Page 13 of Festive with a Grumpy Fae
He flinches, then sighs.“It’s not worth getting the courier back and returning books now, not four days before Christmas.See what you can do with this delivery while I’m gone next week, and if it goes well… maybe when I get back, we can talk.”
Oh my fucking god.It’s a Christmas miracle.
I nod, completely at a loss for words, and he turns away to head back downstairs.At the top of the steps, he stops, then retraces his steps.Has he changed his mind?My heart sinks.
“Lachie…” He swallows, looking uncomfortable.“I’m sorry I was so cross.You didn’t deserve for me to shout at you.It’s only… sometimes when you push for us to stock new releases, I worry that when you take over the store, you’ll give up the antiquarian books entirely.”
My world tilts on its axis.
“When… what?”
His brows draw together.“When you take over the store.I’m not getting any younger, you know.I’ll want to retire in the next five years or so, and then the place will be yours to run.”I’m not sure what he sees on my face, but he hesitantly adds, “Unless you don’t want it.”
“I want it!”I clear my throat, a little embarrassed by how high-pitched that was.“I mean… thank you.I’m… honoured that you’d want me to run the store.”
His mouth turns up in a smile.“Of course I do.You’re practically my family, aren’t you?And you love this place as much as I do.”He doesn’t wait for me to reply before heading back downstairs.
I stare after him, gobsmacked.Maybe it isn’t so farfetched for me to think of Godfrey as a father figure.
“Are you okay?”
Still shocked—and happy; so, so happy—I look at Cillian.
He’s leaving in less than a week.And my heart breaks at the thought.
seven
By the timewe get home, Cillian’s asked me what’s wrong a dozen times.That only makes me feel worse, because I happen to be excellent at hiding my feelings, so how can this man—fae—who’s only known me for a couple of weeks possibly be able to see that something is wrong when the people who know me best have never been able to?
I brush him off repeatedly, but judging by his glower and the determined way he closes the front door of the cottage, I’m pretty sure he’s about to turn the questions into demands.
Too fucking bad.It’s bad enough that he’s going to be gone soon, leaving me with a new hole in my life to replace the ones his presence filled.I don’t need to flay myself bare before then, and I definitely don’t need to embarrass myself by admitting to having feelings when he’s here on sufferance.
It’s bad enough that I summoned him away from his life without forcing my emotional needs on him as well.
“Lachie,” he starts, but I’m already rummaging in the fridge.
“I thought we might have salad for dinner, since it’s a hot day,” I call, staring at the half head of very wilted lettuce in the crisper.I don’t know what possessed me to say that, since said lettuce looks very unappetizing.
“Fine.But?—”
“Or maybe we could chuck something on the barbecue.There should be some chops in the freezer.”
“I don’t care.Lachie?—”
“Nah, we’d need a salad to go with that anyway, so it’d just be more work.I reckon?—”
The fridge door is wrenched out of my hold and slammed closed, then I’m yanked around with a very firm grip on my shoulders to look at an irritated faerie.
“I don’t care about dinner,” he says forcefully.“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Damn him.
“Nothing.I’ve already told you, I’m fi?—”
“Donotsay that word, Lachlan.Don’t lie to me again.”
I want to say it anyway, because I’m contrary that way, but his gaze locks with mine, and I… can’t.I can’t lie to him.