Chapter 5 Colette
Colette
The inn’s gathering room is somewhat busy with folks wanting a little something to eat before checking out and traveling on to wherever they want to be for Snowlight. I still hear plenty of conversation about Archer and me between people wrangling luggage, younglings, and maps.
At the table closest to the front window and door, I pour some mulled wine for Tully.
The witch tucks a red curl under the brim of her black, pointed hat. “You look like you just had the best morning of your life.”
I don’t want the rest of the gathering room to hear me, so I lean forward. “Archer came by and caught me in my underthings.”
Tully’s lips tuck up on one side. “I assume you appreciated his response?”
“He tried to hide his attraction to me, but it was fairly obvious. I do feel bad that I’ve tarnished his serious doom and gloom reputation.
” It’s great how easy it is to talk to Tully.
She has sharp edges, but I feel like I’ve known her for years instead of days. Maybe this is just how small towns are.
“Ah,” Tully says dismissively. “It’s good for him. Males need to be made uncomfortable on a regular basis.” She takes another swallow of her spiced wine.
The horned, male goat shifter at the table beside us sniffs, scowls, and goes back to reading his book.
I chuckle. Lysandra was right when she told me that Tully says whatever she wants and doesn’t care who hears it. I love that. I pour myself some warm, sugared cranberry juice and down it. Delicious.
“Hopefully, the excitement about our kiss that wasn’t really a kiss is already dying down,” I say.
The inn opens the front door and a slip of parchment flies in. The message lands at my feet. Magic sparks around the note as I break the green seal, a seal very familiar to me.
“It’s from my editor,” I tell Tully.
“Ooo, the boss,” the witch says teasingly, holding her drink up.
Dearest Colette,
Kingstown is abuzz with the story of your blossoming romance with Archer Darkheart! What a fantastic move it was to kiss at the faire and knock those treats down for attention. You’re a genius.
I look up from the letter. “Mistress Avalon believes I staged the whole moment at the faire.”
Tully shrugs one shoulder and absently taps her wand against the table. “It will be good for your sales.”
I huff a laugh. “I am not nearly duplicitous enough to think of a plan like that.”
“I don’t know. I’ve read some of your romantic comedies. You’re a sharp one.”
My heart swells at the praise from this new acquaintance. And, interestingly, I had the same thought about her. “Aw, thank you.”
I have an idea of my own. Mistress Avalon writes.
I lift an eyebrow and try not to worry. Avalon can be a little unhinged with what she wants me to do in the name of sales.
I met with Archer’s publisher this morning and we decided you two must co-write a short story together immediately. You can read it aloud at Snowlight there in Leafshire Cove. Isn’t it the most perfect plan?
My chest tightens. I let the hand holding the note drop to my side. Archer will hate this. So much. I don’t think I’m excited about it either. Or am I?
Tully waves her wand and steals the note. “Can I read what she sent? You look troubled.”
“Definitely. I need advice on how to stop her.”
The witch reads the next lines and starts laughing. “Oh, this is going to be delightful.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“Then refuse,” Tully says. “I think you should go for it, though. People will eat this up.”
I flip the note over, grab a quill and ink pot, and start a reply.
I can’t possibly do this, Mistress Avalon. We don’t get along, Archer and I. Sorry, but no matter how great it would be sales-wise, I can’t work with someone like him.
I sign the letter, and Tully flicks her wand and sends it back where it came from. I take a deep breath.
Crisis averted.
Tully leaves with well wishes, and I go about my day, checking town visitors into their rooms and training the employee I hired to run the front desk and the bar when I’m off.
Dew is a small, female fairy, and she’s a quick learner.
Everything runs smoothly, and when my kin, Magnus and Aila, return from their trip to Kingstown, the inn is in perfect order.
New furniture in place of the broken pieces.
Clean bed linens in every room thanks to the inn’s particular magic.
A tidied kitchen and bar. It’s perfect. The inn sighs contentedly, the shutters fluttering, as it opens and closes the front door to allow folks in and out.
