Page 5 of Morning's Light

CHAPTER 2

Did she have to babysit the man? Honestly, his attention was somewhere out in the stratosphere. It took every ounce of mental fortitude she possessed to get him to straighten up and focus. Focus. Some days, he wandered so far into his head, she wondered if he would ever come out again.

She was grateful for his work ethic, which she never questioned. Elon agreed to work holidays, weekends, overtime, any shift, whenever she asked, without prompting. He was an employer’s dream-come-true in that respect. After he’d applied for an assistant’s position two years ago, Aisanna had come to know Elon for who he was. Trustworthy and hardworking and an all-around good guy.

Not to mention damn attractive.

She could depend on him to open the shop on those mornings when she simply could not find the energy to make it in. Or when her family life went to hell and she was out half the night tracking down magical stalkers.

Elon would do what she asked of him and do it right the first time. And despite their considerable comfort in the working arena, there was no way in hell she’d tell him any details about Israel. She could picture it now, the look of horror on his masculine face as his good mood plummeted into the dirt.

Things did not work that way. Aisanna preferred not to mix her work and personal life, no matter how desperately Elon wished to break those barriers. There was an old saying her father once told her, which stuck with her to this day: Don’t get your honey where you make your money.

She lived the motto.

Still, Aisanna studied her best worker and wondered why his face filled her mind more often than not. Elon Fayer had the arrogant good looks of a con artist without any of the cockiness. He was the tailor-made boy-next-door, she thought, with cheerful blue eyes, a hint of scruff, and a wide mouth always stretched in a smile.

He toed the line between skinny and muscular without the bulk of a habitual gym rat. When she hired him, he’d worn his mane of dark brown hair hung low, reaching his collar. Now he trimmed it to keep up with the times: simple and casual with shorter sides and longer on the top, slicked to the side with styling product.

His grin came and showed a slightly crooked canine. It was an honest face. An outgoing, friendly one.

In a different world, a different life, things may have turned out otherwise for them. Say, for instance, if Elon had been born with the genetic capacity for magic in his veins. Then she would have no qualms about bedding him and indulging in those secret, dirty fantasies every woman had about handsome male coworkers. Even ones who were five years younger than them.

She imagined they’d have fun together. Again, in another life. Elon was human, with no power whatsoever, outside of his miraculous ability to charm little old ladies. That he had in spades. This had made him a great asset to her growing brand. He was a budding botanist with heart and soul. It meant he was a good counterpart to her level-headedness.

Against her parents’ wishes, she had signed the lease on the building some seven years ago. They’d wanted her closer to home, closer to the family business. Considering her father worked for a bank and her mother worked on her face, Aisanna was not exactly sure what constituted a family business.

Flowers and plants, naturally, appealed to her on a basic level. Her magic sprang from the earth itself, and she, like her mother and her mother’s mother, held dominion over living flora. It was power in its simplest form, encouraging young things to grow.

She’d thought long and hard about what she wanted to do. Greenhouses appealed to her at first until she realized she hated getting dirty. Her first summer interning at a local nursery had been a disaster of callused palms and shin splints. No, she’d rather make beautiful arrangements. She did better behind a desk with numbers in a spreadsheet than digging in the dirt.

Thus, a shop. A business catering to the consumer while still letting her flex her muscles as a witch and soothe her desire for pretty things. It was the perfect mesh of two worlds.

The small storefront right in the hub of downtown fit her style seamlessly. She’d designed the decor and layout herself. Warm natural wood accented the glass displays and aged metal—farmhouse meets modern.

If anything, Aisanna needed to focus on her job. On keeping business steady through Valentine’s Day. Then she would have a chance to slow down and worry about the looming eclipse and the fraying veil keeping their reality and the reality of ancient magicks separated.

There was also the fact that she might be related to the Harbinger witch. Born into times of great change and great need, the Harbinger had the potential to restore balance. Aisanna’s middle sister, Astix, fit the bill, but good luck trying to get her on board with the concept. Astix still insisted they were looking for someone else, despite a rather spectacular display last month where the young witch managed to draw up magma from the earth’s core.

Yeah. In addition to Aisanna’s overbooked schedule, she had an unraveling veil, wild and uncontrollable magic leaking through, and an insane immortal on her hands.

She glanced at the peonies again and strangled a groan, casting another look in Elon’s direction. “Are you done wandering in the fields of imagination? Have you found your way back to reality yet? Because we need to get this order out the door in the next ten minutes.”

Elon blushed, the color traveling to the tips of his ears. “Yes, I have.”

He had strong arms, wide shoulders. He’d rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. Big hands, she thought, but they could do delicate floral work with ease and elegance.

“Let’s get on with the lineup for the day.” Aisanna tapped a few keys on the computer, bent down for a closer look, and sighed. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Ulrich about the arrangement she wants for her fiftieth wedding anniversary?”

He gave her a little nod and kept his hands busy, scattering papers in an attempt to find the right folder. “Um, yeah. I have the notes on it somewhere. Give me a second.”

He bent at the waist and gave her a prime view of his rear without meaning to. It was a struggle to look away. Just what, she wondered, was a man like him doing working in a flower shop? Then again, some people did well in a sales setting. They were built for people-pleasing.

She wouldn’t give him up for anything.

Finding the notepad, Elon straightened and relayed the information. “She left a message on the machine and I gave her a call first thing this morning. She wants roses, poinsettias, and those maroon irises you did for her daughter’s wedding two years ago.”

“She does realize that it’s the end of January and irises are not in season?”

---