Page 27 of Enchanting the Elf
“It is not healthy to be outside this much. I hope you have taken some precautions to guard against the strong effects of the sun,” I say once I’m close enough, crossing my arms.
Her big smile wanes.
“It’s okay. I’ve got sunscreen on.” Her tone is friendly, though it has lost that brilliance it had mere moments ago, and I mentally curse myself for fucking up again.
You could have been a bit nicer about it, couldn’t you? Insensitive twat.
“That is good,” I acknowledge. “I have also reinforced the wards. It should lessen some of the harshness from the sun. But do take care of yourself. I expect a summer shower or two to be heading this way today.”
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful of you. I am just trying to get an outline done of the valley. If it starts to rain I’ll head inside.”
I nod and feel strangely unsure of what to do next. The feeling is rather unwelcome and makes my skin itch.
“Have you eaten?” I blurt out ineloquently.
For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you?
“Yes. Thank you for the pastry and the tea. The teapot is so quaint! It kept the tea at a perfect temperature. And all the embroidery supplies. I wanted to thank you the moment I found them but didn’t want to disturb you in your study. Can you tell me the total? I’ll be sure to transfer the money to you as soon as I’m inside with my phone,” Florence asks with utter sincerity, her blue eyes wide as an innocent doe as she looks up at me.
“I do not require your money. You are my guest. It is a gift,” I state gruffly. My lips turn down in distaste. The thought of taking her money grates at me.
Florence opens her mouth to reply just as I glance at my watch.
“Did you have lunch?” I ask before she can protest the gift, realizing breakfast was a very long time ago and she probably has not had anything since.
“I—not yet.” This time, Florence’s smile falls flat, and I do my utmost to reinforce my mental walls so that I do not read her emotions.
It is such an invasion of privacy and I despise it when other elves try to do it to me. Learning to mask emotions from a young age has been the only way to cope around them, especially my father.
I remember when I was at school and one of the professors tried to catch my friends out for something they did—which they definitely did do, though I was not going to let them take the fall for having a little fun. He asked them a series of questions and not only listened to their answers but read their physical cues and emotions, too. I knew whatever he found would get back to my father and I would be berated for it, no matter if it was my fault or not, so I intervened and manipulated their emotions until the professor was thrown off.
After that, I secretly coached my closest friends on how to put up mental barriers to guard themselves from future interrogations. It gave them the perfect excuse to get up to more trouble—something Jasper, Jamie, and Everett took full advantage of, to the rest of the group’s delight.
Perhaps I have become so adept at concealing my emotions over the years that I have started concealing them from myself as well.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Florence.
“I can help myself,” she says with weak confidence in the statement and her eyes not quite making contact with mine.
“Would you, though?” I raise a brow at her.
Florence bites her lip, and the desire to reach forward and free her lip from its abuse is almost visceral.
Maybe I could ease the sting by sucking it into my mouth, and…
Without a word, Florence leans forward and packs all her supplies into her basket. My fingers reach forward to help but I catch myself in time, shoving my hands in my pockets instead.
Satisfied that she’s almost done, I stride toward the house, leaving all my uncouth thoughts behind and surreptitiously adjusting my hardening length. I come up short when I see the new arrival sitting in front of the door. Florence recognizes it before I do and speeds past me.
“Sir Purrington! What are you doing here? Did you walk all the way?” She crouches down and speaks to the cat as if it is possible for it to answer her questions.
I glare at the creature, completely dumbfounded as to its presence at my home.
“What is it doing here?” I ask no one in particular.
“Maybe he missed me and was ready for a new adventure. Weren’t you, Sir Purrington?” Florence answers me but keepsher focus on the cat, stroking over his fur as it rubs against her legs. “Yes, you were. Are you hungry?”
The catperks up like it somehow understoodthatquestion and walks itself over to the door. When I don’t hasten to open it, the cat stares at me with its strangely alert eyes until I maneuver myself around Florence and turn the knob.