After hugging Magnus and Aila—it’s not easy to hug an orc as large as Magnus or a fairy with such large wings—and giving each of their younglings a scone from the batch I bought from the baker, I show them around.
Aila’s fairy skin shimmers in the light from the window, and I marvel again at how lovely my stepsister is.
I’m glad they’re staying with me until they can move into their new house here in Leafshire Cove.
I lead them upstairs and point down the walkway.
“I’ve got you in rooms four and five because they have an adjoining door.
You can put the younglings in one, and you can enjoy the other yourselves.
” They are both eyeing me oddly. “What? Do I have pastry icing on my chin?” I wipe it with the back of my hand.
“No, you’re lovely as always,” Aila says.
But her brow furrows and I know something is up.
Magnus glances between us and then peers over the balcony railing to where his younglings are eating their scones at the bar top in the gathering room. Dew is handing them little cups of water.
“Wonderful,” he says finally. “Thank you, Colette.”
Aila’s wings flutter, a sign that she’s excited or anxious. “I have tried to wait for you to bring it up, but you aren’t, so I will.”
Here it comes. “What is it?”
Magnus rubs his green face, then looks from Aila to me.
“The kiss with Archer Darkheart!” Aila blurts out, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining.
My heart drops. “Right. Of course.”
“The news is everywhere, Colette,” Magnus says. “Every broadsheet in Kingstown had you and him sketched out right on top.”
Sometimes I adore magic; other times, it’s a nuisance. Only with magic could this news travel so quickly.
“That’s right,” Aila says, clasping my hands. “It’s so exciting!”
I gently detach my fingers from hers. “It’s not what you think. Come in here, please.”
Magnus leans over the railing. “Stay with Dew,” he orders his younglings. They look up at him and wave.
I lead Magnus and Aila into my room so we don’t have any eavesdroppers. Magnus stands by the door and Aila settles at my desk.
“When it happened at the faire, well, I thought Archer was leaning in. But then I realized he tripped. He had his arms around me, and it was…”
I breathe out and try to find a less embarrassing way to explain this.
“I misread the whole moment,” I say, “and he’s very handsome. I’m an idiot and the kiss was a mistake.”
Aila stands and wraps me in a hug. Her wings fan my face. “You’re not an idiot. Don’t you dare say that, darling girl.”
Magnus chuckles, scoffing. “From what we heard, Master Darkheart already came to visit you today. A male doesn’t come knocking if he has no interest.”
I shake my head in disagreement. “He only came by because a large group of folks bothered him at Halvard and Rychell’s house, and he was worried I’d be harangued here.”
Magnus and Aila trade a knowing look.
“Stop doing that,” I say, exasperated. I wave my hands at the space between them. “He’s gone already. Left to return to Honey Sands. I wish you were right, but he isn’t interested.”
Even though these two seem intent on getting me together with the vampire, I manage to steer the conversation toward the coming Snowlight festivities, and soon they’re bidding me goodbye and herding their younglings out the inn’s side door for a trip to the market.
I check in with Dew, then tuck myself into my room for some writing.
My desk is a lovely mess of quills in pink, purple, green, and blue, stacks of parchment in varying sizes, books from far and wide, and a bowl of lollipops.
I’m about three chapters into a new book.
The words come pretty quickly because this is a chapter where the two main characters are arguing and flirting at the same time.
Some authors plot every moment in their book, and though I wish I could do it that way, that’s not how my mind works.
I have to write and find out what happens as I experience the story alongside my characters.
As I write my character’s potential first kiss—sometimes these scenes need to change or move—I can’t help thinking about Archer’s mouth.
I had expected a vampire’s lips to be cold, but they were warm and soft.
Of course, he wasn’t truly kissing me, just reacting.
I wonder what a real kiss from him would be like.
I envision him falling into me, scooping me into his arms, and then I imagine his long fingers in my hair, how he tilts my head, and he devours my lips.
Would he nip me with his fangs? What would happen if he did?
I take a deep breath to settle my suddenly racing heart and get back to my draft. I have to focus and get this story done before my publisher can come up with any more ridiculous ideas.