Page 58 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

My parents sit in the back seat even though Carter offers the passenger seat to Dad. I pull away from the terminal and set course for Devil’s Den.

* * *

Teagan looks up as we approach the front desk at Devil’s Den and smiles, but it’s not her usual friendly, confident smile. It’s the smile of a woman who is either on the verge of a breakdown or a felony charge. Miranda’s parents must be here already.

“Hello,” she says. “Welcome to the Devil’s Den. I’m Teagan Penhall, and it’s lovely to meet you.” She holds out her hand and I introduce my parents as they shake hands.

My parents tell her to call them Nora and Alex, and she tells them to call her Teagan. With that out of the way, she tilts her head to motion us to walk down to a spot away from her employees and comes out from behind the check-in counter.

“The Quinns are already here,” she says, “and we have given them a suite on the fourteenth floor. Sophie’s suite is there too, at the other end of the hall. Do you want your suite on the same floor or away from them?”

I can tell from her tone her vote is to be on a different planet than the Quinns, and I agree wholeheartedly. My parents look at each other and have a silent conversation of lifted eyebrows and eye rolls until Dad sighs and nods.

Ma smiles and lays a hand on Teagan’s forearm. “Oooh, I love this. Merino wool?” Mom pets Teagan’s cranberry colored sweater. Teagan nods. “Very nice. Anyway, it would be best if we have a room as close to the Quinns as possible. Next door or across the hall. We have a lot to catch up on.”

I’m not picturing tea parties and giggling. My mother is every inch a lady, but I pity anyone who tries to push her or hurt someone she loves. She loves Miranda like she’s one of her own kids. Depending on the foolishness my brothers get up to, sometimes she loves Miranda more.

Teagan’s eyes widen slightly. She’s picking up on the steel behind the velvet of my mother’s words. If we were talking about anyone else, I’d almost pity the Quinns, but we’re not and I don’t.

“How is Miranda?” I ask as she leads us over to the bank of elevators taking us to my parents’ suite. That’s all I care about. Her parents can take a long walk off one of the shorter piers lining the Boardwalk as far as I’m concerned.

“She seems to be shell-shocked. I think her parents being here is throwing her for more of a loop than discovering she’s a witch.”

When we get off the elevator on my parents’ floor, I automatically turn left.

“The suite is this way,” Teagan says, turning right.

“Miranda is this way.” I don’t need a room number, her scent lures me. Now that we’ve mated, her scent is even stronger to me, my soul is connected to her. My parents can get settled without me. I need to see Miranda.

I knock on the door I instinctually know is Sophie’s. Miranda is behind that door, and I need to see her. I knock again.

“Miranda!”

“Declan, are you daft?” Sophie asks as she opens the door. “You don’t need to bellow.”

“Dec?” Miranda asks from over Sophie’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

I gesture behind me with my thumb. “Dropping my parents off. Your parents arrived?”

Miranda nods, her gray eyes tired. “Aye. My Dad isn’t staying. You know he doesn’t enjoy being away from the horses.”

Can’t say I blame him. I’d rather be with horses, too, but that dream must wait until Miranda is ready to settle down and go back to Ireland. Or wherever she wants to be. I don’t care where we are as long as we’re together.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “Come in, but don’t be gross.”

I enter and look over the room. It’s a small suite. I’m not sure if it is one or two bedrooms. I could get us another room if necessary if she’s determined to stay here to be close to her mother.

Miranda takes a sip of tea and sits in the armchair of the seating area. No embrace or kiss. Is she letting Sophie make her feel awkward about our relationship?

“Could I have a cuppa, Soph?” I ask as I take a seat on the sofa, as close to Miranda as I can get.

“I don’t have any, sorry,” Sophie says.

I look pointedly at the mugs both she and Miranda are holding.

“My mother gave it to us,” Miranda says, a note of apology in her voice.

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