Page 5 of The Witch's Cottage
Think, think!
Then it clicks. “Are you Alden?”
“Yeah.”
His voice is deep, rough, and not at all welcoming. It makes me bristle, but I try not to let him see how much he’s ruffled me.
“Lydia Stonewood said you might be able to help me.”
Alden leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, showing off his thigh-size biceps as they strain against the fabric of his tunic. “With?”
He doesn’t sound pleased at the idea of having to help me.
What’s his problem?
I clear my throat and try to smile. “I just moved into Brookside, the old cottage up Brookside Road, and—”
He rolls his eyes, just slightly, but it’s enough to make me curl my fingers into fists.
“What?” I ask. The word comes out short, snappish.
Shifting in the doorway, he looks down at me with bored eyes, still not saying anything.
I need help, I remind myself.He’s the carpenter. I can be friendly. I can do this.
Once more, I offer him a smile. “I need a carpenter, and Lydia sent me here. Am I in the right place? Could you help me fix my house?”
Another breeze whips around me, tossing my long skirts and making them snap around my ankles. My hair catches in the wind, and the long forest-green strands dance in the air like they’re caught in a river current.
Alden looks at me a bit more closely, like he finally sees me standing at the foot of his front porch.
About time.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, moving to scratch the dark scruff covering the lower half of his face.
Four whole words. Not sure if I should consider that a success or not.
“Holes in the roof, porch falling apart...” My laughter is a tiny thing in the crisp breeze. “Probably a hundred other things I haven’t noticed yet.” The air is getting colder even as I stand here, and I shiver a little. “So? Can you help me?”
With a sigh, Alden pushes off the doorway, and my eyes naturally gravitate toward his toned brown biceps again. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
And just like that, he closes the door in my face.
This time my mouthdoesfall open. I almost hop onto the porch just to kick his door with my boot—though I’m sure that wouldn’t improve things much.
“How rude,” I mumble.
Clenching my hands around my wicker basket, I turn and stride away from his house and back down the lane, grumbling all the while.
Chapter 4
Aurora
“HE WASN’TTHATBAD,” HARRISON says, sitting on a downed tree stump while I hang his wispfish over the fire, arranging each fish so they’re in the smoke but not the flames.
“Hewasthat bad! Did you even hear him?”
“Of course I did. I have impeccable hearing.” He flicks his ears as if to make a point, and I arch a brow at him.
