Page 13 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Dazy

I stood in the kitchen, staring at the beautiful spread of pastries, my mouth already watering. A chocolate croissant, a fruit tart, and what looked like some kind of elaborate Danish twisted into a perfect spiral. Plus a whole bunch more I couldn’t wait to taste.

The note propped against the plate made my chest warm.

Thank you for lunch yesterday. Returning the favor with breakfast. -F

“Feydin,” I said to the empty kitchen, grinning.

He'd thought to bring me breakfast. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something thoughtful for me.

My dad was kind. He did things for me while I was growing up.

But he was often busy and didn’t have much time for special treats like this.

I turned to wash my hands before diving into the pastries and nearly gasped. Water came rushing out of the faucet in a strong, steady stream instead of the pathetic trickle from yesterday.

He'd fixed it. I knew he’d done it—for me .

Feydin had noticed the weak water pressure and taken care of it for me without being asked.

“Feydin?” I called out, wondering if he was still around.

The front door opened and closed, and he appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair windblown, and his cheeks darkened.

“You found breakfast.” He kept his voice carefully neutral, but I caught the hopeful note underneath.

“I found breakfast and a working faucet. Thank you. Both are wonderful.”

Relief flickered across his features. “You're welcome.”

“Have you eaten?” I gestured to the pastries. “There are too many here for me.”

“Not yet. I wanted to make sure you had choices.”

My heart flopped onto the floor by my feet. “That's really sweet of you.”

His wings shifted against his back. “Sweet?”

“Thoughtful. Kind.” I picked up a cinnamon bun and took a bite, closing my eyes as the sweet flavors burst across my tongue. “Oh wow. This is amazing.”

When I opened my eyes, Feydin was watching me with that intense stare again, the one that made me feel like I was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You really like it?” he asked.

“I love it. Here, try some.” I broke off a piece and held it out to him .

He leaned forward and took it from my fingers, his lips brushing my skin for just a second. The contact sent sparks shooting up my arm.

“Good?” I asked, trying to ignore the way my pulse had picked up.

“Very good.” But he was looking at me when he said it, not the pastry.

Flames lit my cheeks on fire, and I scurried around the kitchen, finishing the treat and putting the others away for later, finally turning to find him still watching me with that stare that saw right through me but also made me feel seen.

“I should probably get to work outside before it gets too hot.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Let’s?

I balked, but he insisted on helping. Because there was so much to do, I gave in.

We spent the morning tackling the overgrown flower beds along the side of the house. I showed Feydin how to tell the difference between weeds and the perennials that were trying to make a comeback, and he proved to be a quick learner.

“This one?” He pointed to a scraggly plant with serrated leaves.

“That's bee balm. See how the stems are square? It'll have beautiful red flowers later in the summer.”

“And this?”

“Bindweed. Definitely a weed. Pull it all the way out, including the roots, or it'll be back in a week.”

We worked side by side, and I found myself stealing glances at him.

I was fascinated by the way his muscles moved under his t-shirt when he dug with a trowel.

The careful way he handled plants as if they were fragile infants brought tears to my eyes.

And the frown of concentration that appeared between his brows when he was trying to identify something made me want to twirl around in place.

“Do all gargoyles enjoy gardening?” I asked, pulling up a particularly stubborn thistle.

His hands stilled on the plant he'd been examining. “No.”

“But you're learning quickly. Is that a gargoyle thing, then, being fast learners?”

“I don't know.”

I glanced over at him. “You don't know much about other gargoyles?”

“I've been on my own for a long time.”

Something in his voice made my chest tighten. “That sounds lonely.”

He shrugged, but I caught the flash of vulnerability in his expression before he looked away.

“What about your family?” I asked gently.

“I have a brother in France. We don't see each other often.”

“Why not?”

“Our parents are gone.”

It wasn’t quite an answer.

“I’m sorry.” I could tell he didn't want to talk about it, so I let it drop. But the thought of him being alone for years made my heart ache. “Well, you have a friend in me, now.”

“Dorvak’s a friend too.”

“Two then.” And wasn’t that sad? I should take him to karaoke or something, assuming someone offered that in town. I’d ask around.

