Page 54 of By the Fae

“I love her,” I said, as we got to the underground car park of his building. “Down, definitely.” I’d only ever travelled in a convertible once before, and that was a rental for Mum and Phil’s wedding.

Goldie didn’t smile, but a corner of his mouth briefly quirked. He’d been, for want of a better word, eggy with me that morning. Scowling as he brewed my coffee, and practically stewing as he buttered my toast. We then ate in abject silence. It was a nice breakfast, fresh bread, artisanal jam, but the fae beside me would not engage in any attempt I made at conversation. It left me with an icky feeling stirring in my stomach. I knew I’d made a mistake by cuddling into him last night. I just didn’t realise he might view it similarly. He’d been the one to invite me into his arms, not the other way round. So why was Goldie peed-off with me?

He was silent still as he opened the passenger door for me in some absurd taciturn chivalry, and he was silent as he pulled out of the car park into the bright morning sun. Silent as he opened the glove box, where at least five pairs of designer sunglasses lay in a jumble. And silent as he grabbed the closest pair and slid them onto that impassive face of his.

“Help yourself,” Goldie said after a few minutes, motioning to the sea of shades.

“Thanks, but I can’t really wear them. There’s not enough room on my nose with my own glasses.”

“Right,” he said, and then I swear under his breath he muttered, “Humans.”

We agreed to pop over to my flat on the way so that I could get changed, having only brought one change of t-shirt and knickers. I gave him the address.

“You live in Westside?” he said, in that tone everyone adopted when they spoke about Westside, one of Remy’s poorer, mostly human, districts. “I thought you lived in Waterside?”

“My new place is in Waterside, but it’s still under construction. So, I’m living with my mum and stepdad and sister until it’s ready. I told you this, I’m sure,” I said, not sure why I was being so defensive.

He flicked down the indicator. “When’s it ready?”

“June, hopefully.”

“It is June.”

“Next June.”

“Hmm.”

We were quiet again then, and I found myself watching Goldie’s hands on the wheel. His square, blemish-free knuckles, short nails, and immaculate cuticles. My mind drifted back to Saturday night, and where those hands had been, and what those fingers had felt like. And despite the roof of the car having tucked itself up somewhere near the boot, I suddenly felt very overheated.

“Your face has gone all red,” he said, confirming everything I’d suspected about fae having incredible peripheral vision. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I said, shifting on the leather, clenching my thighs together.

“Liar.” The word was sharp, accusatory, and perhaps betraying a little envy.

I let a few moments pass before I said, “Do you get manicures?”

“Ha!” Goldie said. He could have replaced the sound withbustedand it would have rang the same. “Thinking about my expert touch between your thighs?” I splutter-coughed but didn’t deny it again. “Don’t worry, baby girl, there’s always next weekend.”

I pursed my lips together, unable to look at him, but I knew he was finally smiling. I could sense it.

“It’s just,”—flipping heck, Hols, don’t say anything embarrassing—“you have really pretty hands.” I looked around the dashboard, praying to find an ejector button.

Goldie extended his fingers against the wheel, glancing down at them. “Thanks.” That was a yes, then. He had someone look after his hands.

“Do you also get pedicures?”Why Holly? Why?

His tongue popped out of his mouth as though to hide his smile, and for some random reason, my heart cartwheeled in my chest. Probably palpitations. It had been nice, but violently strong coffee he’d brewed that morning.

“Why do your hands have bumps on them?” he said. “At the top of your palm? And on your fingers?”

Oh.The memory came rushing back. That wasn’t a cat licking my hand that morning. Goldie had been running a finger over my palm. “They’re callouses. It’s hard skin from holding a controller so much. Must be a human thing.”

“Do they hurt?” My heart flip-flopped in my chest again. Was Goldie concerned for me?

“At first, but not anymore.”

He didn’t respond. It was as though I’d said nothing at all. I watched those deft fingers slip down and snap the indicator once again as he pulled into the complex which housed my block of flats.

---