. “But I’m feeling benevolent today.”
His smile spread, slow and warm. “I’ll try to be worthy of your mercy.”
The way he said it landed like a quiet promise, and Goldie felt an answering flutter low in her belly.
He adjusted his glasses, then extended a hand. “Jonah Pell. I should have led with that.”
“Goldie Flynn,” she replied, her voice a shade more breathless than intended as she slipped her hand into his. The simple warmth of it was disarming.
She withdrew a touch too quickly, scrambling to reclaim her usual sparkle. “So,” she said brightly, “if you’re on the Beltane Planning Committee, are you on the Solstice committee as well?”
“I am.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, like he was quietly amused by her surprise.
A genuine grin, bright and unplanned, broke through Goldie’s practiced defenses. “Well, then it looks like we’ll be seeing more of each other,” she said, her tone edged with playful warning. “I’m the replacement Herald of the Flame. Tamsin just asked me.”
Jonah’s brows lifted, admiration flickering behind his glasses. “Ah, thank you. We were all in a tizzy when Margra backed out, but of course, we understood. Her daughter’s first clutch is a milestone you can’t miss.”
His voice dipped just a fraction, his gaze sharpening over the rim of his glasses like he was sharing a delicious secret. “Between you, me, and the library pillar, though… having an undine as Herald could be tricky. Everything tended to get soggy, and nothing wanted to stay lit.”
Goldie’s laugh spilled out, and she leaned in. “Good thing I’m bringing some heat this Thursday, then. Tamsin’s dragging me to watch the council in action. Should I pack a hair dryer in case the paperwork gets damp?”
Jonah’s lips twitched into a moue of mock concern, though his eyes sparkled. “Oh, you’re being thrown straight into the deep end.” He reached across the desk, fingers brushing hers in a brief, steadying squeeze. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Goldie waved her hand with exaggerated confidence, though her pulse was racing.
“I’m tougher than I look. Mostly.” She winked, then leaned closer, conspiratorial.
“And I’ve been promised access to the city archives.
If you’re nice to me, I might just sneak you whatever extra information you’ve been dying to get. ”
His eyes lit with a spark of mischief. “And what does being nice to you look like?”
For a second, she forgot to breathe. He smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen, and it scrambled her thoughts.
“More croissants?” he suggested finally, lips quirking.
Goldie’s laugh tinkled out, half-relieved, half-flustered. “You do know the way to a girl’s heart, Mr. Pell. But chocolate next time. I like sweet things.”
His gaze flicked to her mouth and back, the corner of his smile deepening. “Sweets for the sweet. Good to know.”
The warmth in his eyes held her for a beat longer than was polite. “Until Thursday, then. I’ll look forward to it.”
“It’s a date,” she blurted, bolder than she meant.
“A date,” he echoed, making it sound like a promise. With an easy, confident stride, he turned toward the door. Goldie let her gaze follow—strictly for professional assessment, of course—though she allowed herself one indulgent, appreciative dip lower.
Those Dockers absolutely did him justice.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped into the sunlight. Just before it whispered shut, Jonah glanced back with a sly grin.
“If it’s not too much trouble, bring me a charm bag for the meeting. Something for luck.” His eyes caught hers in a deliberate wink. “I’ll owe you.”
The door sighed closed, leaving Goldie with a smile curling at her lips.
Her gaze dropped to the pastry bag he’d left behind. She pulled out the croissant—perfectly flaky, still warm—and took a slow, indulgent bite.
“You bet that cute ass I will,” she murmured.