Page 10 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Feydin

I was kissing Dazy.

I should not be forcing my kiss on Dazy.

But she was amazing, and I liked her, and she was my fated mate—even if she didn’t know it yet.

Her breath caught, also amazing, and her hands slid up my arms, clinging. Even better, her mouth moved beneath mine.

Kissing me back? I sure hoped so.

It felt wonderful to hold her. She was sweetly rounded and warm and the way she was clutching my arms made everything inside me feel right.

I lifted my head. “I, um…” What did a male say when they kissed someone without asking them first?

“You kissed me,” she said, frowning up at me.

“Yes. It, um, doesn’t have anything to do with mowing lawns. It has to do with you.”

“Me.”

“Yes, see, I was watching you.” All the time. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. And then we were squabbling, and you were incredibly cute in a good way.”

“Can someone be incredibly cute in a bad way?”

That made me pause. “I guess if I was calling you cute to be patronizing, that would be a bad way.”

“It would.”

Her frown was not smoothing. How could I chase it away?

“So you were cute in a good way, and I couldn’t help it.”

“Squabbling makes you want to kiss someone?”

“Not just anyone. You.”

Crossing her arms on her chest, she started tapping her sneaker-clad foot on the ground—that also needed mowing. “I don’t understand you.”

“That’s alright. I don’t understand myself much of the time.”

Her laughter snorted out, and she dropped both her frown and her arms to her sides. “Are you sure you want to mow my lawn?”

“I’ll mow anything you ask me to, Dazy.”

She blinked once, her eyes widening and her lips quivering. “Then please feel welcome to continue mowing. But if you get tired, you stop. I’ll finish.”

As if I’d ever get tired of helping her? She was my fated mate. It was my role in life to dote on her, kiss her, and perform tasks such as this to please her.

The latter I saw on TV one time when Helga was watching.

It was a show about a male and female living together in a household.

She did certain things, and he did the rest, though he wasn’t very good at it.

He seemed to bumble his way through replacing a deck and fixing an appliance in their kitchen, somehow filling the latter with suds when he was done.

The fake audience had laughed. I only know it was fake because Helga told me so. I felt better once I knew, however, because I hadn’t felt like laughing. All I could think of was the mess he was leaving in their kitchen, a mess the woman would probably have to clean up.

I’d stick to mowing Dazy’s lawn for now.

Although, if any of her appliances didn’t work, I’d look online for ways to fix them.

“You’re sure?” she said, backing away.

About the kiss? Completely.

She didn’t seem mad about it.

Did that mean I could kiss her again?

After I finished the lawn, I hauled the wacky weeder out of the shed, laying it on the clipped grass, glaring at it.

Dazy came up behind me, pushing the wheelbarrow with tools banging around.

“What are you doing now?” She frowned at the infernal device.

“I’m going to wacky some weeds,” I said.

She blinked three times fast before her smile rose. “I appreciate that, Feydin. Do you know how to, er, use it?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s simple.”

“Not truly.” She proceeded to show me, explaining about the certain fuel we had to use, which wasn’t the same as what we used for the mower, plus how to advance and ultimately, replace the string that didn’t look like any string I’d ever seen before.

When she’d finished, I felt confident I could wield the device.

She continued to frown. “You mowed. I don’t think you should do this too.”

“What if I want to?”

“Again, why?”

Why did I want to wacky weeds for her? The question hung between us while my brain scrambled for an answer that wouldn't sound completely mad.

Because you're my fated mate and every fiber of my being demands I provide for you and make your life easier and more beautiful.

Yes, that would go over well. She'd probably call those police she'd mentioned.

“Because…” I cleared my throat. “Because you're working hard. And I'm here. And I have nothing else to do.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Nothing else to do? Don't you have gargoyle duties or something?”

Gargoyle duties. Protecting the estate. Which meant protecting her now since she owned it. But that wasn't the real reason I wanted to help. The real reason made my chest tight and my wings twitch with nervous energy.

