Chapter 12
ALDRIC
Here we go again.
“And what shall I do for you this time?” I answered my ringing cell phone, rolling my eyes as I took a seat. I should have ignored the call, but I knew that would be fruitless. Instead, I answered it with all the dread I could muster.
“Aldric.” The mayor’s voice carried the specific energy of a man who had places to be and this was merely a courtesy call. “Good, glad I caught you. I need a favor.”
“Of course you do. What is it this time?” The mayor was constantly asking for favors and never repaying them.
“Smart ass. Listen, we’ve got a guest coming in on the afternoon ferry.
An author—she’s there to do some research for a book or some such thing.
I wasn’t particularly listening when her publisher called.
I was supposed to meet her personally, but my wife wanted to do some shopping, so we’re heading to the conference early.
Which means it’s up to you, ol’ chap. Apparently, she’s someone of a hotshot. Sounds like a perfect type for you.”
A loud female voice announced, “We’ll begin boarding now. Anyone needing—”
“Anyway, I gave her your description and name.” The background noise grew as the voice called for first-class passengers to begin boarding.
“Fine,” I said. An author would be a nice change—at least it would be someone to talk sensibly with. “What’s her name?”
“Show her around town, roll out the red carpet, VIP—you know the drill.”
“Yes,” I raised my voice. “Mayor, what’s her name?”
“I owe you.” Click.
My shoulders slumped and I stared at my phone.
“What’s her name?” I held my phone out. “WHAT’S HER NAME?”
I glanced at Mr. McFluffinstuff, who was watching the interaction from the chair across from me. “If I had a dollar for every favor that man owed…”
“Meow.”
“Quite right. He couldn’t afford it.”
Had I gotten her name, I could have done some quick research and been able to communicate what an admirer I was—or at least read her bio and know her bestseller.
I’d also have had some clue what she looked like.
I didn’t even know how long she would be staying, or whether I was meant to get her a reservation at the Inn.
“No, he definitely wouldn’t be able to afford it.”
Mr. McFluffinstuff said nothing. Peering over the side of the desk, I saw he was now belly-up in a beam of afternoon sun streaming through the window.
I took that as his complete agreement.
A quick call to Tasha Williams, proprietress of the Tidal Inn, and a room was on hold—just in case the mayor had forgotten that detail, too.
I set the phone down and pushed back from my desk, crossing to the large bank of windows, where I stood for a moment.
There was nothing quite so grand as autumn in New England, and Driftwood Pointe in late September wore the season the way it wears everything—with the particular confidence of something that has always known exactly what it was.
A quaint harbor town with a secret. And today, as I watched, it was particularly lovely: every turning leaf a jewel, the sky such a beautiful, bottomless blue.
This was the kind of afternoon that made even a centuries-old Fae stop what he was doing and simply enjoy the view.
Mr. McFluffinstuff disrupted my solitude by jumping onto the wide window ledge. I knew what he wanted the moment he landed. With little effort, I pulled up the bottom sash, allowing the cool, salty air in through the screen.
“It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it, Mr. McFluffinstuff?” I didn’t look away from the glass. “You know, old chap, I really am growing tired of calling you Mr. McFluffinstuff. Meow if we can change it to something more suitable.”
The large black cat occupying the window ledge beside me did not respond. Instead, he turned his backside to me and plopped his considerable weight down with the slow deliberateness of a cat who had opinions but had decided they were wasted on the current company.
“I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”
I had learned, over the course of what I chose not to count as centuries, that Mr. McFluffinstuff communicated primarily in silences.
The trick was interpreting which silence he was putting forth: the agreeable, the contemplative, or my personal favorite—the one I’d just received—“You’re being an idiot and are not worthy of my energy. Now leave me, or face my wrath.”
Which was exactly what I chose to do. Pulling on my suit coat, I left my office.
The afternoon ferry arrived at Driftwood Pointe Pier at half past three. The September afternoon made the harbor look like something from a painting—glittering water and weathered wood set against the signature New England charm of the buildings lining the quay.
I positioned myself at a reasonable distance from the dock and arranged my expression into my Chamber of Commerce greeting face: welcoming but not effusive, interested but not invested—the “small town, we’re happy to have you” face visitors expected from us.
I found this face very reliable. I had, after all, been using it for decades.
The ferry docked and people began disembarking.
The captain stepped out of the wheelhouse and raised a hand in my direction.
I returned the gesture—a tradition we had maintained over the years.
A middle-aged couple followed, whom I could instantly tell were from a big city by their matching designer luggage and the latest fall fashions.
An older gentleman with a fishing rod nodded as he passed.
A group of bag-laden ladies who must have gone to the mainland on a day-shopping trip chattered as they walked by, completely oblivious to me.
The last one in the group stepped out and stopped directly in front of me. She looked up, smiling.
“Well, hello—tall, dark, and Aldric Wrest.”
She tipped her face up to meet mine, and I noticed immediately: she barely came up to my shoulder.
Her hair was shades of blonde, occupying the top of her head in an arrangement that suggested it had begun the day with ambitions and had long since abandoned them.
