Page 65 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
Nia laughed and pointed toward the entrance. “I brought him.” She gestured at Lochlan, who still lingered at the shop’s entrance. The golden light of the sunset glowed on his skin, and for a moment, her breathe caught.
Natasha huffed and glared at him. Lochlan’s face flushed under the intensity of her scrutiny.
“He yours?” Natasha stage-whispered.
Nia hesitated, a surprising flicker of possessiveness curling in her chest.
“Come in, Lochlan,” Natasha called, waving him in with her spoon without waiting for Nia’s reply. “Tell me what you do to make your coffee better than mine.”
Lochlan glanced at Nia. She gave him a small nod.
“I use caramel sauce instead of the usual syrup,” he said, clearing his throat.
Natasha hummed, suspicious.
“I add the cardamom in when making the orange syrup,” he continued. “And osmanthus flowers. I steep them into the syrup and sprinkle a sugared version on top.”
“Devilwood?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes. Osmanthus is sometimes called devilwood. It adds a little tension on the back end.”
“You sneaky little witch,” Natasha said, sounding scandalized and delighted. “Where are you from?”
“Dover, madam,” Lochlan said, bowing his head slightly.
Natasha’s cheeks flushed a deep green, the skin around her eyes crinkling. She sniffed the air, her gaze sharpening. “There’s royal blood in your veins. Our kind used to feast on your ancestors.”
Lochlan choked out a laugh, his eyes meeting Natasha’s with a hint of challenge. “I hope you take coin instead of blood these days.”
Natasha grinned, her eyes brightening. “I like you,” she said, her tone approving. She swept toward the espresso bar, spoon aloft like a scepter, muttering something about herb witches and nice asses. “Now sit, sit. I’ll make you two drinks and grab you pastries.”
Nia led Lochlan to a table against the outer wall, overlooking the ocean. The heating spells kept them warm, allowing them to comfortably enjoy the breathtaking view.
Lochlan settled into his chair, glancing out at the ocean before turning his gaze back to Nia. “Have you been coming here long?”
Nia nodded. “Since I was thirteen or so. It was hard growing up as an only child in a big, empty house. As a teen? I was horrible.” She shook her head, remembering Wulfric trying to wrangle her. “I got curious after hearing whispers about the tunnels under the town, so one day, I decided to go hunting for them. It was scary. And amazing.”
“Scary?” Lochlan asked, his brows drawing together.
She let out a slow breath, ready to let him in on this part of her past. She thought she would need to build up the courage, but it was already there, waiting.
“It took me a while to piece together why my life was the way it was,” she admitted. “My father told people I’d died in childbirth—after The Anti-Glamour Coalition orchestrated my mother’s death. And then he kept me hidden. I never left the manor grounds.”
Lochlan’s jaw tensed. “I’m so sorry.”
Nia hesitated. “Thank you.”
“So… no one knows?”
“You. Ivy. I’m assuming Becket.” She smiled faintly. “I had healers and tutors, but either my father wiped their memories, or they’re too scared to tell anyone who I am.”
Lochlan studied her for a moment, his face unreadable. There was a lot he wasn’t saying, and she could feel the unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between them.
Before he could find the words, a different goblin approached, carrying a large tray over his head. On it were two steaming mochas and a plate of fluffy pastries.
“Thank you, Albert,” Nia said warmly.
Albert gave her a sharp-toothed grin, but when his gaze flicked to Lochlan, his eyes narrowed in warning. Lochlan offered a polite nod and Albert huffed before disappearing back inside.
