Chapter 10 Coco
Coco
“What do you want?” comes Stone’s grumpy voice from inside the trailer.
No one said this would be easy.
“I’d like to talk,” I reply cheerfully.
A moment later the door swings open and Stone Maddox appears, scowling like a broody pirate hero in a romance novel. It wouldn’t surprise me if he said, Argh, walk the plank, missy.
But he does not. Instead, he snaps, “If you’ve decided to accept my offer, you don’t need to be here. You need to be at city hall, pulling the paperwork that’s screwing me over!”
He shouts the last part with such force his breath blows my bangs from my eyes.
As much as I would like to say his breath smells awful, it doesn’t. It carries notes of coffee and hazelnut.
Two things I love.
I lift the pastry box and sleeved to-go cup I’m holding. “I’ve come with a peace offering.”
His gaze briefly flickers to the box before settling back on me. His eyes smolder—not in a good way. Instead of looking like he wants to strip off my clothes one piece at a time, Stone looks like he wants to tear me limb from limb.
I would much rather be stripped.
Wait a minute.
What am I thinking? I hate this man. Despise him. Detest him. Even if he does have molten-jade eyes.
He scoffs, yanking me from those strange thoughts about him, which I will now light on fire and forget ever existed.
Stone folds his arms. “I’ve already explained how you can bridge the peace between us. Or are you here to talk me out of telling your little secret?”
“Peace offering first? Then we discuss?”
“There’s no discussion.”
I shake the box. “I have breakfast.”
At the doorway, the lambicorn appears, blinks up at me, and opens its mouth. “Baaaaaaaa.”
“Hey there, little cutie.” As I pet the creature, I say to Stone, “I see you still have it.”
“Can’t get rid of the damn thing.”
“Have you fed it?”
He shrugs. “It eats grass.”
He is so not worthy. “Lambi, I was going to ask if your mama is being good to you, but looks like I have my answer.”
“I should kick you out just for that.”
“You should.” I grin. “But don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
“You hold no cards here.”
“No. But I am holding pastry—the best in town.”
He eyes the box with lust. “Fine. Come in. But make it fast. I don’t need more problems from you . . . in your skirt and your hair and your . . .” He gestures toward me, shakes his head. “Never mind.”
My jaw unhinges. “My skirt? What are you talking about? It’s a pencil ski—”
“I know what it is,” he snaps.
“Well, I’m sorry my looks offend you.” Fury bubbles and boils inside my veins. One of the ley lines flashes. I exhale. I didn’t come here for a fight. Must rewind and start over. “Look, I’m sorry my appearance makes you feel . . . however you do.”
His gaze turns so icy cold a shiver winds around my spine and practically lifts me off the ground. “Lady, I don’t make it a habit of feeling anything.”
His words are a sucker punch to the throat. I can barely breathe as I wrap my mind around what he just said. Stone doesn’t feel? What does that even mean?
How can someone not feel? Why would someone not feel? Why would anyone do that? The best part of life is feeling.
“Then I’m very sorry for you,” I reply quietly.
He eyes me like he’s inspecting a crate of bananas straight from the Caribbean, waiting for the giant spider hiding inside to leap out onto his face.
After a long moment he finally says, “Come inside.”
I squeeze through the doorway, as Stone doesn’t bother moving to give me a wide berth.
He shuts the door, and I squirrel over to one side of the trailer as he storms past. The lambicorn follows. Stone plops into his chair, leans back, and props his red clay–caked boots on top of his desk.
Despite everything else about him, Stone Maddox is rugged and rough. I’ve seen Pane, his brother, and he’s refined. Like an ironed napkin—smooth, no wrinkles, all perfection.
Where Pane is that, Stone is his crumpled-up-paper-napkin brother. One etched in gold, obviously. There’s no telling how much those two are worth.
I timidly place the box and coffee on the desk. “Is it okay if I sit?”
“Let me see first.” He opens the box, eyes the Danish, and nods. “You may sit.”
“The coffee’s black. Creature Comforts has a great cup. The beans are custom roasted.”
“I know. I like their coffee.”
“It’s good, right?”
“Oh yeah, it’s one of the things I like best about this town,” he says, his eyes shining as they land on me.
For a split second our gazes lock and all the anger between us dissolves.
