Page 20 of Enchanting the Elf
Like a popped balloon, hurt pricks any of the optimism I had stored up for the day, and my good vibes slowly leak out. My shoulders deflate and I bite my tongue, disappointed in myself. Disappointed in Adelbert.
Surely he knew it was a mistake with good intentions behind it?
With a final nod, Adelbert whips around on his heel and heads inside while I mentally berate myself.
I’m usually more careful with my actions, but with Adelbert, the urge to comfort or touch him is so strong that I become clumsy and seem to do or say the wrong things, inadvertently making him more annoyed with me than he would be if I just stayed invisible.
I nod as I resolve to become just that, vowing to myself not to bother him anymore.
I’ll give him all the space he needs while he figures out a way for me to go home. I’ll do my own thing and stay out of his way. I’m already encroaching on his space. No need to make myself a burden to him on top of it.
Chapter twelve
Adelbert
All day, I spend buried between the pages of Elvish tomes, aiming to find confirmation of what I suspect to be the cause of the markings that are bonding us together.
I stumble upon a certain passage late in the afternoon that supports the direction of my assumptions. It’s almost enough to share with the group, but I still need to corroborate the reason for the markings.
The whole process would have taken me less time if I weren’t so consistently distracted by Florence’s presence through thewindow. I’ve tried to keep my attention on my reading, but she’s spending most of her day outside in the clearing around the house and moving in and out of view. She never pushes close to the boundary I marked out for her, and I almost wish that she would so I have an excuse to talk to her again and apologize.
I know my manners have been lacking and my frustration bleeds through my words at times. She does not need to be the recipient of all my ire, and I’m afraid my grumblings earlier might have made her think so.
My stomach grumbles, and not for the first time.
Have I eaten today? I don’t think so.
I get up from my desk in search of food when a buzzing sound stops me. Glancing down, my eyes land on my phone dancing over a stack of papers with each of its vibrations.
I inhale deeply before answering.
“Everett.”
“Bertie,” my friend sighs out heavily, the weight of his worries evident in my nickname alone.
That damn nickname that I let him get away with. Thankfully my father has never heard any of my friends use it, or he would perform a monologue as to the proper usage of names and the weight their meanings carry.
I have never told my friends, but I sometimes like that I can forget about being an Alberad around them, and just be “Bertie.”
My phone call with Everett is brief and it reinforces all the theories that have been brewing in my mind as well as what I read today.
I sit back down and reach for a tome I hadn’t opened yet, spurred on by Everett’s distress, and wanting to help my closest friend the best I can.
I lose track of time.
I am only made aware of its passage by the obnoxious sounds coming from my stomach, reminding me that I have yet to eat. Due to the long days of the summer sun, it’s awfully easy to forget what time of day it is.
Allowing myself a break, I get up again and stretch the stiff muscles in my neck and back, and head for the kitchen.
It occurs to me that I have not seen Florence outside my window since Everett’s phone call, so I alter course and veer in the direction of her wing of the house where I can sense her presence.
All day long, I have tried to block her out, unable to concentrate properly when she enters my mind. Knowing someone is in my house is both bothersome, yet not as unwelcome as I thought it would be. Or maybe it is only because it is Florence.
The melodic tone of her voice drifts through the halls and leads me toward her side of the house. I can just make out Sadie’s voice on the other end of what must be a video call.
I pause. Is that sniffling?
Is Florence crying?
