Page 14 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

LYRION

“ L yrion, wake up.”

Groaning, I burrow deeper into my silken pillows.

“Come on, Lyrion. You need to get up.” The voice floats through my sleepy mind, annoyingly persistent, followed by a gentle shake to my shoulder.

I crack open one reluctant eye, squinting against the dim lamplight.

Isobel stands over me, fully dressed, bright-eyed, and entirely too cheerful. Her long blonde hair is neatly braided, and her apron is already tied firmly around her waist.

Errol hops out of her arms onto the bed beside me and places his paw on my nose. “Wake up, Elf,” he says in my mind. “If you don’t hurry, Isobel is going to be late.”

Gently, I push him away and sit up with a low groan, running a hand through my hair. “Moon and stars, Isobel. It’s still night. What is going on?”

She huffs a soft laugh, tugging at my blanket. “It’s nearly dawn, silly. Come on. We need to get some breakfast, and I have to get to work.”

Work? I lift my head just enough to glare toward the window, where the sky is still a deep blue, faint streaks of pink and orange barely visible on the distant horizon.

I collapse dramatically back onto the pillows with another groan. “Surely they can survive a day without you at the café.”

“No,” she says firmly, pulling the comforter away from me. “They can’t. I’m the one who opens and closes each day.”

I push myself up to sitting, irritation prickling my skin. “Remind me again why you’re working in a café and mixing potions?”

Her cheeks pinken. “Usually Tressa handles the potions. I just serve the tea. Besides, we owe her an explanation before she arrives at the shop.”

Begrudgingly, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, blowing out a frustrated breath as I lean forward on my knees, resting my head in my hands.

“Maybe it’d help you wake up if I brought you some tea?” Isobel offers, but I wave her away.

“It’s fine.” I yawn. “I’ll be down momentarily.”

The moment she leaves, I glance again at my warm bed, tempted to crawl back beneath the covers and go back to sleep. I usually enjoy waking in my own time, not being dragged awake before the sun is even out. And certainly not to march into the village to sit idly at a café.

“Don’t even think about it.” Errol’s voice fills my mind as he stands in the doorway. “Isobel can’t be late. She needs this job. She nearly starved last winter, and I don’t want to see her go through that again.”

“She— what ?” I ask, but he’s already sauntering away, down the hall.

After a quick bath, I change into a fresh tunic and pants, and then shuffle downstairs, rubbing my eyes and stifling another yawn.

When I reach the kitchen, I find Isobel humming as she slices bread, her hips swaying to her own tune. Errol sits beside her on the countertop, watching as she pours milk into his bowl.

The room smells faintly of warm bread and fresh tea, comforting and domestic in a way I haven’t experienced before. Errol takes a few laps of his milk and then stretches languidly, arching his back with obvious satisfaction.

“What exactly do you plan to do all day?” I ask him silently, still groggy.

He flicks his tail, green eyes glittering. “I think I’ll lounge on your bed. The sun seems to hit that area just right in the morning,” he adds. “It truly is the best spot in the house.”

“My bed?” I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him. “Why there?”

He gives me a look filled with exaggerated patience. “As I just said, it truly is the best spot in the house for sunning oneself.”

I glare at the smug feline, realizing he’s annoyingly lucky to be spending the day lazing about while I’m dragged out before sunrise.

Isobel turns, spotting me lingering in the doorway, and her lips curl up in a radiant smile. “Good morning!”

“That’s debatable,” I mutter dryly, as I sink into a chair at the table. I glance around the room. “Where’s Hilda?”

“She’s still asleep,” Isobel replies. “I don’t think she’s used to getting up this early, and I didn’t want to wake her.”

“No one should have to get up this early,” I grumble.

“Here. This should brighten your day.” She sets a cup of tea before me with a warm smile. “Now, let’s turn that frown upside down, shall we?”

Arching a brow, I take the first sip.

She settles across from me with her own cup, blowing gently on the steaming liquid. Her eyes sparkle, inexplicably happy. I’m completely baffled by her enthusiasm.

“How can you possibly be this cheerful? You’re up before the sun, and you are about to spend your day waiting on demanding customers.”

She shrugs, sipping her tea. “I have a job. I have breakfast. And I have good company.” She grins. “That’s plenty to be cheerful about, don’t you agree?”

“Good company?” I happen to know I am anything but. Especially in the mornings before I’ve had my breakfast tea. I narrow my eyes in mock offense. “Why do I get the distinct feeling you’re making fun of me?”

Isobel laughs softly. “I’m only teasing, Lyrion.”

Vaelar help me, I adore the sound of her laughter.

“Besides, how do you know I wasn’t speaking of Errol?” she adds with a grin.

I take another sip of my tea to hide the faint smile threatening to curve my mouth.

By the time we step outside, the faintest sliver of sunlight is peeking over the horizon, turning the sky into a delicate canvas of gold and pink. The village slowly wakes around us, windows glowing softly, the sleepy streets beginning to stir.

The closer we get to the café, the more villagers emerge. Shopkeepers wave cheerfully to Isobel, greeting her by name with easy familiarity.

Brakkus gives her a friendly smile as we pass his blacksmith shop. “Morning, Isobel,” his deep voice rumbles. “The sun always seems brighter when you pass.”

She laughs. “Why thank you, Brakkus.”

I grit my teeth, a sharp flare of irritation prickling my chest. Moon above, am I jealous? I shouldn’t be. It’s not as if she’s my mate. And she’s merely being polite. Yet the sight of her lovely smile directed at the Orc sends a surge of annoyance burning through me.

