Page 4 of A Troll in the Hay
“I don’t think that at all. I told you trolls are generally of that nature, but I didn’t say all trolls are. My brother, for example, doesn’t fit the description. He’s a rock musician, currently on a North American tour. Unfortunately, I have a typical troll’s aversion to socializing.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well right now,” I say, leaning against the counter and smiling up at him.
“If I am, it’s because I don’t want our conversation to end.”
Is the big, antisocial troll flirting with me? I think he might be. I hope he is.
“If you’d welcome my company after your evening at the pub, it would be my honor and pleasure to see you safely to your accommodations, and perhaps we could talk while we walk.”
Yup, now I’m ninety-five percent sure he’s interested. Time to get that final five out of the way. “Would we be talking about your girlfriend or wife or other significant person?”
“No, as I have none of those.”
Internal fist pump? Heck, yes! “Then, what if I save my pub outing for another night, and we take a longer walk together instead? Maybe along the boardwalk—or if there are too many people there, you could suggest somewhere else. I really haven’t seen much of Harmony Glen yet, but I want to experience it all.”
“I would like that very much, and the beach will be picturesque in the evening. May I call on you around seven?”
May I call on you, notpick you up. Either he’s just very polite and formal, or it’s been a while since he took someone on a date. Like, a long while. Then again, I have no idea how old he is. I’ve read that some nonhuman species have much longer lifespans. Regardless, my answer is the same.
“Seven is perfect. I’m staying at the Green Glen Cabins. Number three.”
His eyes twinkle as his deep-green lips pull into a smile. “I am very much looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Me too.” Pretty sure my feet barely touch the ground on my way out. It’s only after I’ve figuratively floated all the way to my car that I realize I left the apples on the counter and didn’t buy a single other thing in his farm market. But I left with a date, and no amount of farm-fresh goods could top that.
Chapter Three
HOPE
Being a waitress means I’m a big fan of sensible shoes. That’s what I packed, since I planned to do lots of walking around town on this trip, and it’s what Ishouldwear tonight.
Instead, I went downtown after leaving Harmony Market, poked around several of the charming shops and bought a pair of glossy candy-apple-red peep-toe pumps that are going to kill my feet after about ten minutes of walking. That’s probably too generous, honestly. But they’resopretty. Infinitely sexier than my comfortable canvas flats with the memory foam insoles.
As usual, I’m ready early. A habit after years of being called in to work ahead of my scheduled start time because some coworker is a last-minute no-show. When my boss calls, it’s never actually a request to come inearly. It’s an expectation that never comes with appreciation.
Hence, why I’m pacing the little cabin with twenty minutes to go until Ogram is due to arrive.
Through the window, I spot Glen, the cabins’ owner, in the yard, in front of the inground pool. He’s humanlike in some ways—arms with hands, a face with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. But he’s definitely treelike, and there are enough small vines and leaves sprouting on him for me to assume he doesn’t justlooklike he has bark for skin, that’s what it actually is.
After putting my foot in my mouth with Ogram and incorrectly calling him an orc, I’m not going to ask Glen about his bark skin. Or would it be skin bark? Either way, my curiosity is staying locked down. Some casual conversation should be safe, though. Talking always makes time pass faster, and I’m going to be back in my sensible shoes before Ogram even gets here if I don’t stop pacing the cabin.
Grabbing my purse from the chair, I step outside, then make my way across the lawn to join Glen where he’s filling an assortment of bird feeders under the canopy of a large katsura tree. Just like the first time I spoke with Glen out here, the tree is giving off a scent that reminds me of pancake breakfasts when I was a little kid.
“Does this tree smell this good all the time?” I ask, breathing it in as I smile at the tall tree-man.
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Finished pouring black oil sunflower seeds into one of the feeders, Glencarefully closes the bag and sets it aside. “My senses are different from yours, but most horticultural journals state the scent is strongest later in the summer, before the leaves drop.”
“Then I guess I chose the perfect time for a visit.”
“Every day in Harmony Glen is a perfect day to be here,” he says, picking up another variety of birdseed and filling an adorable wooden feeder that looks very much like him, minus the green vines growing from the top of his head. “Did you make it over to Harmony Market?”
“I did, and I figured out why you were so insistent that I go today. You knew Ogram isn’t always in the market store, but he would be there today, giving me an opportunity to meet a troll.”
Using the same seed mix, he moves on to the next feeder in need of a top-up. “How did it go?”
Heat ripples through me. I don’t need to be in front of a mirror to know my cheeks are now bright pink, and from the way the thick ridge above Glen’s eyes rises, I’m sure a verbal answer isn’t required. Nor do I have an opportunity to give one because the subject of our conversation pulls into the small parking lot, his hulking green form taking up nearly all the space in the front seat of a large pickup truck’s cab.
He’s early. By fifteen minutes.