Page 60 of The Knotheads Next Door
"Wells," she says, her voice carefully casual. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Mayor Tillie sent me to check on the setup," I explain, taking an instinctive step back to maintain a safe distance. Even with that distance, her scent reaches me—sweet and complex, with that spicy undertone that's uniquely hers. "And to... find you, actually."
"Oh?" She raises an eyebrow, depositing the ribbon on a nearby table. "Did I miss a meeting or something?"
"No, just making sure you hadn't been kidnapped by the decorating committee," I say, the words coming out stiffer than I intended. "They can be rather zealous this time of year."
Avianna snorts from where she's pretending not to eavesdrop. "That's rich coming from Mayor Tillie's enforcer."
I ignore this. "Do you need any help with the arrangements?"
"Actually," Avianna chimes in before Rowan can answer, "I need to run back to the shop. I;m about to fall asleep standing here. Rowan, why don't you show Wells what we've done so far? Get his... professional opinion."
And with that transparent excuse, she's gone, leaving Rowan and me alone in the half-decorated pavilion.
Rowan looks as uncomfortable as I feel, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "You probably have more important things to do."
"I do," I confirm, then surprise myself by adding, "but I could use a break. Would you like to walk through the grounds? I can show you what to expect tomorrow."
The invitation comes from nowhere, catching us both off guard. But after three days of carefully orchestrated avoidance, something in me craves a few minutes of normal interaction. Neutral territory, public space, professional context. Safe.
She hesitates, then nods. "Sure. I could use some fresh air."
We walk side by side, careful not to brush against each other as we weave through the festival setup. I point out the various sections—artisan booths, food vendors, the stage for local musicians, the children's area with games and face painting.
"The whole town really goes all out for this, huh?" Rowan observes as we pass an elaborate display being constructed to showcase the history of apple cultivation in the region.
"It's a significant source of tourism revenue," I explain. "And a point of pride for the community."
She gives me a sidelong glance. "Do you ever just enjoy things without analyzing their practical value?"
The question catches me off guard. "Of course."
"Name one thing," she challenges, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
I consider this longer than I should need to, which is telling in itself.
"You really are that serious all the time, aren't you?" she says, but there's no judgment in her tone. Just curiosity, maybe a touch of amusement.
"I appreciate... efficiency," I finally say, aware of how ridiculous it sounds even as the words leave my mouth.
She laughs, the sound bright and unexpected in the afternoon air. "Efficiency. Wow. That's... okay, that tracks actually."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're exactly as Theo described you the first day—a robot with excellent hair."
I should be offended, but there's something about the teasing glint in her eye that makes my lips twitch instead. "My hair is not part of the efficiency equation."
"No?" She tilts her head, studying me with mock seriousness. "I assumed it was perfectly engineered for optimal performance in all weather conditions."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it—short and rusty from disuse, but genuine. "Are you always this impossible?"
"Only with people who need it," she says, her smile softening into something that makes my chest tighten. "You should laugh more often. It humanizes you."
"I'll take that under advisement," I say dryly, but I'm still fighting a smile.
We continue walking, the silence between us more comfortable now. I find myself relaxing incrementally, the constant tension I've been carrying for days easing just slightly.
