Chapter 15 #3
Marcus put his hand on Hawk’s shoulder, jostling it like a coach might before sending a player out onto the field. Something about the touch made Lilian’s stomach tilt in unease.
“I suppose you’re right. Thanks, Hawk.”
“No problem.”
Marcus let his hand linger on his son’s shoulder for a moment longer before stepping back and stalking toward Lilian. His back to Hawk, a clear scowl twisted his lips as he took in the lights, chatter, and Lilian standing among it all.
Maybe it was a trick of the shadows, or maybe he was just tired after a long day, but it was clear the king did not want to return to his court.
Lilian stepped out of his way and watched as he took determined steps back to the festivities.
As soon as someone saw him, they let out a raucous “Huzzah!” that was echoed by the crowd.
Before her eyes, Marcus’s shoulders straightened, and he transformed into the character that everyone knew. A jovial, good-natured king.
“What’s his deal?” Lilian wondered out loud.
“He’s very particular about the faire,” Hawk answered, coming up beside her as they watched the scene play out.
His mother came up and gave her king an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. He bent down and whispered something in her ear that seemed to change her mood before they quietly stalked off. Leaving the faire.
Hawk didn’t look surprised. Lilian’s heart sank. “He’s leaving?”
“This isn’t really his thing.”
“Having fun with people?” she asked, waving a hand at the party surrounding them. Everyone was celebrating a place that Marcus and Janelle had created together. And they were leaving.
Hawk didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to be thinking about the question, as if it had never occurred to him before. “I think it's more the breakdown of the faire structure. Everyone here is equals, friends. It breaks the illusion of the faire, and that’s what he doesn’t like.”
Disappointment bit into her. “And what about you? This isn’t really your thing either, right?”
“Yeah.” He hummed the word, putting his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels. “But I’m enjoying myself, thought I might stay for a while.”
An arrow of triumph snagged in her chest. She clutched at it dramatically.
Despite the earlier weirdness between Hawk and his dad, they were still at the faire, and it was impossible for her not to feel the pull of it.
“Well, I think you deserve a drink. Let’s get back before Margo and Logan help themselves to our defenseless tankards. ”
Hawk’s brows narrowed. “They wouldn’t.”
Lilian shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve lost some of your big, scary manager clout.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you.” He shook his head, muttering under his breath something about incentivized fun and tax deductions.
She nodded along sympathetically, doing her best not to think too much about the conversation she’d overheard.
Or the strange air between Hawk and his father.
It had been easier before when she assumed they were two sides of the same coin, both unapproachable, tight-lipped assholes from the same gene pool.
Now, though, she wasn’t so sure what to believe.
With an exaggerated yawn, Logan stretched his long, muscular limbs. The movement reminded Lilian all too well of the black barn cat her grandmother used to own. “Welp, I have to bid you ladies farewell. My men need their captain.”
Margo glanced at her phone to check the time. “You have a show soon?”
“At noon.” He nodded.
“At Dead Center Stage?” Margo pressed. “You're going to walk all the way there in this weather?”
Logan eyed the door, as if noticing the pouring rain for the first time. Then his gaze slid down to the brace on his leg. “Huh. Do you think they'll cancel it?”
The question was directed at Lilian, who gave him a knowing look.
Sunday had been plagued with rainstorms. They hadn’t canceled the morning’s Finding Mr. Brawn Show, only because it finished before the downpour started.
She and Logan barely made it back to the shop just in time.
The stage in Pirate’s Cove didn’t have a cover, but The Grog did have a smaller stage where performances relocated to.
Margo sighed. “I have an umbrella. Let me help you.”
“I don't need help.”
“You don’t have to impress me, Mr. Tough Pirate,” Margo said, grabbing her umbrella. “Let's go.”
Logan huffed, staring at the downpour. “Maybe my men don't need me.”
“Come on.” Margo grabbed his hand and hefted him to his feet. “You can lean on me, but no hogging the umbrella.”
“Ms. Bodice,” Logan whined, “I am being kidnapped by your young assistant. If anyone should come by looking for me…”
“I'll direct them to the stage.” Lilian waved. “Good luck.”
The pout on Logan's face was for show. At least, she thought it was as she watched the two shuffle out into the downpour. Lilian sent up a silent prayer that no one would see them and tell King Rothbury. The last thing they needed was grief over a yellow umbrella.
