Page 27 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
To Nia, marriage was a trap. And she had made it her mission to live the life her mother had been denied.
And yet…
She thought about the quiet sadness in Lochlan’s voice last night, the way his loneliness seemed to linger in the corners of every room. She felt something twist painfully in her chest. Why was he so alone? How did someone like him end up here?
She shook her head, chasing the thoughts away as she dried her hands. That wasn’t her problem to solve. It couldn’t be. She needed to prove her father wrong, and that meant not getting close to Lochlan. It meant she couldn’t like waking up in his arms, feeling so irritatingly happy and rested.
“You will not get attached,” she told her reflection, sternly. “You will get out of this mess unmarried.”
She repeated the mantra under her breath as she went through her morning routine, her determination fraying only slightly when the bewitching smell of coffee drifted upstairs, drawing her toward the kitchen.
Lochlan leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand. The morning light spilled across the warm brown skin of his hands and arms, highlighting broad shoulders and large biceps that flexed subtly with each sip. He spilled a little coffee, muttered a soft curse, and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face like it was the most casual, unbothered thing in the world.
Nia’s brain lit up with warning signals, but it was hard to heed them when faced with the blatant distraction that were his abs. They weren’t chiseled or airbrushed—they were rugged, real, and undeniably him. Her eyes betrayed her, tracing the faint line from his abs to where his worn gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, barely hanging on.
Her foot missed the next step.
“Shit—fuck, ow!” she yelped as her body hit the unforgiving wood, the jarring impact knocking the wind out of her.
Lochlan was in front of her in seconds. “Nia, what happened?” he demanded, concerned.
She blinked up at him, her pride stinging almost as much as her tailbone. The words “you and your abs” hovered at the tip of her tongue. Instead, she muttered, “Just clumsy.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“I’m fine.” She let him help her to her feet.
But before she could steady herself, Jade bounded down the stairs with all the enthusiasm of a dog who thought she was saving the day. Her paws landed squarely against Nia’s back, pushing her into Lochlan’s chest.
“Goddess help me,” she grunted against his neck.
He smelled amazing—woodsy and clean, with just a hint of coffee—and the heat of him seeped through her clothes like he was a damn furnace. She pulled back and glanced up, locking eyes with him. His gaze was a mix of worry and something softer, edged with humor. Her head felt light, almost dizzy, and her hands twitched like they didn’t know whether to steady herself or linger.
“I made coffee and breakfast.” The words rumbled out of him, quiet and warm, and her treacherous brain focused on the slight flex of muscle beneath her palms.
She cleared her throat, cheeks burning. “Coffee. Good.” It was all she could manage before stepping back, desperate to put some space between them.
Nia walked on unsteady legs toward the kitchen, eager to regain some semblance of composure. Lochlan handed her a steaming mug of coffee.
“Thank you.” Her fingers brushed his as she took the cup, the brief contact sparking a jolt of warmth that had nothing to do with the drink.
Lochlan, ever polite, offered her a ride to work. She shook her head too quickly, the words tumbling out awkwardly. “No, I’m fine. It’s a nice day and walks are good.”
She could barely string a coherent thought together. The idea of being in a confined space with him when his sheer presence was making it impossible to think? What had she told herself in the shower this morning… something about not getting attached?
Nia took a hurried sip of coffee, the drink grounding her just enough for her to mumble a quick goodbye and slip out the door.
By the time Nia arrived at her building, the street was bustling with people. Hints of October were creeping in—bundles of wheat leaned against storefronts, pumpkins stacked neatly in crates, and workers carried decorations toward the town center in preparation for next week’s autumn festival. Stella Rune took its fairs and celebrations seriously.
Ivy waited outside the Charis office, two Goblin Grind coffee cups in hand and a glint of mischief in her blue eyes. Nia clutched the ceramic mug that was now cold from her walk. She hadn’t meant to take it. She’d just… walked out with it like some kind of mug thief.
Nia accepted the new coffee, its logo shimmering faintly on the paper cup: a goblin skull floating in black liquid, glamoured from non-magical eyes. The flavor was rich, familiar—a comfort.
But it wasn’t as good as his.
Damn it.
Now she was annoyed—angry, even—that Lochlan’s coffee had the audacity to rival Goblin Grind. Was it some kind of magic? Did Lochlan and the goblins have some kind of secret coffee pact? Because if so, she wanted in.