There was a pencil in it. Upon closer inspection, possibly two.
Blue eyes behind the most aggressively orange glasses I had ever seen in my life, and the look she gave me was so direct and so completely unbothered that I felt something shift in my chest for which I had absolutely no framework.
I have lived for centuries. I have met kings and scholars and things considerably more alarming than either. I was not prepared for her.
She was captivatingly alluring in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time, and I was definitely feeling something in places that had no business feeling anything. I shifted my weight and adjusted my jacket accordingly.
I’d hate to frighten the poor woman at our first meeting.
Second meeting, maybe.
Aldric. She’s human. Get a grip.
“You are Aldric, right?” she said. “The mayor said you’d be the most handsome man on the pier.
” A pause. A fractional adjustment of those orange frames.
“And so far, from what I’m seeing, he wasn’t lying.
” As if she’d said something completely inappropriate, she snapped her mouth shut and sucked her lips in.
“Sorry—sometimes the filter between my brain and my mouth doesn’t work.
” She smirked. “Okay, that’s a lie. It never works. ”
I watched, fascinated, as her cheeks took on a delightful rosy red. She released her lips, wetting them by running the tip of her tongue across them.
For the love of—Human. Remember she’s human.
She shifted her tote to her left hand, her right gripping the suitcase handle, while she wore a backpack.
My mind screamed at me to say something. “Ah. Forgive me,” I said, reaching for her tote and suitcase. “Please, allow me.” I took the items from her and watched her sigh and let her shoulders drop.
“So, you are Aldric?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Forgive me.”
She laughed—a delightful, bubbly giggle.
“You already said that, silly. I’m Waverly Anderson, and you’re forgiven.
” She rubbed her shoulder. “Thank you, I appreciate it. That tote bag was getting heavy.” She glanced to her right, then back at me, tilting her eyes up to meet mine.
“Hey—your initials are A.W. and mine are W.A. How odd is that?”
“How clever of you to notice.” I smiled down at her.
“Well, words are my livelihood.” She adjusted the pencil tucked into the right side of her half-made bun.
“And odd things seem to happen to me all the time. I guess after a while, you learn to pay attention to them. Or ignore them completely.” She shrugged.
“Either way.” She blinked three times with a wide smile. “You know, you’re really handsome.”
Aldric, ol’ boy—you’re in trouble.
The Tidal Inn sat two blocks from the harbor on a street that smelled of salt and wood smoke—which could well be the official candle scent of a coastal New England town in the fall.
I waited while she checked in, confirming that she did indeed have a reservation. I carried her items up to her room. She opened the door and swooped excitedly inside; I waited, leaning against the doorframe to keep it from closing, but I did not enter the room.
She’s human. My inner voice kept reminding me, while other areas of my body were giving her a standing ovation.
“This place is perfect,” she announced. “I love it.” In the warm light of the room, she looked beautiful in a way I doubted she had any idea about.
I quickly dismissed the thoughts forming in my head before they could finish. No. Not happening.
“Aldric, come look at this canopy bed—these four posts are so intricately carved.” She peered around the corner at me, still stationed at the door.
Not helping!
“Ah—no. No, I’ve—” I cleared my throat but didn’t move. “I’ve seen them. Yes. Very impressive.” I nudged the suitcase forward. “I can’t—ah—work. Not allowed. Anyway, here’s your luggage.”
Damn my inability to lie.
She smiled and bounced back down the short hall. “Thank you so much for helping me with these.”
“You’re most welcome.” The words came out before I’d realized what I was doing. “It’s still early—would you like to start your tour this evening?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. My editor is demanding I finish a few chapter edits. I’m afraid if I don’t do them tonight, she’ll be bugging me the whole time I’m here.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “In case you didn’t know, editors are a pain in the ass.”
And then she did the most glorious thing: she giggled again, and the sound of it was doing absolutely nothing to help the situation in my trousers.
“I’m sure they are a menace to society,” I said, simultaneously thinking of the fastest way to escape and of every conceivable reason to stay.
I forced myself to ask, “What time tomorrow would you like to start your tour?”
“I love seeing a town for the first time. Shall we say nine?”
“Nine. Perfect. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” I stepped back.
“Thank you for meeting me. Goodnight, Aldric.”
“Goodnight, Ms. Anderson.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“Waverly,” I said. The sound of her name coming from my mouth made me urgently aware that I needed to leave immediately.
“Until tomorrow, Waverly.” I turned and let the door fall closed behind me. Hearing her slide the deadbolt and fasten the chain, I allowed myself to breathe again and made my way down the stairs, across the lobby, and out to my car.
I dropped into the driver’s seat and sat there for a long moment before three things became abundantly clear.
One: Waverly Anderson was the most enticing person I had ever met—and after centuries, that was genuinely saying something.
Two: she was human, and I did not allow myself to be with humans anymore, no matter how enticing they were.
I simply could not put myself through the heartache again.
And three: Mr. McFluffinstuff was going to hear absolutely none of this.
Zero. The judgmental little jerk that he was.
I started the car.
What in the hell am I going to do about keeping myself under control tomorrow?