I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Do you sing?”

“Um…” His frown deepened. “Perhaps.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“Just asking.”

“I see.”

We worked quietly after that, the sun climbing higher and warming our backs. By the time we'd cleared two full flower beds, we were both sweaty and covered in dirt.

“I'm starving,” I announced, sitting on my heels and wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. “Want to help me make lunch?”

“What were you thinking?”

“Nachos. Nothing fancy, but they're filling and delicious.”

“I don't know what those are.”

I stared at him. “You've never had nachos?”

“No.”

“Oh, we are definitely fixing that right now.”

After we’d cleaned up, we went to the kitchen, where I showed him how to layer tortilla chips on a baking sheet, then sprinkle them with cheese and beans and whatever other toppings caught our fancy. His fascination with the process was adorable.

“So the cheese melts and holds everything together?” he asked, watching me spread shredded cheddar over the top for an extra layer of goodness. The oven dinged, announcing it was up to temperature.

“It does. Nachos are basically an excuse to eat a ridiculous amount of cheese and call it a meal.”

“I like cheese.”

“I had a feeling you might.”

While the nachos baked, we filled glasses of water and took them out onto the porch where we could sit and enjoy our hard work in the gardens—that looked amazing already.

“Thank you again for fixing my sink,” I said as I shifted in the chair beside his. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

“It wasn't difficult.”

“Maybe not for you, but it would've taken me forever to figure out what was wrong, let alone how to fix it. I watch YouTube videos when I need to fix things, but sometimes, it’s still pretty hard.”

He looked pleased by my praise. “I'm good with my hands.”

The innocent comment made my thoughts veer in decidedly non-innocent directions. I cleared my throat and hurried into the kitchen to check on the nachos, him following.

“Perfect timing.” I pulled the bubbling tray from the oven .

Feydin's eyes widened when I set the loaded nachos on the table out front. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re messy, but that's half the fun.” I handed him a plate and a fork. “Dig in.”

He loaded his plate carefully, then took a bite. His eyes closed, and he made a low sound of pleasure that did interesting things to my insides.

“This is incredible,” he said, already reaching for more.

“Nachos are one of my favorite meals.”

I watched in amazement as he demolished his portion and went back for seconds, then thirds. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself grinning as he gushed about every component.

“The beans add protein,” he said seriously, like he was conducting a scientific experiment. “And the peppers provide heat to balance the richness of the cheese.”

“You're analyzing nachos.”

“They're complex.”

“They're corn chips with stuff on top.”

“Delicious stuff.” He took another enormous bite. “I think nachos might be my new favorite food.”

The pure joy on his face made my heart squeeze.

“I'll have to teach you to make them yourself,” I said.

“Would you?”

“Of course. It's not exactly a closely guarded family secret.”

After we’d finished and cleaned up, I glanced at the clock and realized it was time to get ready for the meeting with Rebecca. My stomach knotted with anxiety.

“I should go change,” I said. “The meeting's in an hour.”

Feydin's expression grew serious. “I'll be ready.”

I headed upstairs and tugged my best dress from the closet, a blue sundress that brought out my eyes and actually fit me properly. I arranged my hair in a more formal style and even put on earrings. When I came downstairs twenty minutes later, I stopped dead in the foyer.

Feydin stood by the front door wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit.

The jacket emphasized his broad shoulders, and the pants somehow managed to accommodate his tail while still looking elegant.

His wings were folded neatly against his back, and he'd slicked his dark hair away from his face.

He looked absolutely devastating.

“Wow,” I breathed.

He tugged at his tie. “Is my outfit appropriate?”

“You look…” I swallowed hard. “You look amazing.”

Relief flickered across his features. “Thank you. You look beautiful.”

Heat filled my cheeks. “Thanks.”

He stepped forward and offered me his arm with old-fashioned gallantry. “Shall we go?”

I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow, trying not to think about how solid and warm he felt beneath the expensive fabric .

“How exactly are we getting there?” I asked. “We could take my car, Betty.”

“Betty? I like that.” He smiled, and something mischievous flickered in his eyes. “I thought I'd fly you to the tea shop today.”