Page 36 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

CORDELIA

I stumble toward the aroma of coffee in Duke’s house, still sore from my woodland temper tantrum. At least I’m a little less righteously indignant about the whole fortune teller reveal, even if the idea of a real-life mate unmoors me.

I’m not the only one who has valid reasons to reject a mating bond.

Duke’s already in the kitchen. Bright sunlight streams in through the window over the sink, as if last night’s storm never happened at all.

He leans against the countertop, hand curled around a mug. “Sleep well?”

After he insisted that I take his much larger bed that fits his very large body, I did. I slept like the dead. It was the first time in memory that I slept while a storm raged outside.

I nod. “You?”

“You’re short,” he quips. “I fit in a twin bed easy enough now.” He frowns at me, then mutters, “I look ridiculous.”

I run his callused fingertips over the shorn hair on his head. “I’d say I’m sorry, but your hair will grow back. In the meantime, you’re blessed with a chiseled jawline that’s no longer hidden beneath that beard.”

He grins. Even though it’s my face, the egotistical expression is all him.

“It looks just like Luke’s.” I grin back.

He glowers, but he still slides a cup of fresh coffee across the kitchen island for me.

“Thank you,” I murmur. I need this hit of caffeine more than any morning before.

After draining the mug and a refill, I become aware of the awkward silence that’s muddying our tentative truce. Kind of hard to make small talk with someone who admitted to jerking off while fantasizing about me. It could be flattering. Instead, it’s just…sad.

“I asked Wallace for a loan,” Duke admits, his gaze downcast to my bare feet. The pink polish is chipped and grown out. “For the spell the fortune teller said she could do. He turned me down.”

I sit in one of his kitchen chairs with a sigh. Although I still don’t believe she can do what she claims, I understand now why Duke’s grasping at straws. Besides, it’s not like I want to be stuck in his body for the rest of my life. I’m still not convinced that I won’t completely lose my mind.

I glance around his beautiful, cozy home and wonder whether I have to be touching a living thing for the visions to happen. Or if I’ll eventually be able to touch any object and see a different reality. Maybe I’ll see a memory of the previous owner, since most of his furnishings are reclaimed.

The longer I stare at the neutral yet comfortable style of his home, the more a genius idea blooms in my brain. I can’t erase the years he suffered because of me, but… Maybe I can ease one of the burdens of his present and future.

“Hey, Duke?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know what Airbnb is?”

“Do you think we should walk across? What if it’s like some kind of invisible force field that pushes us back?

Like running into a bouncy house. I feel like we’d get less injured if we’re on foot instead of in your truck, charging ahead at full speed.

” I don’t take back my word vomit, even though embarrassment heats Duke’s cheeks.

Duke and I stare out the windshield at the part of the road that we’re pretty sure is the town line. There are no signs, no official markers. It’s just a feeling.

The lonely stretch of road that’s the only way in and out of town is surrounded on both sides by towering pine trees. Most of the mountains are forested in myriad species of maples, beech, birch, and sycamore trees. This stand of pines, well…stands out.

He slowly slides his gaze toward me. “What kind of books have you been reading all these years?”

I shrug. “Fantasy, mostly. It’s about different worlds, magic systems, faeries, wizards, and political intrigue. Lots of battle scenes. You’d probably enjoy them, too.”

Especially knowing that he has a secret affinity for swordplay.

I still have no idea how he gained that knowledge if he can’t read about it.

I’m tempted to ask, but I bite my tongue instead.

I refuse to let myself get too cozy in this situationship.

A mutual understanding is more than I ever believed possible between us.

“I don’t read for fun, so I’ll take your word for it.” He opens the driver’s side door and hops out before I can respond.

By the time I join him on the already hot asphalt, he’s squared my shoulders and placed my hands on my hips. I look like I mean business in this position. I should use that if I ever get back into my body again.

“You really think we might not be able to leave town?” he questions in all seriousness.

“I mean…maybe? I didn’t expect my wish at the well to come true, and I definitely had no idea that Granny was into the occult. If anything is possible, then everything is.”

“Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t believe in magic at all, so I guess you’re right,” he says.

I study the shimmering air in front of us. It’s only nine in the morning, but the heat and humidity are already oppressive. I don’t see anything like what I remember from all the books I used to read. Nothing like the premonitions I get before a vision.

He sighs and links our hands, entwining our fingers. “Come on. We’re in this mess together. Might as well find out if we’re trapped in town together, too.”

I’m terrified that he means something else entirely, but he doesn’t want this bond either. We’re in a hell of a mess together. We’re not going to get out of it separately.

We take a step forward. I hold my breath and brace Duke’s muscles for an impact, but…nothing happens.

One step and then another, side by side, and nothing happens.

We walk along the road for at least half a mile, both of us silently admitting that we don’t really know where the edge of town lies.

Still, nothing happens.

“I think we’re good to go.” I blow out a long breath. “If something was going to stop us, it would have by now.”

He turns toward me with excitement that he tries very hard to hide. “That’s it then?”