We enter quietly through the back door of the café, the scent of herbs and flour mixing with the comforting aroma of old wood and lingering tea leaves.

I watch Isobel move about the kitchen, her motions confident and practiced. She crouches before the oven, deftly coaxing fire from embers. Morning light filters through the windows, casting her in a lovely glow.

My breath catches at the quiet beauty of her determined focus. To think that she does this every morning, alone, without complaint. I cannot help but offer, “Is there anything I can do?”

She glances over her shoulder, offering a warm smile that squeezes at my heart. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

Isobel walks down into the cellar, emerging a few moments later with a heavy bag of flour. I move without thought, intercepting her burden. “Allow me.”

When I take the weight from her arms, she gives me a grateful look.

She then begins mixing dough to make scones, and I find myself drawn to her side again, compelled by some strange need to ease her workload. “Please, Isobel. Let me help.”

She hesitates, cheeks flushing prettily before she nods and hands me the wooden spoon. “Just stir gently.”

I follow her instructions as she moves about the small kitchen, humming quietly to herself, the melody sweet and soothing. Her industriousness astounds me. Already she has accomplished more before dawn than many do in an entire day.

We move seamlessly to the café tables, arranging chairs and polishing surfaces, preparing the space to welcome its first patrons. My gaze keeps drifting to Isobel, captivated by the simple beauty of her routine, her quiet strength mesmerizing.

The sound of the back door opening signals Tressa’s arrival. She sweeps in, her silver-white hair plaited in an elaborate braid and her delicate green dragonfly wings shimmering behind her. Her golden eyes sharpen with concern as she looks around the kitchen.

“What happened here?” She gestures to the empty shelves, where all her herbs once were. “Where are all the jars and containers?”

“Tressa, I’m so sorry.” Isobel’s voice trembles slightly. “I accidentally knocked over the shelves. All your herbs and jars.”

Tressa’s expression darkens with clear distress, and I feel a sharp pang at seeing Isobel’s shoulders hunch, tension tightening her features.

Fierce protectiveness surges through me, and I step forward. “It was my fault entirely. I came in late a few nights ago and startled Isobel. She bumped into the shelves because of me.”

Relief washes over Isobel’s face.

“Please, take this as a token of my apologies.” I press a heavy pouch of gold coins into Tressa’s hands. “I believe it will more than cover the loss.”

Surprise flickers briefly across Tressa’s delicate features, replaced swiftly by gratitude. “Thank you. That’s very generous of you, Lyrion.”

It occurs to me that Tressa is a master potions maker. She could potentially help me and Isobel with our problem. But I worry that if we reveal what happened, it could cost Isobel her job, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Perhaps it’s best not to mention it.

“Fortunately, I have extra herbs downstairs and I know most of my potion recipes by heart. There should be enough supplies to get through for the next few days until I can procure more,” Tressa says as she heads to the cellar to retrieve them.

When she leaves, Isobel turns to me, a grateful look on her face. “Thank you, Lyrion. You didn’t have to take responsibility for—”

“There is no need to thank me,” I tell her.

“Well, thank you anyway.” She smiles warmly and then leads me to my usual chair near the window.

She places a cup of tea on the table for me and then walks to the doors, opening them to welcome the customers. As she walks to the counter, her eyes catch mine once more, full of silent thanks before she takes the first order.

The morning rush soon overwhelms The Enchanted Teacup. Customers chatter happily, the café filling swiftly. Isobel darts around the room waiting tables, her golden hair slipping free of its braid as she hurries back and forth from the kitchen.

She’s utterly absorbed in her work, oblivious to the eyes following her every move. But I see them—every lingering glance and hopeful smile from the male patrons scattered throughout the space.

Something sharp and unfamiliar twists in my chest. My fingers tighten around my cup as a low, possessive growl rises in my throat.

Jealousy . I recognize it now for what it is.

The same feeling I had when we met with the Fae jeweler and also when she spoke with the Orc blacksmith.

I clench my jaw. Wonderful. Just what I needed .

The realization sends an uneasy shiver down my spine, tangling awkwardly with the kissing potion’s ever-present insistence that I pull her against me, and kiss her until neither of us can think straight.

Across the café, a young human man with brown hair, broad shoulders, and a chiseled face that would rival even a male of my own kind, flashes a charming smile at Isobel as she hurries past.

I grit my fangs as he asks her if she has plans for the weekend, hinting that perhaps he’d like to court her. But Isobel only smiles distractedly, completely oblivious to his flirtation.

I force myself to look away, but my gaze snaps back immediately as another male patron—this one a Fae—tries to catch her eye. He even has the audacity to flare his blue wings in an obvious display of interest.

And I understand why they are all drawn to her. She’s radiant—kind, intelligent, beautiful, and strong. Her laughter floats across the café, melodic and bright as the sun. Who wouldn’t notice her?

The fact that it bothers me… that another male merely looking at her makes my pulse quicken and my mood darken is deeply unsettling.

Is this jealousy just a lingering side effect of the potion, or something entirely my own? I should be able to dismiss it easily, yet I can’t. Not completely.

When she turns to me and smiles, something twists sharply in my chest. An emotion I have absolutely no desire to examine.

And yet, deep down, I realize that this jealousy… this protectiveness isn’t something I can simply blame on the kissing potion. It’s coming from somewhere within. And I’m not quite sure how I feel about this.

Stars above, what is this human doing to me?