For a split second, that is. Next thing I know, he’s scowling again like a petulant child.
Stone pulls the Danish from the box, and I hold my breath. “I didn’t eat this morning,” he confesses.
I cross my fingers as he takes the first bite.
After I bought the pastry and coffee, I returned to my car and pulled out a small mason jar I’d stored the potion in.
I unscrewed the lid, dipped in a spoon, and slathered what I hope is enough of the green goo onto the bottom of the Danish.
It was thick and goopy. It also smelled slightly of vinegar.
Maybe Stone won’t notice.
I then dropped a small spoonful in the coffee, too, stirred, and capped the lid.
My thinking was that if he didn’t eat the Danish, maybe he’d drink the coffee.
Stone takes a big bite, frowns for half a second, and then keeps chewing. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding.
So far, so good.
“Now.” He wipes his hands on a napkin I brought. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I was hoping we could walk outside.”
“Why?”
There wasn’t any information in the book about how long the spell will take to work, so I’m hoping it’ll activate quickly and Stone will see the ley lines.
He watches me carefully. Oh no. I doubt one bite will be enough, so I pick up the coffee.
“You should wash your breakfast down.”
I start to hand it to him, but my fingers slip and the cup tips over.
I watch in slow-motion horror as the rim hits the top of his desk and the lid pops off. Coffee spills everywhere, spraying onto his lap and sliding over the blotter on his desk, staining his papers.
Stone jumps up. “Son of a—”
“I’m so sorry!” My gaze skims the office, and I hope to find a paper towel dispenser nearby, but no such luck. My cheeks burn with humiliation. My hands shake.
This is going all wrong. All, all wrong.
Grabbing the few napkins I brought, I blot Stone’s shirt. “I’m so, so sorry! I can’t believe I’ve done this. I’m such a klutz.”
“I’ve got it,” he snarls. When I try to blot him again, he takes both of my hands in his. An electric shock jolts down my body, and I jump back. He releases me and says darkly, “Was your plan to melt my skin?”
“No, it wasn’t.” I curl my hands into balls to stop them from shaking. It doesn’t help, so I just stash them behind my back. “I really did come here to give you this peace offering.”
“Well, good job. The Danish sucked and now I’m covered in coffee.”
So he could taste the potion. Well, that answers my question about the flavor.
He unbuttons his shirt and yanks it off. “If there’s nothing else, you may leave. Unless you’re about to make a phone call.”
Stone crosses to a closet and opens it, taking a shirt off a hanger. My jaw opens slightly at how muscled he is. His arms have ridges and hills that flex with every movement.
I should not be staring at him, but I can’t help it.
He keeps talking, and I force myself to look away from his muscles and concentrate on his face as he puts on the shirt. A thought occurs to me: Is this how guys feel about boobs? Are they as entranced by them as I am with man muscles?
“One call,” he explains. “That’s all it’ll take to clear up this mess. You can do that, or I can tell the mayor’s office about his newest magical land coordinator.”
This. Is. Humiliating. There’s no way one bite of the Danish worked, and of course I’ve destroyed the coffee, and fat chance Stone will take food or drink from me again.
I’ve lost.
I’ll lose my job, my family will know my secret, and instead of thinking I’m awesome like Brittany, they’ll shun me for being weird and different—even more different than I already am.
Stone stares at me, no doubt wondering why I’m not answering. If he only knew that I’m contemplating all my life’s horrible choices and how each failure led me to this one moment, the moment where I break in half.
I mop up the last puddle of coffee from his desk and murmur, “I was trying to make things better, but I’ve only made them worse.”
What do I do now? Let the magic be destroyed, or allow him to reveal my secret?
There’s really no choice, is there? My decision is made.
“Wait,” he says, but his voice is garbled.
I glance up as Stone reels back. He claws at his neck, his face turning bright red. Worry sifts through me.
Is the potion working? What is it doing?
Is it . . . hurting him?
His eyes meet mine, and they’re wide with fear. Stone opens his mouth. Reaches toward me—
His knees buckle.
“Stone!”
I lunge forward as he crumples, face-first, onto the floor.
I don’t think he’s breathing.
A crack echoes through me as if my own bones are breaking. My lungs seize. A cold, slithering wave of nausea coils in my gut.
Oh my God.
I just killed Stone Maddox.