Page 9 of Morning's Light

Aisanna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re trying to tell me it’s really eight o’clock at night. I lost two hours of my time. Poof. Gone like smoke. This isn’t a prank?”

Elon peered at her, seeing faint, murky spheres under her eyes. They stood out against her pale skin like someone had given her a knockout punch.

In his mind, she was too strong to look damaged and unnerved. Whatever happened in the car had deeply rattled her. Too deeply for his liking.

“It’s eight o’clock at night,” she repeated. Like she wanted him to tell her it was nothing but a joke.

“It is.” Elon leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She lashed out at him with anger, her defensive response. “What are you still doing here? Were you watching me?”

Tonight, he didn’t blame her. “Maybe I should have been.” Instead of responding heatedly, Elon took a breath and kept his distance. No good would come from pushing her. “I don’t know what you saw out there. I’ve been inside finishing up the books for the catering affair next week, along with a few last-minute details. You looked tired when you left. I didn’t think you’d want to deal with it tomorrow.”

Calm and steady, he told himself. Get her relaxed and don’t pry. Don’t pry! God help him, it was harder than it should have been.

“Well, aren’t you an apple polisher?”

His gaze hardened. “I thought I was saving you some work.”

Aisanna sighed and gave a curt nod. “That’s fine,” she said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

She drained the last sips of water before setting the cup down on the counter. The sounds of the shop were a balm to her nerves. They listened intently to the constant hum of the refrigeration units, the occasional clink from the heater. There were no spooky voices echoing in the halls or in her mind.

Everything was as it should be. Which meant sleep deprivation had done some very strange things to her.

“Did someone hurt you? Maybe we should call the police. You look like someone—”

“No police.” They wouldn’t understand. Witches had their own governmental body in place to handle these matters. And no way did Aisanna want the Claddium alerted to this newest batch of weirdness. “I think I’m ready to go home.”

“I’ll drive you.” Elon dug in his pocket for a separate keychain attached to a fob at the end. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I can handle a ten-minute commute, thank you very much, Mr. Fayer.”

“I insist. It would be my pleasure. Besides, who knows if your car would make it, anyway,” he joked.

He watched the war taking place in her psyche. On one hand, she recognized her own vulnerability and part of her wanted to take advantage of his offered kindness. On the other, she was just plain stubborn. He admired both but wished she would go with the former instead of the latter.

At last, she agreed. “Fine. Just don’t turn this into some kind of white knight thing. I couldn’t handle it.” She turned her nose up at him and strode toward the door, her grand exit marred when she lost her footing and fell against a table.

Elon hurried forward and took her arm to steady her. “My mother raised me right. Do you want me to catch hell if she finds out I let you go home by yourself? Do it as a favor to me. I don’t want a tongue-lashing the next time she calls and asks me how you’re doing.”

Her eyes shifted and pinned him. “As a favor?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t say another word. They walked around the block to where he’d parked, his awareness focused on her arm in his hand, the brush of her body against his. If he didn’t touch her now, he was afraid he would break down under the weight of his worry. His fingers tightened of their own accord.

Pull yourself together, Fayer. Don’t let her think you’re getting close to cop a feel when she’s acting loopy.

He took her in, the angles of her face, coupled with the odd blue, green, and amber eyes gleaming in the light of a hazy gibbous moon. Despite the years separating them, Elon knew he would rather die than be without her.

He wished she felt the same way about him.

“Get in and I’ll let her warm up a bit. The engine does strange things in the cold.” He opened the passenger door and helped her onto the worn leather bucket seat of the rebuilt Karmann Ghia, a hobby project shared between him and his father. “After you, milady.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The look she sent him was meant to appear stern at first glance, but it hid a fair share of gratitude along with amusement. It would have felled a lesser man’s heart. Instead, his turned over.

He made sure the door was shut and locked before returning to the driver’s seat. “You don’t need to give me the address. I know where it is. Just try to relax.”

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