Page 9 of When the Weaver Met the Gargoyle (Leafshire Cove Monsters #1)

Chapter 9

Laini

R om has his back to me when I climb the last of the tower’s winding steps and enter the very top, open floor. He is redoing a knot in the bell’s pull rope.

“Hello!” I say too loudly. Stones, I’m nervous. What will he say? I’m sweating my arse off with nerves here.

He turns and dips his chin, his expression lost in the dark of the cloak’s hood. “Welcome.” His tone of voice betrays no emotion. I can’t tell if he’s all right with me being here or if he is angry. “I’ll be done in just a second.”

I adjust my grip on my bag—I brought my yellow apron, a rolling pin, and a few other cooking items just in case he doesn’t have them. He finishes the knot and gestures for me to follow him to the far side of the tower’s top floor.

“What did the healer say about Spark?” Rom glances at me over his big shoulder.

“He thinks he’s fine. Just excited about the change in weather, perhaps. He said dragonfoxes are nearly as in tune with temperature changes as gargoyles.”

“Really?” Rom is smiling. “We are kindred spirits then, Spark and me.”

We walk down five stone steps, and then we push through a dark wooden door. A kitchen and sitting area fill a semi-circular area beyond the entrance.

“Welcome,” he says, his voice shy.

Rom’s place isn’t large, and it’s a bit dark, but there is a nice-sized countertop, a wood stove, and a good hearth with space for baking on one side.

“It’s lovely,” I say. “Thank you for having me.”

Large pillar candles flicker from tables and the countertop. The lovely scent of beeswax fills the air. One well-worn chair dominates the small seating area beside the kitchen. There is nothing on the walls besides some pots and pans on hooks and an apron with dainty white frills around the neck and waist .

I bite my lip to keep from giggling.

Rom makes a low humming sound like he’s thinking. “What is it?”

“Your place is very nice.”

He raises one black eyebrow and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “And you’re laughing at it?”

“The apron.” I try not to laugh more. “I just cannot imagine you in an apron. Let alone that apron.”

“Allow me to satisfy your imagination.”

My throat goes tight even though he didn’t mean anything remotely sexual, I’m sure.

He removes his cloak, and his massive wings unfurl with a low, snapping sound. I pull in a breath. They’re just so glorious. The gold loop at the top of his pointed ear catches the candlelight. Why is that earring so incredibly sexy? He slips the apron on over his horns and eyes me while he ties it at the back. He holds his hands out wide.

“What do you think?”

I can’t help but snort an unladylike giggle. “Perfect.”

Once I have my apron on, I get out everything from my bag and set them next to the recipe note I originally sent to him. Baskets of flour, carrots, wrapped beef, and more sit at the end near a large crockery pitcher.

“I think I have everything,” he says, looking through the baskets.

“Seems so. How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t. Rustion will reimburse me since he is forcing me to go. He told me.”

“I hate that you feel forced.”

“Don’t you? I thought you were only going to aid your chances with Rustion’s job.”

“I am, but I don’t know. It’s not been horrible.”

Nodding, he lets the matter drop and begins laying out measuring cups and spoons. It’s wild to see a fantastically large gargoyle with mysterious stone magic and wings just prepping for a nice cooking session. And wearing a frilly apron. He looks completely at home but also so very, very out of place. He should be on a battlefield, destroying the king’s enemies with his dangerous powers, not measuring out flour. I shake my head and join him, and soon, we are elbow-deep in sticky toffee pudding creation.

Using a length of twine, I secure the linen around the top of the pot where the cake is steaming inside another larger pot that is one-fourth filled with water. The woodstove’s heat is more consistent than my hearth, which is a good thing.

“I’m glad we’re here. Your cooking setup is far superior to mine.”

“Is it?”

“Yep. I only have a hearth to cook on. No stove. You didn’t even realize how spoiled you were up here in your fancy tower. But why is there no art on the walls? Why not a colorful rug somewhere or something? I know you just moved here, but you’ve had time to get something.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay, so I don’t want to spend coin on items I don’t immediately need.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to stay?” It isn’t the steam from the pot making my palms sweat. The thought of Rom leaving is untenable. I didn’t realize it would be, but my whole self says it is. I study his sharp profile as he takes a mixing bowl from a shelf.

“You know why,” he says.

“You’re still worried about your stone magic,” I reply quietly, and he nods. “Well, I hope you stay,” I add.

He stops in the process of pouring sugar into another pot on the stove’s second eye and meets my gaze. “You truly do?”

“Truly.”

Looking away, he sighs and nods. I take the wooden spoon from him to stir the sugar. Our hands brush and a tingling sensation whisks up my arm. He stands so close that we are nearly touching all along my left side. I want to lean into his warmth and to feel those wings of his wrap me into a cocoon where I know nothing will ever harm me.

Did he just glance my way? I was checking the sauce.

He leans a fraction of an inch closer. I work to keep my breathing normal.

