Page 16 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 16

A nsel knew he was being a conniving, devious bastard again. He didn’t care. The storm had already begun to wane, and his time left with her could be measured in hours. He didn’t remotely believe she intended to help him secure an investor, and he didn’t care about that either. Having her willingly touch him one more time would be enough to get him through the rest of his shitty life.

Of course, she wouldn’t truly be willing. This was simple bribery, if he chose to be honest with himself.

But one couldn’t turn off being a selfish prick overnight.

Gretta cocked her head. “You’d give me ten percent of your supply for a hug ?”

He’d give it to her for far less. Hell, if she told him to fuck off, he would, and he’d still give her the sample. He’d intended to the moment she’d divulged her profession.

However, he saw no harm in opening negotiations with what he really wanted.

“That’s my price.”

“But…why?”

“I just want one.” He waited for her to tell him how pathetic that sounded.

She shook her head and laughed. “Okay, deal. Come here.”

His head snapped back. Pulse wild, he moved closer, afraid she’d change her mind if he hesitated. He stood before her, back straight, face down.

What should he do with his arms? Dragging her into them seemed outside the technical parameters of their bargain, but keeping them at his sides felt awkward. Before he could make a decision, she clapped her arms around him with more of a pat than a squeeze. It ended before he realized it happened.

“ Gretta. ”

“What? You asked for a hug, I gave you one.”

“That was hardly a hug. Jonas in his cups is more affectionate.” Logically, her aversion to him remained perfectly understandable, but logic didn’t stop it from lacerating him.

Why was he even torturing himself with this? Affection couldn’t be purchased. It could only be earned, and he’d thoroughly fucked up that possibility.

He turned, tidying papers to give his hands something to do. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked it of you. Our bargain is complete.”

She sighed. “I’ll try again.”

“No.” He set the bottle at her elbow. “It’s yours."

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I know what that sample is worth, and I’d say your terms are ludicrously in my favor. Come here .”

Another protest climbed his throat, but his body drifted toward her before the words got out. Apparently, his need for this exceeded his pride.

She looked him over as though weighing the logistics of their height discrepancy. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

“Um,” she said. “Do you want my arms around your neck or waist?”

Both, at the same time.

“My waist.” It wasn’t his actual preference, but it would be easier for her.

She rested her palms on his ribs, testing the feel of him. When her arms slipped around his back, he closed his eyes.

As ever, her scent nearly knocked him over. It was strawberry-wine and lemon, sweet but no longer girlish. Like her, time had developed its character, making it more complex. He’d been starved for it.

His arms carefully folded around her. He didn’t dare much more, except bending to rest his cheek on her head.

A memory of holding her like this in the cottage rushed in. After some atrocity he couldn’t specifically recall, they’d hidden in the pantry, cuddling on a sack of sugar. She’d clung to him— I couldn’t have meant nothing to her! —and stubbornly fought tears.

Ansel surprised himself by pushing the memory away. He didn’t want the past distracting him from the present. This felt…different. She was still Gretta but not.

And he liked this version of her. Before he knew her identity, it had required mental gymnastics to convince himself otherwise, but it was undeniable now. She was vulgar and volatile, but she was also interesting. If he’d been the one to stumble upon her in Antrelle, he could easily see himself smitten, whether they recognized each other or not.

The loss of what might have been overwhelmed him. When he hid his stinging eyes in her hair, she tensed, and he knew it was over. He forced himself to let go.

Instead of releasing him, her hands clutched his shoulder blades. She crushed him to her, pressing her face into his chest.

Except, that wasn’t possible.

Ansel stood there dumbly. To be safe, he held his arms out, giving her room to back away. She only held him harder.

Rational thought disappeared. He wrapped her up again, tighter than before, and exhaled brokenly into her hair.

What the hell are you doing, Gretta?

She had no idea. The need to stay in his arms was innate, totally out of her control. He was bigger now, and much more damaged, but their connection was still there.

Goddammit, she’d missed him. She’d been homesick for this without realizing it.

He hunched lower, and his arms shifted along her back, holding her closer. “ I missed you so much, Gret. I missed this.”

She tensed. His deep voice reminded her this wasn’t her Ansel.

Sliding her palms to his waist, she pulled her face off his chest. He loosened his arms without removing them.

“Hug’s over,” she said. “Let go.”

“You first.”

She ripped her hands away, and he slowly removed his own. His eyes searched hers, bewildered, hopeful.

Wonderful . She’d encouraged him.

“Gretta, that was—”

“Don’t over-analyze it. I briefly forgot who you are now, but I’ve remembered.”

The hope on his face fizzled out.

Happy to pretend the past five minutes never happened, Gretta snatched up the bottle and went to an overloaded bookcase. She scanned its contents pessimistically. “Don’t you own a single novel?”

He came up beside her. “I’m afraid my reading tastes run to the practical.”

“Your reading tastes are unbelievably boring.”

He pulled a slender, ancient-looking volume off the shelf and skimmed the first page. “You might like this one.”

“ Trolls and Nymphs ,” Gretta read. “ A Paradoxical Conflict . Sounds gripping.”

“I didn’t finish it myself, but the composition is quite narrative.”

“Do you have anything…I don’t know, spicier?”

His cheeks got red. He tersely shook his head, and Gretta smiled.

By spicy, she meant interesting, but now she wondered if he kept a stash of more salacious reading material on hand. When she’d snooped through his bedroom, she hadn’t thought to look under his mattress.

“Here, this one’s good,” he said, shoving an encyclopedia for the letter F at her.

She took it with a smirk and picked out a few more books. “I think I’m all set. Let me know when supper’s ready.”