“My duties include maintaining the grounds,” I said. Not a complete lie .

“Oh.” She studied my face for a long moment. “That makes sense, I guess.”

Did it? I couldn't tell if she believed me or if she was being polite. Reading human expressions had never been my strong point. Even when I'd watched over Helga, I'd spent most of my time in stone form or keeping to myself. She’d rarely needed my help with anything, and being strong-willed, I doubted she’d accept it if I’d offered.

Dazy tilted her head. “You sure you feel comfortable using that thing?”

I lifted the wacky weeder, holding it aloft so she couldn’t snatch it from my grip. “Of course I do. It's simple machinery.”

“If you say so.”

The doubt in her voice made my wings flare. I was a competent gargoyle. I could handle basic gardening equipment. How difficult could it be?

I pulled the cord to start the machine. It roared to life, vibrating in my hands much more violently than I'd expected.

The noise was tremendous. Deafening. I dropped it, then scrambled to pick it up while it bucked in place and a piece of cord at its head tried to slice its way into the ground.

Lifting it, I gave Dazy my best smile, which probably came out as a grimace. I was making a mess of this already.

“You have to hold it tight,” Dazy called over the engine noise.

Tight. Naturally. Beastly thing. I glared at it, and I adjusted my grip, lowering the spinning head toward a patch of weeds growing between the stone pavers. The string whipped around, sending bits of plant matter flying in all directions.

This was an interesting thing. I might actually enjoy using it for weed destruction.

Feeling her still watching and hopefully not judging, I moved to the next section of garden, feeling more confident. The machine jolted in my hands, but I held it firmly.

Dazy was watching me with what I hoped was approval. Maybe even admiration.

I wanted her to be impressed. I wanted her to think I was capable and helpful and?—

The string caught on something. The machine jerked hard to the right, nearly pulling me off balance. Wings spreading wide, I overcorrected, yanking the wacky thing back. The string started wrapping around my ankle in tight loops.

“Oh my.” Dazy rushed toward me. “Turn it off!”

I fumbled for the switch, but the string kept winding. Tighter and tighter around my leg. The machine was still running, the engine roaring, and I was trapped.

“The kill switch,” Dazy shouted. “Red button!”

I slapped the red button and the engine died. Blessed silence fell over the garden.

I stood there, wacky weeder dangling from my ankle by several feet of tangled string, feeling heat creep up my neck. So much for impressing my mate.

“Are you hurt?” Dazy dropped to her knees beside my leg, her hands hovering over the tangled mess .

“I'm fine.” My voice came out rough. “Just…got wrapped up.”

She snorted. Pressing her lips together, she was clearly trying not to laugh.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I can take it. It’s funny.”

“I'm not laughing at you.” But her shoulders were shaking.

“You are.”

“Okay, maybe a little.” She grinned up at me. “But it's not mean laughing. It's…you're cute when you're flustered.”

Cute. She still thought I was cute, even when I was messing everything up? My heart fluttered in my chest, and gargoyles never fluttered.

“I don't get flustered,” I grumbled.

“Right.” She was definitely laughing now, and hells, I was laughing with her. Couldn’t help it. “Hold still. Let me untangle this before you lose circulation in your foot.”

Her fingers worked at the string wrapped around my ankle. She was so close I could smell her shampoo. Something fruity and light. Her hair had escaped her braid again, and strands curled against her cheek.

I wanted to brush them back. I wanted to cup her face in my hands and?—

“There's a knot here that's really tight.” A frown bloomed on her face. “I might need to clip it.”

“Whatever you need to do.”

She glanced up at me. “You're being very patient for someone tied up by garden equipment. ”

“I've been in worse situations.”

Her fingers paused on the string. “Like what?”

I thought about the years spent frozen in stone, aware but unable to move. Unable to speak. Watching the world continue around me while I remained trapped in my own body.