We finish the sauce in a tension-filled silence, then move on to rolling out the dough to make the shepherd’s pie crust. In turns, we smooth the dough. I try not to stare at his arm muscles as he takes his go with the pin. Are all gargoyles built like this? Was he simply born with a musculature like that, or does he do chin-ups and stone lifting in his spare time?

I take up the dough carefully and set it into the pie pan while Rom slices the meat. I chop the carrots and an onion quickly, blinking away tears.

“Want me to take over?” he asks. “Onions don’t bother me.” He is holding out a hand for the chopping knife.

I try to wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my dress, but my sleeves are rolled up, and it’s not working out. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it done now.”

Rom lifts a square of linen to my eyes and gently dabs them dry. “That better?”

His touch is as light as a feather, and I flutter my eyelashes accidentally like some besotted schoolgirl. But I just can’t help it. He’s just so amazing.

“Laini, I…”

A chiming sound interrupts him, and he shakes his head as if to clear it.

“That’s my weather map,” he says, taking off for the door.

I toss the vegetables and meat into the pie crust, add the lattice strips Rom cut for the top, then pop it into the side of the hearth to bake. Hurrying outside, I trail Rom.

When I get past the bell’s rope, I see him standing over a small table where a large map is spread out and glowing.

“What in the world is that?” I ask.

Leafshire Cove is laid out in neat lines and curves, the ink shimmering like copper. A spot beyond the town walls glows a bright orange.

“This is a magical weather map that Rustion gave me yesterday. He ordered it from Tully…” He glances at me with a careful look as if I might explode at the mention of my frenemy. When I just nod curtly, he continues. “But yes, he ordered it last month before he’d even interviewed me for this position.”

The map shimmers brightly again, the light increasing in intensity before dying back down.

“This storm isn’t too big, but I need to ring the bell. Do you think your home is secure enough since the last potion you applied?”

“Yes, it’ll be fine.”

Nodding, he turns and pulls the rope, the lines of his muscles showing in his arms and shoulders, and I say a silent thank you to his sleeveless tunic.

We watch as the townsfolk scurry about to secure their outdoor chairs, carts, and errant children. Magical map in hand, Rom leads me back inside, and the scent of toffee and salty crust fills my nose. My mouth begins to water.

“I can’t wait to taste our creations,” I say.

His forked tongue touches his bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He gestures to his one chair and sets the weather map on a stool near the end of the countertop.

“Would you like some gargoyle wine?” he asks.

I sit and nod. “I’ve never had it. What’s it like?”

He gets out two simple crockery cups and places them on the countertop next to our cooking mess. “It’s black in color. And we serve it cold.” He takes a pitcher from his icebox and raises it before pouring it into the cups. “It’s made with blackberries, sage, and grapes that only grow in the gargoyle homeland. I was surprised to find some at the market. Your spice trader said she picked it up on a coastal trip to get cinnamon.”

“Rychell is her name. I don’t know her well.” I never have enough money to buy her fancy spices and foreign goods.

Rom joins me in the sitting area and hands me a cup.

I take a sip, and a complicated, fruity taste explodes on my tongue. “Oh! This is delicious.”

He smiles, his eyes soft and so beautiful that they snare me, and I can’t seem to stop staring. He doesn’t break the look either, drinking his wine and gazing at me over the rim of his cup. His wings shift and spread a little wider. I want to ask him how it feels when I touch his wings. But I keep quiet.

Finally, he looks away, and the timer I set for the pie chimes.

“I’ll get it,” he says.

I reach for his cup, and he hands it over. He squats to remove the pie from the hearth’s cooking alcove, and I can’t help but enjoy the way his trousers hug his backside and legs. Blessed Stones, but he is gorgeous. Then I realize that he forgot to put on some hand protection.

“Wait! Your hands!”

“I don’t need oven mitts.” Taking the pie to the counter, he continues. “Gargoyle skin is impenetrable.”

“Wow. Really?”

“He nods. Our bones are unbreakable, too. If you want to off one of us, you have to get pretty creative.”

I laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind if you step on my toes during the Harvest Party dancing.”

His wings shake slightly as he laughs. He returns with a plate for each of us. I get up and point to the chair.

“You sit here. I can perch on the arm. If that’s all right.” I place my wine on the floorboards beside the chair.

“You’re sure?” He sits his wine on the floor near the hearth.

“Definitely.” I point to the chair’s arm. “This is as big as the entirety of one of my chairs.”

We eat in companionable silence, making sounds of delight until we meet eyes again and laugh at ourselves. The hearth snaps as the magical storm hits. The room’s one window shows regular rain mixed with the sparkling colors of a magical tempest. As the colors tap the thick glass, I set my plate on my lap and ease sideways to better look at Rom. I want to lean into his warmth and savor the safety of his presence, but I behave myself.

