Page 28 of Must Love Libraries and Libations (Moonshine Hollow #2)

THREE WEEKS LATER

I had never repaired a roof before.

This realization struck me as particularly odd, considering I had wings and had perched on the library’s roof countless times over the centuries.

But in five hundred years, I had never had cause to actually fix one, and certainly never with an audience of well-meaning townspeople shouting conflicting advice from below.

“A little to the left, Master Erasmus!” called Elder Thornberry from the garden path where he was supposed to be helping his wife plant new rose bushes but was instead sipping a cup of tea and supervising everyone else’s work with great enthusiasm.

His wife, I noticed, was being equally unhelpful.

Rather than planting roses, she had cornered Prince Bjorn and was interrogating him with such overly pleasant intensity it had the Rune elf crossing his arms on his chest and taking a step back from her.

Only when the Thornberrys’ daughter, Emmalyn, interfered to save the prince did the woman turn back to the roses.

“No, no, to the right!” contradicted Winifred, who had been wrestling with the overgrown blackberry bushes. “You can see from here which shingles need to be replaced. To the right, Master Erasmus.”

I adjusted my grip on the roof tiles and tried to remember why I had volunteered for this particular task.

Being up here meant I could observe the delightful chaos below while maintaining a safe distance from Primrose’s mother, who had been following me around all morning with the persistence of a particularly determined bookwyrm.

And yet, even at this height, I had still not escaped her.

“Master Erasmus!” came the inevitable call from below. “You simply must tell me about gargoyle traditions! Do you celebrate housewarmings? Oh, I do hope Primrose will let me plan the housewarming party,” Missus Windsong called.

From my vantage point, I could see Primrose laughing as she stood there in her painter’s jumper, the same cheerful pink paint that had drawn her to the place smeared on her cheek.

Her father, wisely, had disappeared entirely into the depths of the garden and had not been seen since morning.

“Missus Windsong,” I replied with careful politeness, “I am honored by your interest, but I fear gargoyle customs would prove quite dull compared to the lovely traditions of Moonshine Hollow.”

“Oh, but surely?—”

“Mother,” Primrose interrupted firmly, “didn’t you say you wanted to help Portia with the window boxes?”

I caught Primrose’s eye and inclined my head slightly in gratitude.

She winked at me.

“Oh, yes!” Missus Windsong replied. “Where did that bookish girl go? She simply has no sense for home design. She was going with the wrong color paint,” Missus Windsong exclaimed, then hurried off.

“Five hundred and eleven years old, and I am hiding from my future mother-in-law,” I grumbled.

An amused huff came from the gutter nearby where Stevenson had made himself comfortable. He was supposed to be handing me nails, but, instead, he was eyeing the pixie Rosalyn who was setting out lunch at a table in the garden.

And he wasn’t the only one. Three tiny bookwyrms, Louisa May and Hawthorne’s recently hatched offspring, fluttered around Rosalyn, seeing what she had prepared.

“Why don’t you go supervise the hatchlings since you’re not helping me anyway,” I told Stevenson.

Stevenson responded with a happy trill, excited to get away from real work and closer to the food, and took off like a bolt of lightning.

I rolled my eyes.

Below, the organized chaos of cottage repair continued. Elder Theodonna had appointed herself head coordinator, despite having no apparent qualifications for the role beyond enthusiasm and a very loud voice.

“Granik, dear, those boards are for the east wall!” she called to the orc, who was carrying what appeared to be half a tree with the same ease most people managed a loaf of bread.

“Which way is east?” Granik called back, looking genuinely confused.

“That way!” three different people shouted, pointing in three different directions.

Granik stopped in the middle of the garden path to rebalance the timber on his shoulder before setting off once more.

Then, he paused, his gaze going to Juniper, who was tending the herb garden.

I could hear her chatting sweetly to the herbs as she worked.

Granik’s eyes lingered on her for a long time, a soft smile on his features, before setting off once more.

Interesting.

“More lemonade, everyone!” came Zarina’s cheerful call from the cottage’s front steps. “And Rosalyn has fresh cinnamon rolls and other goodies.”

I flicked my gaze to the pixie. Already, Stevenson was holding a cinnamon roll larger than his head and munching happily. With Louisa May hovering approvingly nearby, Rosalyn also gave each of the hatchlings a small bite.

“I still can’t believe I missed everything,” Rosalyn was telling Primrose, who had joined her at the table. “The whole romance. All of it. I’m so disappointed,” Rosalyn said with a laugh.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be here to catch the next bit of excitement, whatever that may be,” Primrose replied, her gaze going to Juniper who was smiling warmly at Granik as he lowered the boards.

Rosalyn and Primrose smiled knowingly at one another.

The announcement of food and drink caused a general migration toward food. The Sylvan elf Tansy and the dryad Kellen came from inside where they had been working, the pair happily joking with one another as they went.

I lowered myself to the ground and joined the others.

Primrose handed me a glass of lemonade, taking one for herself, and we stepped aside for a moment, just taking everything in.

“ This is what I wanted,” she told me, gesturing. “Everyone I love in one place.” She smiled up at me. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Well… I always had visions of this cottage. I saw myself here with my family, my husband. And no matter how much it annoyed me, when I envisioned him, I saw you . Thank you for making that a reality.”

I set the drink aside and wrapped my arms around her waist, kissing her on the top of her head. “I’m very happy to spend the rest of our lives annoying you. What more could you ask for?”

“A good wine?”

“And, maybe, a good wine.”

“Welcome home, Erasmus.”

“Welcome home, Primrose.”

And for the first time in five hundred and eleven years, I truly was.