Page 27 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“Goodnight, little Wren. Thank you for a lovely evening. Sweet dreams.”

With that, he disappears into the gloaming dark, leaving me reeling and open-mouthed against the door to my shop, all alone.

It takes me far longer than I’d like to admit to recover fully.

Shock turns into shame, shame into indignation, and indignation into annoyance.

Why would he make me think he was going to kiss me?

Why wouldn’t he just kiss me?

I hold my palm up to my lips, huffing out and testing my breath. I wince. It is, in fact, a bit strange-smelling.

“It’s for the best,” I mutter to myself, jamming my key into the lock and turning it until it gives a satisfying opening click.

Still, my heart’s beating too fast. My skin’s oversensitive, and I shudder as I unwrap the woven shawl from my shoulders.

A whispered word lights a lantern—a simple spell, one of the few I use outside of my jewelry work—and I pick up the enchanted silver and glass light and begin to head to the stairs at the back of the shop when a sight brings me up completely short.

The sight of me in the mirror.

My stomach drops, and I cringe at my reflection.

My hair, which I haven’t bothered with lately, looks like a fucking scarecrow. Bits of yellow-blonde hair stick out in messy tufts; the braid I thought I’d neatly done this morning looks to be several days old, not a matter of daylight hours.

There are dark purple circles under my eyes, a brown smattering of leftover summer freckles standing out garishly on pale skin. Even my eyes are less blue than usual, more stormy grey and so, so tired-looking.

No wonder he didn’t want to kiss me.

There’s a stain on my dress too, and I stare at it in growing horror.

Caelan was the very picture of elegance and style, and meanwhile, I look like I’ve been sleeping at my jeweler’s bench for the last month straight.

Gross.

Scowling, I stamp upstairs, determined to do better.

“I didn’t start over here just to let myself turn into a bog witch,” I mutter, my feet falling heavy and satisfying on the wood treads.

I unlock the second door to my apartment, probably unnecessary here in Wild Oak Woods, but a habit from living in the less than idyllic city that I doubt I’ll drop anytime soon.

If ever.

Breathing deeply, I lock the door behind me, taking off my threadbare shoes and gathering myself.

In the city, I wanted to blend in. I didn’t want to stand out, I didn’t want to be an easy target for the many nefarious characters who were only too ready to pounce on anyone they deemed worthy of their attention.

Especially after my parents passed—it was enough to simply carry on waking up and working every day.

Being clean was enough. Being presentable was hardly my top priority in those days, especially early on after their deaths, when I could hardly move for grief.

Fenn was the sole reason I was able to feed myself most days, and then, when the attorney came to tell me this shop had been deeded to me, in this tiny hamlet so far outside anywhere I’d ever lived, suddenly, things seemed possible again.

I would have an actual storefront, not just the hand-me-down clients of my parents looking for renewed spells on worn-out charms and trinkets.

I could hone my skills far away from the thundering noise of the city.

I could finally earn my way into the guild.

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