Page 7 of Touch

An adjacent door swings open. At the flash of white hair, Love retreats and makes an elegant—she flatters herself—flying leap around the corner. Landing on the other side, she spies. Stripped of his jacket, Andrew emerges from what appears to be a stock closet, his muscles bulging through a fitted shirt and a toolbox hanging from his grip.

“Morning, Your Highness,” he teases.

“Morning, bullshitter,” the matriarch remarks without looking up from the volume. “You keeping out of trouble?”

“I’m a grown man, which helps.”

“I beg to differ. Grown men are the most notorious of all beings. And it’s the reclusive ones who end up being dangerous. Isolation gives ’em plenty of time to plot mayhem.”

“You’ve been reading too much romantasy.”

“That’s your fault.” With a flourish, the matriarch drops the novel atop the counter and stabs the foiled cover. “Thisis why you either intimidate or seduce everyone in this village.”

Andrew glances from the toolbox to the book, his eyes glinting as he raises an eyebrow. “If you’re expecting me to apologize for chapter fifteen, I’d suggest changing your life goals.”

“The betrayal trope! And then this repugnant-but-hot titan tortures his protege! You’ve become a walking trigger warning.”

Although their exchange sounds serious, Love detects the underlying banter. Andrew confirms as much when he replies, “So you like it.”

The lady’s glower melts into a grin. “Eating it up with a spoon. Especially the smut.”

Love blinks. He’s an author. This explains the note he’d written about Love. More importantly, it confirms why he can see her. At some point in his writings, he’d inadvertently unmasked some fact about Dark Gods and broken through the immortal veil, earning himself the power of sight.

The matriarch continues, “No wonder people come in here, asking if you’re anything like your characters. You’ve gotten darker and spicier over your career, making us work like hell to reach those happy endings.” She lifts a finger. “But no spoilers about what happens next. Besides, with these morally grey characters, can you blame me for questioning what you do in your spare time?”

“You don’t have to worry.” Andrew’s attention clicks toward the window. “Unless trouble findsme.”

The lady sits back and peers at him. “You’ve met someone.”

Love balks at her observation, then fears Andrew shall tell the woman about their encounter yesterday, then reminds herself that he must have opportunities to meet plenty of potential mates. This might not be about Love at all.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Where the hell is that coming from?”

“I’ve seen how innocent bystanders look at you, not to mention how many customers show up here, hoping to accidentally run into the village’s acclaimed author. Besides, you’re distracted. Seems to me like trouble is a woman.” The lady fans herself with pride. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“You need to cut back on the books in my genre.”

“Then stop recommending them to me.” Yet her mirth cuts off as she scans the atmosphere. “Is there a window open? I feel a draft.”

Love braces herself, gripping the corner of the wall. A frown shadows Andrew’s face, but he shrugs. “Ghosts happen. Ihear people become sensitive to paranormal stuff as they age. As thepeopleage, not the ghosts.”

The woman chuckles. “Oh, go be a handyman if you’re not going to humor me.”

“I haven’t met someone.”

“Liar.”

As the hour passes, the woman rings up customers—balding men and mothers with wind-up toys for children who sprint around the place saying, “No no no no no no”—Andrew installs new bookshelves in one of the rooms, his biceps flexing as he drills into the wall. He doesn’t seem to be working here, and as a novelist—of something called “romantasy”—he must be successful, based on the state of his house and quality stitching of his leather jacket. Hence, Andrew is accomplishing tasks for the woman out of generosity, from building this bookcase, to adjusting old brass hinges on a door, to anchoring that slanted knocker outside.

Love moves soundlessly on her feet, springing out of the way whenever he approaches. At one point, a packed bookcase catches his attention. His eyes narrow as he scans the titles, then he makes a selection and flips through the pages as he saunters away. She cannot get close enough to view the text, so Love inspects the shelf.

A Guide to Ghosts and Spirits of the Real World, Volume III.

When the Sun Goes Down: Neighborhood Faeries, or Tricksters with Teeth.

Beyond the Mythology: An Annotated Journey.

Coincidence after meeting her? Doubtful.

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