Page 9 of Simon Says

“Aye,” she said. “Sven.”

“Beautiful evening, Sorcha,” Sven said in Gaelic, unfolding long legs from the Jeep. As he stepped out he smiled and said, “I see you’ve found a friend.”

Though he smiled, Simon got the impression he disapproved of the newcomer, which made them even because Simon wasn’t especially taken with the tall blonde fae. Who may or may not have been extraordinarily striking depending on your point of view. And your sex.

His hair was longish on top, but the sides were close to shaved which gave his ears a dominant look to go with the rest of Sven’s alpha vibe.

“Human,” she replied in Gaelic.

“I see that,” said Sven.

“His name is Simon. Speak their language.” She glanced at Simon and waved in Sven’s direction. “’Tis Sven.”

Without giving Simon a chance to say anything, Sven went on in English. “Brought spinach pizza. Probably no’ hot, but still warmish. If you want.” Sorcha looked at Simon. “Looks like you might have worked up an appetite.”

Simon wanted to say their appetite was none of Sven’s business.

Sorcha smiled. “We ate, but I could manage a nibble. ’Twas thoughtful of you to bring my favorite.”

Simon turned to look at Sorcha. Her favorite?

Sven built the fire back up a little, stayed for half an hour, then rose. “How much longer’ll you be out here?”

“Just a day. Come get me mornin’ after next?”

“Aye.” He seemed to calculate what sort of supplies to leave. He unloaded then said, “Where you headed after this?”

“I’m thinkin’ the Ring of Thorgall.” Sven nodded.

“Ferry runs midday. I’ll need to fetch ye at nine.” He looked at Simon. “Will that be one or two?”

Sorcha hadn’t expected to be asked that question before she’d had a chance to invite Simon to tag along with her. She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say, when she heard him speak up.

“Two,” he said definitively.

She smiled at Sven, feeling a warmth rush through her bloodstream. “Two,” she repeated.

Sven shook his head and laughed. “The fever, is it?” he asked switching to Gaelic again. “Looks good on you.”

After Sven drove away, Simon said, “You want the last slice of pizza?”

“You take it.”

“It was really good.”

“Aye. Sven’s mother bakes it fresh in the town.”

“Sven,” Simon said simply as he chewed a bite of spinach couched in three mouth-watering cheeses melted onto pizza crust like none he’d ever had. “This crust is magical.”

“What about Sven?”

“What?”

“You said, Sven.”

“Oh.”

“Stop that. ’Tis annoyin’.”

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