Page 4 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

ChapterFour - Eiran

Maeve didn’t look away, but she should have, though. That was the first rule when someone caught you staring, you look away, pretend you were glancing past them, daydreaming, or about to sneeze. Instead, she met his eyes.

A mistake.

His eyes were the kind of blue that didn’t belong in real life, deep and cutting, similar to a storm rolling in off some bottomless sea.

Shit.

He was walking towards her now. Casual and graceful. Like he had every right to invade her caffeine-laced solitude.

Shit.

Maeve glanced down at her bracelet again. Still there, still gleaming, but now humming beneath her skin like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Shit.

“Excuse me,” the man said, voice low and precise. Not a local accent, British, like hers, but smoother, older and much more refined. “Is this seat taken?”

Maeve looked up, expression carefully neutral. “Do I look like I’m expecting someone?”

“Well, I didn’t want to assume. You strike me as the type to travel with secrets.” A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Many lovers, perhaps?”

She blinked. “Is that a line?”

“Perhaps.” He gestured to the chair again. “May I?”

Maeve gave a short nod. “It’s a free country.”

He smiled as he sat, slow and easy. “You’ve already passed the first test.”

Maeve stared at him, a lump forming in her throat. “Test?”

He smiled wider. “You didn’t recoil at my approach. That’s rare. ”

Maeve raised a brow. “You do this often, then? Ambush lone women at cafés?”

“No,” he said, gaze flicking to the bracelet on her wrist. “Just this one. Just you.”

Her stomach did a strange, swooping thing, like the moment right before a fall. “I like to people-watch,” she said, her light tone forced. “And you looked like someone I’d want to figure out.”

“That’s fair.” He leaned back, one brow lifted. “I was thinking the same about you,...?”

“Maeve,” she said, with a tight, awkward smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

“Maeve.” He tasted the name like it meant something. “I’m Eiran.”

She narrowed her eyes, sceptical but intrigued. “Let me guess, Eiran. You’re a collector, a thief. Actually, maybe you’re trying to sell something.”

“Nothing like that.” His eyes warmed, but didn’t lose their sharpness. “I’m more of a finder, in truth.”

“And what, exactly, are you trying to find?” she asked, sitting back, arms crossed.

His smile shifted into something quieter, private. “Sometimes it must find you first.”

Maeve tried not to fidget. “I bought this off a market stall,” she said, defensive despite herself. “So if you’re about to tell me it’s cursed or stolen, don’t.”

“I’m not,” he said gently. “Though I imagine the seller had no idea what they were parting with.”

Maeve’s mouth went dry. “What exactly do you think it is?”

He looked at her for a long moment, the teasing edge gone. “I think it’s something I’ve been seeking for a very, very long time.”