Page 13 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“Thank you.” Not wanting to talk about it any further, I change the subject. “And thank you for carrying me in the rain.” My cheeks heat at the memory. “And… for having me over last night.”
He dips his chin in a subtle nod and then gestures to my plate. “Is everything to your liking?”
“Oh, it’s wonderful.” I smile. “And that bed was amazing. I’ve never slept so well.”
“I’m… glad.” He gives an awkward nod and then silently picks at his dry toast, his gaze occasionally flickering toward me with an unreadable expression.
After a while, I notice his attention fixed upon my lips. His eyes darken with the same familiar hunger in their depths that he had last night before we kissed.
Shaking his head, he blinks several times as if coming back to himself, and then lifts his gaze to mine. “Perhaps after breakfast, we can go through a few of the herbs in my collection, and you can see if any of them look familiar.”
“Alright.” I force a smile, despite the fluttering nerves in my stomach.
I desperately want to reverse the effects of the kissing potion I apparently gave him, but I’m not confident I’ll recognize the ingredients I accidentally added to his tea.
Silently, I send up a prayer to the gods, begging them for guidance. We have to break this spell, because every time Lyrion’s gaze drifts to my mouth, my lips tingle at the memory of his kiss.
Until yesterday, I’d never been kissed, and now it’s all I can think about.
Secretly, I’ve wished he would notice me from the moment he first walked into the café. But now that I have exactly what I wanted, I’m not sure I want it this way.
I want him to like me for who I am, not because of some accidental potion.
My eyes drift across the table, tracing the strong lines of his handsome face all the way up to his pointed ears. We need to break this enchantment soon. I can’t risk losing my heart to this broody Elvish man. He doesn’t seem to think very highly of humans, and I doubt he could ever truly return my feelings.
CHAPTER 7
LYRION
Iwatch as Isobel makes soft, delighted noises with every bite of pancake, her eyes closed in bliss. She’s practically humming with pleasure, the sound oddly enchanting yet utterly baffling. They’re pancakes. Nothing special. But she’s acting as if they’re the best thing she’s ever had.
Humans.
Hilda brings more tea, and I thank the heavens that the potion doesn’t make me want to kiss everyone I see. I’d worried about this last night, but when Hilda greeted me this morning, I felt none of the intense need I feel every time I look at or even think of Isobel.
Thankfully, my headache is gone. The pounding behind my eyes has vanished, replaced instead by a mild confusion about this strange woman sitting across from me, still dressed in my clothes.
I thought she would have changed back into her own clothing by now.
“May I ask where your clothes are?”
I take great care this time not to sound accusing, as humans seem to be quite sensitive about such matters.
“They’re still drying.” She points up toward her balcony.
My gaze lifts, and I nearly choke on my tea. Hanging proudly on a makeshift clothesline, flapping in the morning breeze, are her garments. Right there. Visible for anyone to see. Like some village laundress.
Stars above, what will the neighbors think?
“Oh,” I manage faintly. “How… resourceful.”
“They should be almost dry by now,” she reassures me brightly, oblivious to my internal mortification. “And once they are, I won’t have to borrow yours anymore.”
Thank the gods for small mercies.
“I need to go back to my apartment to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back before you know it,” she says cheerfully, and I nod.
She rises shortly afterward, thanking Hilda warmly before disappearing back into the cottage. Hilda immediately turns her keen gaze toward me, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.
