Page 31 of The Witch's Shifter
The look on her face is contemplative—this is one I’m familiar with. I used to find her sitting on the porch of my cabin, cup of tea in hand, rocking slowly while staring out into the trees. When I first noticed her doing this, I assumed she was just lost in thought, but as the weeks and months passed and she became more deeply embroiled in her thoughts, I came to realize the look on her face as one of yearning—yearning to be somewhereelse, to experience something other than the quiet life we lived each day in Faunwood. To see it on her face now, when she’s surrounded by such energy and liveliness, makes me wonder if she’s once more daydreaming of other places, other lives... other people.
“Evening,” I say after making it through the crowd and stepping up to her table.
She starts, a hand going to her chest. “Oh, Alden. I didn’t see you there.”
“I imagine not”—I drape my cloak along the back of the chair across from Belinda, and the wood groans as I sink into it—“what with the way you were staring out that window. See anything interesting?”
The smile she gives me is small and only partly entertained.
Now, as I look about the table where we’re seated, I realize her daughter—Sophie, if I’m remembering correctly—isn’t here. And, perhaps even more surprising, neither is her husband.
“Where’s the rest of the family?” I ask while casting my gaze once more about the lively tavern. “Thought they might join us.”
“No.” Belinda shakes her head. The firelight from the lanterns and roaring hearth makes her wavy brown hair gleam. “It’s just us tonight.”
Though I expect more of an explanation, she offers none. I suppose it’s none of my business anyway.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
“Not at all.” She rests one elbow on the table and quirks her head to the side. “I’ve only been here a short while. I did order us drinks though.”
As if summoned by Belinda’s words, a tavern maid sweeps through the crowd and up to our table, two frothing mugs of ale balanced upon a tray.
“Here you are, dears.” She sets them down with a flourish, then props the tray on a hip. “You eating tonight?”
My stomach grumbles again. This time, I think Belinda and the tavern maid hear, because they both smile.
“The potato soup please,” Belinda says. “For both of us. And a full order of cheese bread too.”
Just like old times, she doesn’t even have to ask what I want.
“You want the bread out first?”
Belinda meets my gaze, and I’m struck by how familiar her honey eyes are, even after these years spent apart.
“Definitely,” I say.
With a nod, the tavern maid disappears back into the ruckus, leaving me and Belinda alone. The way she’s looking at me, gaze soft but focused, makes me squirm, and I reach for my ale as a way to give my hands something to do. There’s thick froth atop the mug, but once I get through that, I’m rewarded with the mild toasty sweetness of the ale. It slips easily down my throat, and after I’ve had a deep drink, I set the mug back onto the table with a thump.
And Belinda isstillstaring at me. I’m starting to get even more confused about why I’m here—and why her family isn’t. Does she really just want to catch up for old times’ sake? Or is it because she still feels guilty about leaving me? I’m not sure. But maybe I’m overthinking everything. It wouldn’t be the first time in regard to her.
While Aurora is open and vulnerable with her feelings, Belinda was often obscure with her emotions, leaving me constantly guessing at what was going on inside her head. Now that I’ve had time away from her, I realize how taxing that was on me, how hard I always had to try to understand her. It was exhausting.
“So...” I clear my throat and glance away. “You come here often?”
Her laughter is light, and she finally sits back from the table and takes a sip of her ale. “Is it to be small talk, then?”
My cheeks heat a bit. “All right.” This time when I glance her way, I lean forward, bracing my forearms on the wooden table. “Why are we here?”
How’s that for small talk?
She doesn’t laugh this time. Rather, the smile slips from her lips, and she takes another drink from her mug, honey gaze sliding away from mine and into the crowd. It takes her a moment to answer.
“I was surprised when I saw you at the shop today. At first, I thought I was seeing things. But you’re still you. I’d have recognized you anywhere.” She glances at me, then away again. “I suppose I just... wanted to talk. Reconnect.” As she lifts a hand to tuck a wavy strand of hair behind her ear, the ring on her left hand winks in the light. Not that I need the reminder.
“Reconnect?” My eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Why?” This time when she looks at me, one of her brows is arched, and there’s a tilt to her lips I remember from our bantering and arguments. “Can I take that to mean you don’t feel the same way?”
