Page 72 of Must Love Libraries and Libations
“I hear your heart,” he whispered.
“It beats for you.”
As we lay tangled together on his bed, his wing draped over us like a blanket, I traced lazy patterns on his skin and marveled at how right this felt.
“So,” I said eventually, when my breathing had returned to normal. “About this cottage I bought in a fit of anger…”
I felt his chest rumble with laughter. “Yes, about that. I believe you mentioned wanting to show it to me?”
“Well, it needs some work. A lot of work, actually. The roof leaks, the garden is overgrown, and I’m fairly certain there’s a family of mice living in the kitchen walls.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“You say that now, but wait until you see the state of the shutters. And there are sprites and fairies.”
“I’ve dealt with bookwyrms for centuries, love. I think I can handle a few well-meaning sprites and fairies.”
Love. He’d called me love, and the word settled into my heart like it had always belonged there.
“There’s something else,” I said, suddenly nervous again.
“What’s that?”
“The cottage is not very big. If you’re going to live there too, which I very much hope you are, well, we might be on top of each other all the time.”
His arm tightened around me. “Primrose Windsong, I have spent the last five hundred years rattling around this library alone. The idea of being ‘on top of you’ all the time sounds like paradise.”
I blushed furiously, which only made him laugh again.
“Besides,” he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “I think it’s time this old gargoyle learned what it means to truly build a home with someone, not just guard one.”
“Are you sure? You’d be giving up all this space, your sanctuary…”
“My sanctuary isn’t a place, Primrose. It’s you.” He cupped my face in his large hands, thumb stroking across my cheek. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
“And me with you… Always. You stubborn gargoyle.”
“I love you too.”
EPILOGUE: ERASMUS
THREE WEEKS LATER
I had never repaired a roof before.
This realization struck me as particularly odd, considering I had wings and had perched on the library’s roof countless times over the centuries. But in five hundred years, I had never had cause to actually fix one, and certainly never with an audience of well-meaning townspeople shouting conflicting advice from below.
“A little to the left, Master Erasmus!” called Elder Thornberry from the garden path where he was supposed to be helping his wife plant new rose bushes but was instead sipping a cup of tea and supervising everyone else’s work with great enthusiasm. His wife, I noticed, was being equally unhelpful. Rather than planting roses, she had cornered Prince Bjorn and was interrogating him with such overly pleasant intensity it had the Rune elf crossing his arms on his chest and taking a step back from her. Only when the Thornberrys’ daughter, Emmalyn, interfered to save the prince did the woman turn back to the roses.
“No, no, to the right!” contradicted Winifred, who had been wrestling with the overgrown blackberry bushes. “You can see from here which shingles need to be replaced. To the right, Master Erasmus.”
I adjusted my grip on the roof tiles and tried to remember why I had volunteered for this particular task. Being up here meant I could observe the delightful chaos below while maintaining a safe distance from Primrose’s mother, who had been following me around all morning with the persistence of a particularly determined bookwyrm.
And yet, even at this height, I had still not escaped her.
“Master Erasmus!” came the inevitable call from below. “You simply must tell me about gargoyle traditions! Do you celebrate housewarmings? Oh, I do hope Primrose will let me plan the housewarming party,” Missus Windsong called.
From my vantage point, I could see Primrose laughing as she stood there in her painter’s jumper, the same cheerful pink paint that had drawn her to the place smeared on her cheek.