I lift my wine and take a healthy swallow. It’s delightful. If moonlight had a taste, it would be this—light in body and flooded with a mysterious layered flavor. “I’ve asked you a bunch about gargoyles and your life, so I should share something about me. What do you want to know?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“One sister, but we don’t talk.”

“Why?” His deep voice eases the discomfort I feel about this line of conversation.

It’s not as if I don’t want to tell him about myself, but it’s not a fun subject. “Our parents were farmers in the human realm beyond the Veil. I hated farm life.”

“Was the work too much?” he asks, his tone not judgemental or harsh, just curious. “I know it’s a very physical occupation.”

“No, that wasn’t the problem. I just didn’t like being so far away from town. Even though I like being alone, I enjoy having people around me. Does that make sense?”

He eats the last of his serving. “It does.”

“Do you ever invite friends up here? I can imagine the tower gets lonely.”

“Besides Rustion, you’re the only one I talk to.”

“Aw, Rom. You should make some friends.”

“I don’t know. Let’s talk about you more. What does the farm have to do with you not speaking to your sister? I mean, only answer if you want.”

“It’s fine. She hates that I left. Our parents passed away, and now she manages the whole place on her own, and she wishes I would take part in that. But I just can’t. I’m miserable there. I hate losing animals to the nature of farming. I get too attached to the pigs and sheep. And the whole lonely thing. I also really enjoy the magic here and the varying types of creatures. Like gargoyles,” I say, smiling.

He gives me a sad smile back. I wish he wasn’t so down on his kind.

I continue my explanation. “Plus, I never had enough time to weave on the farm, and that’s my true passion.”

His smile is better now, real and wide. I want to lean in and kiss that smile .

“When was the last time you tried to contact her?” he asks.

“Sorina hasn’t spoken to me since the day I told her I was officially going to walk through the Blessed Stones and into the Veiled Kingdoms. I sent her a note last harvest. Like all of the times I’ve sent her messages, she never answered.”

My chest constricts at the loss. We had fun together during our childhood, climbing trees and doing our best to avoid chores. Once, she stole a pie for me from the lord’s window on my birthday.

“You should try again,” Rom says.

I wrinkle my nose, and my heart feels heavy. “But she’s so angry. Even if I showed up, she’d slam the door in my face. I know it.”

“If you ever want to go, to try again, I’d be happy to be by your side.”

“That’s so kind,” I say. “Thank you.”

“It’s what friends do.”

Friends. Hmm. It’s fine. It is. This is how it should be. But… I down the rest of my wine and summon my courage. I just want to know if he truly thinks we could maybe be together.

“What you said the other night…” My face is on fire.

Rom clears his throat. “You mean after we…uh…when I was leaving?”

“Yes? I think.” We laugh at ourselves. “Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Can we possibly just try to court one another?” I can’t believe I just said that and meant it. “You didn’t hurt anyone or break a single thing when we, well, you know.”

A smear of pink colors, his gray cheeks, and his dimples appear. “I’m nervous about this for a multitude of reasons, but maybe. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You were bespelled, and still, you didn’t lose control of your magic.”

He looks from the window to me. “I didn’t feel out of control at all. It surprised me.”

“A good surprise.”

“A very good surprise.” He gathers our cups and plates and takes them into the kitchen.

Butterflies flit riotously in my stomach. Is this happening? Am I going to regret this? What if everyone gossips about us at the party? Leo will surely be there. He will be awful.

I stand, clasping and unclasping my hands at my sides. “We have our final fitting tomorrow, right?”

Why am I changing the subject? I wanted him to say yes or maybe . Wait. He did. He said maybe . And now I’m acting like he didn’t say anything.

“Yes, tomorrow,” he says, watching me with a curious look. “Do you want me to walk you there? I would love to.”

“Yes. Good. Yes.”

He eyes the weather map. “If you need to leave, it’s cleared out now. No more storms tonight.”

“Good.” I have to stop saying the same word over and over. “Oh, let me help you clean up.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do.” I grab a dish towel and head to his pump sink. I work the lever, and water splashes into the basin. Washing his plate and mine, I try to slow my speeding heart by taking deliberately long breaths. It’s not working.

He is just behind me. One of his wings catches my hair, and I yip.

“So sorry!” he says, turning and trying to untangle us.

The claw at the tip of his wing is stuck in the knot on the top of my head. I can’t help but laugh.

“This is so bad,” I say, giggling.

“I hope this isn’t an omen for our little courting trial.”

I burst out laughing and realize this is the first time in years I’ve had this much fun with another person.

Once we’re detangled, I wish him a quick good night, gather my things, then hurry home. I don’t want to ruin this by doing something stupid like trying to kiss him.

At home, I try to keep my thoughts on the tapestry contest only, but I fail miserably. With Spark curled up at my side in my small but perfect bed, I fall asleep to the memory of Rom’s gravelly laugh. It’s a wonderful sound, and I hope to hear it again in the morning.