With Logan and Margo gone, her shop became eerily quiet. Usually there was someone to talk to, but now there was only the rat-a-tat of rain against the wood roof filling the small space.
Lilian took a deep breath as the fresh smell of rain seeped into her lungs. She loved these kinds of days, watching the rain fall from the comfort of her shop felt like home. It was impossible not to feel at ease, especially with a book in hand.
She took out her battered copy of The Raven King and settled in for one of her favorite scenes.
Penelope had just arrived at the Dark Elm Ball in a dress made from lily petals.
Her mind instantly thought of Russ and his designs.
A dress covered in dewy water that looked like crystals across her body, in a fabric so sheer she could feel the Raven King’s heat as he pressed against her.
“Penelope…” His deep voice rolled over her like thunder across a field.
Thunder echoed in the distance of the faire, and Lilian fell deeper into the story.
Penelope curled against his broad body. For months she had hated this creature. He was not human. Not a man who could love. But in this moment, she forgot all that. She forgot he was the Raven King and only knew him by his name.
“Nox…”
“Reading on the job again?”
Lilian jumped, coming back to the small cottage, the shelves of books, the wet wooden floor, and the man standing in the doorway. She’d heard Hawk call her out on reading before, but unlike the previous discoveries, he didn’t sound irritated. An amused smile touched his handsome face.
“To be fair, there aren't any customers around at the moment,” Lilian said, snapping her book closed. “Unless you would like to volunteer?”
He shook his head. His dark hair was soaked, giving it a wonderfully silky quality as it curled against his forehead. The white polo he wore was practically see-through from the rain, but at least it still had its color. The same couldn't be said for his shoes, which were caked in mud.
He seemed hesitant to step inside and spread the mess, his lanky form hugging the door frame enough to be shielded from the downpour. The sight made Lilian’s heart soften for a moment. She couldn’t let the man stand out in the rain like a dejected puppy.
“Well, even if you won't buy a book, I can't, in good conscience, let you stand out in the rain.” She could see him shaking his head before she finished. “Come in.”
“'I can't stay. I have stuff to do—”
“Every store has muddy footprints on the floorboards. You won't be doing any harm.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.
He gave in to the command easily, stepping close into her orbit. “Thanks.” His body visibly relaxed away from the rain. “It's crazy out there. The whole place is a mud pit. I'm glad I wore my old running shoes today.”
Lilian laughed, looking down at what had once been an old pair of gray running shoes. “Of course you did.”
“What?”
“Nothing, I can just totally see you checking the day's weather every morning to decide your outfit.”
“You mean you don't check the weather?” He looked incredulous, which told her she had hit the nail on the head with her assumption. “We live in the Midwest, how else am I supposed to know if it will be snowing in the morning and sixty degrees in the afternoon?”
“You wing it?”
“Like them?” he asked, pointing toward a group of people who were drenched from head to toe. Makeup smeared down their faces, and their legs were covered in mud. “I have no idea why anyone would come out here in the rain,” Hawk scoffed under his breath.
They watched the group walk by, too engrossed in singing some nonsensical pub song to mind the muddy mess around them. Lilian couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them. “But they look happy, don't they?”
“Maybe,” Hawk grumbled under his breath, conceding the point. Then he turned toward her, eyes narrowed on the open book that was still left on the counter. “What are you always reading when I see you?”
There was a curious glint in his eye. Lilian inched closer to the book in question, embarrassment suddenly seizing her throat. “An…old book.”
He reached out to get a closer look. She instantly snatched it out of reach. “Your hands are wet.”
“What’s the big deal? I thought these were used books.”
Lilian clutched her copy of The Raven King to her chest. “That doesn't matter. There is a difference between small dings on used books and big dings that make them unsaleable.”
“Like what?” Hawk asked, his lips tilting.
He was teasing her. But the question sparked a raging beast in Lilian. She would defend honorable book care until her dying breath! “Like annotations. Some people love them. Others despise them. But I can’t sell them. Or creased spines. Too much could mean the book is about to fall apart.”
“What about dog-eared pages?”
She made a face. “Monstrous. But still sellable.”
“Someone has been doing their research.”