“Gargoyle things,” I said.

She studied my face before returning to work on the string. “You don't talk about yourself much.”

“There's not much to say.”

“I doubt that.” She tugged at a particularly stubborn knot. “Everyone has stories.”

Did they? I'd spent so much time alone that I sometimes forgot other beings had full lives. Experiences. Relationships.

Dazy had stories. I wanted to know all of them. What had her childhood been like? What made her laugh and what made her sad? Could she ever see herself loving a gargoyle?

“Got it.” The string came loose, and she sat back on her heels, grinning. “You're free.”

“Thank you.” I flexed my ankle, testing it. “I should have listened harder when you explained how to use it.”

“It's tricky the first time.” She stood and brushed dirt off her knees. “Want me to show you again?”

I wanted her to show me everything. How to use the machine, how to make her smile, how to be the kind of male she could care about.

“Yes,” I said.

She picked up the wacky weeder and demonstrated the proper stance. As she explained it all again, I watched her hands more than the machine. Watched the way she moved with easy confidence. The way she bit her lower lip when she concentrated.

“Your turn.” She held it out to me.

This time I was more careful. I kept the engine lower, moved the device slower. The string behaved itself and the weeds fell before my determined assault.

“Much better,” Dazy said from close behind me. “You're a quick learner.”

Pride swelled in my chest. My mate approved of my efforts.

She returned to the wheelbarrow, taking it to the shed before she started raking.

We worked together for the next hour. She tackled a flower bed while I wacky-weeded everything she pointed out. Neither of us talked much, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was peaceful.

I found myself stealing glances at her every few minutes.

I kept savoring the way she hummed under her breath while she worked.

The satisfied little noises she made when she pulled up a particularly stubborn weed.

The gentle way she handled the plants she was removing, careful not to damage the ones she wanted to keep.

She was beautiful. Not just her face or her curves, though those made my pulse race. But the way she moved through the world. The way she saw potential where others only saw work.

When she stretched, arching her back and rolling her shoulders, I nearly walked into a tree .

“Getting tired?” she asked, catching me staring.

“No.” I cleared my throat. “Are you?”

“A little.” She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “But this is good work. Satisfying.”

“Yes.” Though I wasn't thinking about the weeding.

She smiled at me, and my chest cracked open. Not the stone shell I'd worn for so long. Something deeper. More fragile.

“Thank you,” she said. “For helping. You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did.”

“I wanted to.” The words came out quiet.

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she looked away. “We should probably head inside soon. Get cleaned up.”

Was she embarrassed? I could’ve said something wrong. I replayed my words but couldn't figure out what might have upset her.

Maybe she was worn out from the work. Or maybe she was thinking about food.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Starving.” She gathered her tools. “Want to help me figure out what to make for lunch?”

I’d happily help her with anything and everything for the rest of my very long life.

“Yes,” I said.

We walked back toward the house together, the wacky weeder silently watching from where I leaned it against the shed. The sun was high overhead, and the air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the flowers she'd been tending.

Dazy hummed again, that unconscious melody that seemed to follow her everywhere. I found myself timing my steps to match hers, wanting to stay close but not too close.

This was what contentment felt like. Walking beside my mate after working together to make something beautiful. Simple and perfect and everything I'd never known I wanted.

When we reached the front steps, she paused and looked back at what we'd done.

“It's already looking better,” she said with satisfaction.

I followed her gaze, seeing the tidy borders and cleared pathways. “You have a good eye for this.”

“I hope so.” She turned to face me, and for a moment we stood there, looking at each other.

Her face was flushed from exertion, her hair escaping its braid in copper curls. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and her clothes were rumpled, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to pull her close and never let go.

Instead, I stepped back and gestured toward the door.

“After you,” I said.

She smiled and headed inside.

I followed, my heart full of hope and longing and the desperate desire to be worthy of the woman who'd brought me back to life.