Chapter 8 Dorian
DORIAN
Dorian pushed through the door of Griddle & Grind to find Twyla arranging pastries in the display case, her wheat-colored hair catching the morning light and her knowing smile already in place.
She straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. "How did the sound equipment hold up last night?"
"Everything worked perfectly. Your stage setup is better than half the professional venues I've seen."
"High praise from someone with your extensive experience." Twyla's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And I suppose you'll be volunteering again tonight? For the good of the festival, of course."
"Of course."
"Nothing to do with our traveling songstress, I'm sure."
Dorian leaned against the counter with practiced nonchalance. "I have no idea what you mean."
"Mm." Twyla's smile suggested she believed that about as much as she believed in unicorns. "Two coffees, then? I'm guessing one's for Lucien, since you're headed to the bookstore."
"How did you know I was going to the bookstore?"
"Because that's where our friend with the guitar went after her morning performance. And because you have that particular look men get when they're pretending they're not following someone."
"I don't follow people."
"Of course not. You just happen to be going in the same direction." Twyla prepared two cups with efficient movements. "Cream and sugar for you, black for Lucien. Though I suspect one of these might end up in different hands than intended."
"Your coffee is for whoever wants to drink it."
"How generous." She handed him the cups, her fingers brushing his briefly. "Try not to be too obvious about it, will you? Some people spook easy."
Dorian left the café, balancing the coffee cups while navigating the morning foot traffic in the square. He'd seen Ivy go into the Book Nook twenty minutes ago, following her conversation with Moira by the fountain.
Not that he'd been watching. He'd simply noticed while helping Rufus move some festival supplies.
The bookstore's interior was warm and quiet, all dark wood shelves and the comforting smell of old paper. Lucien stood behind the counter sorting through a stack of invoices, his dark hair falling across his face as he worked.
"Coffee delivery," Dorian announced, setting one cup on the counter.
"I didn't order coffee."
"Twyla thought you might be needing it. Her exact words were something about grumpy panthers and caffeine dependency."
Lucien snorted but accepted the cup. "And the other one?"
"This one's mine."
"Right. And I suppose you just happened to stop by to chat about my caffeine habits."
Before Dorian could respond, Ivy's voice drifted from the back room of the store, low and musical as she spoke with Moira. He followed the sound through the narrow aisles, past sections on local history and folklore, until he found them in the far corner near the magical texts.
"The binding structures in traditional fae ward songs are fascinating," Moira was saying, a leather-bound book open between them. "They offer protection without creating dependency, unlike some of the more modern approaches."
"Dependency can be dangerous," Ivy agreed.
"Indeed. Magic should liberate, not enslave." Moira looked up as Dorian approached. "Oh, hello. We were just discussing musical theory."
"Don't mind me. I brought coffee." He offered the second cup to Ivy with his most charming smile. "Thought you may need it after performing all morning."
Ivy studied the cup like it might contain poison. "That's very thoughtful, but I don't want to take your coffee."
"I already had some at the café. This one's extra."
"How convenient."
"Isn't it?" He maintained his smile despite her obvious skepticism. "Twyla makes the best coffee in three counties. It would be a shame to waste it."
After a moment's hesitation, Ivy accepted the cup. "Thank you."
"How did the busking go?"
"Better than expected. People here are generous."
"They appreciate good music. Speaking of which, I have an interesting proposition for you."
Ivy's expression grew wary. "What kind of proposition?"
"The innocent kind. Tonight's festival lineup has an opening at twilight. Prime slot, right when the lanterns are lit and the crowd's warmed up but not yet drunk. Interested?"
"I already performed last night."
"And you were brilliant. That's why I'm offering you the best time slot." Dorian leaned against the bookshelf with calculated casualness. "No pressure, but it's the kind of slot that usually goes to headliners. Since I’m helping Twyla, it’s mine to offer since she doesn't have anyone."
"Why offer it to me?"
"Because you're good. Because the crowd loved you. Because twilight magic suits your voice."
The last comment made her eyes flicker with something resembling surprise or recognition. "You know about twilight magic?"
"I know enough to recognize it when I hear it." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small device. "Here, I brought you a spare capo in case you need it. The humidity can make instruments temperamental."
As he passed her the capo, his fingers brushed her wrist. The contact was brief, barely a whisper of skin against skin, but it hit him like lightning. His pupils contracted to slits before he was able to stop them, and he felt his panther rise with predatory interest.
Ivy jerked her hand back, coffee sloshing in her cup. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"My fault." Dorian forced his voice to remain steady even as his control frayed at the edges. "Clumsy of me."
Moira's sharp gaze moved between them, cataloging the tension that had suddenly filled the air. "Perhaps I should give you two some privacy to discuss the performance details."
"That's not necessary," Ivy said quickly. "I should probably get back to the inn anyway. Diana mentioned something about helping with lunch prep." She looked back at Moira quickly. “I’ll be back though, afterwards, if that’s alright.”
“Absolutely.” Moira smiled. “I’ll keep these books out and see you in a bit.”
Dorian stepped back, giving her space to escape. "Think about the twilight slot, though. It would be a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity."
"I'll consider it."
She gathered her things and headed for the front of the store, moving with the careful grace of someone trying not to appear to be fleeing. Dorian watched her go, noting the tension in her shoulders and the way she avoided looking back.
"Well," Moira said once Ivy had disappeared. "That was illuminating."
"Was it?"
"Oh yes. Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"
Dorian flexed his fingers, still feeling the phantom touch of Ivy's skin. His panther paced, demanding he follow her, claim her, make sure she understood exactly what that brief contact had meant.
"Probably not," he admitted.
"At least you're honest about it." Moira closed the book she'd been showing Ivy and returned it to its shelf. "A word of advice? That woman has been hurt by someone who used magic to control her. She's not going to trust easily, especially not someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"Someone with predator instincts and a reputation for collecting conquests." Moira's voice was gentle but firm. "If you're planning to pursue her, you'd better be certain of your intentions. She doesn't strike me as the type who recovers quickly from betrayal."
As Dorian made his way back to the front of the store, Moira's words replayed in his mind. He found Lucien still at the counter, now openly smirking.
"Enjoy your coffee delivery?" Lucien asked.
"It was educational."
"I bet it was. Learn anything interesting?"
Dorian thought about the way Ivy had flinched from his touch, the careful distance she maintained, the wariness that never quite left her amber-green eyes.
"Yeah," he said. "I learned I'm in trouble."