I shrug. “Seems like it.”

It seems too easy, if I’m going off of what I’ve read in the past. “Do you have any bad feelings? An inexplicable headache? Anything like that?”

He shakes my head. “I feel the same as I did before we got out of the truck.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

He grins, then slides my arm around his waist and squeezes sharply.

“What are you doing?” I stare down at the top of my head.

He steps back. “Sorry. Thought that little win called for a hug.”

He removes my arm, takes a step back and nods awkwardly.

As if being stuck in each other’s bodies wasn’t weird enough, now we have this whole…sexual thing hanging between us like a boa constrictor.

“Since we’re not stuck here,” I hedge, “maybe you could, um, find some fresh pastures to graze in when this is all over. ”

His face heats hotter than the surface of the sun. I can’t believe I just suggested that.

“Are you offering to be my wingwoman?” He asks, following me back to the truck. “Going to give me dating advice now?”

I’m not sure that I can call his past hookups dating, but I’m also sure that I’m not in a position to dole out dating advice.

“I’m really not a thirty-year-old virgin,” I blurt, like I can’t let go of my sense of self-preservation. “Outside of Utopia, other men actually find me attractive enough to sleep with.”

He frowns as he opens the passenger side door for me. Hilarious considering he’s in the female body, but training is training. Mountain man chivalry isn’t dead.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry that I was one of the reasons it took you so long to figure out?—”

He shakes his head, then closes the passenger door gently. While he rounds the hood of the truck, tears prick the backs of his eyes and his lower lip trembles.

I think I know what he was going to say. I already confessed to him I was untouched until my junior year of college. I don’t want him to know that I’m no more wanted anywhere than I am here. I blow out a shaky breath and scramble for some self-control.

He climbs into the cabin, turning to me with a serious expression after he starts the engine. “I need to prepare you to meet Aunt Bitty. She’s…” He chuckles as he eases the truck forward on the road. “She’s a character.”

That’s not surprising. Most mountain folk are characters. Still, I welcome the subject change, especially since we need to borrow his aunt’s high-speed internet to set up his house rental listing. Nowhere in the NRQZ has such a luxury.

This little trip was Duke’s suggestion, after I offered up the Airbnb idea to raise money for the fortune teller’s spell.

Apparently, he and his brothers have a monthly schedule to help their aging aunt with household repairs and maintenance.

July is Duke’s month. If he didn’t show up, it would raise the kind of scrutiny that we can’t afford just now.

“Is she your father’s or mother’s sister?” I strap on my seatbelt and brace myself for an hours-long trip of awkward conversation the same way I braced myself for an invisible force field to prevent us from making it.

“Mama’s sister,” he answers quietly. My mouth twists in a sad attempt at a wry smile. “Daddy and Aunt Bitty were never quite the same after her death either.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer.

I’m not sure if I ever said that to him after his mother died.

I was aware of her death, of course. Everyone in town was shocked and saddened by the tragic car accident that claimed her life.

It was inconceivable. She was too young, too needed, too steeped in family and mountain tradition to meet an untimely end.

Life in the mountains is hard, but there’s still this permeating sense that you reap what you sow.

The unspoken belief is that it’s not the good who die young.

“Thank you,” Duke murmurs, clearing my throat and then continuing, “Aunt Bitty moved in for a spell to help around the house. Daddy was beside himself with grief, but there were still five boys who were expected to attend school. She cooked and cleaned and ironed our clothes. Every morning, she sent us out into the world with clean faces and combed hair. No smile, though. No peck on the cheek or pat on the back or Have a good day. ”

That’s not unexpected. Another tenet of Appalachian culture is the notion that we should all grin and bear it. Life is what it is. Society would collapse if we allowed our emotions to affect our daily chores.

Even though I was raised in the same environment, that attitude is unfathomable to me.

Those boys lost their mother at such a tender age.

Even if Duke wasn’t dyslexic, it’s no wonder that he nearly failed eighth grade.

How was he supposed to learn critical reading or algebra or biology when he was faced with a new reality that he’d never imagined?

In the blink of an eye, everything that he relied on had been ripped away.

A fact I’m aware of when I wake up every morning. I might have the distraction of this situation between me and Duke, but I’m still acutely missing Granny.

I lick Duke’s lips that suddenly feel too dry. “I’m so sorry, Duke.”

I don’t know what else to say, and it doesn’t matter.

The past can’t be changed, no matter how much we might wish for a do-over, or for one more minute that can’t be bought even with our souls.

“Me, too,” he murmurs, and he links our fingers together over the center console. He squeezes before letting go to grip the steering wheel with both of my hands.

The silence in the cabin of the truck shifts from awkward bitterness to something that tastes like tentative acceptance.

I half expect us to switch into our own bodies again. This quiet, not-so-monumental moment feels like a seismic shift in the reality that I’ve always known.

No fortune teller reveal required.

“Tell me more about Aunt Bitty,” I prompt instead of getting all emotional. “I don’t want to accidentally say anything that might offend her while I’m pretending to be you.”