Page 149 of Beyond the Cottage

A knock came, and she sloshed coffee on her hand. At the door, she asked, “Who’s there?”

“Philip.”

She groaned at the ceiling.Of all the fucking days.

Gretta ripped the door open, staying behind it. “What?”

“Nice to see you, too.” He lowered his hood. “Can I come in?”

“What do you want?”

“I came to check on you. No one’s heard from you in days.”

“I’ve been working. As you can see, I’m fine.”

Philip nudged an empty brandy bottle with his toe, sending it deeper into her apartment. Flushing, she kicked it under the couch.

“I’m alive, then,” she said. “Good enough?”

“Just let me in, pixie.”

She considered shooing him off, but he’d be easier to get rid of if she let him satisfy this little errand. She opened the door wider, and her neck warmed as he stepped over piles of books and clothing.

Her place was a touch less tidy than usual. The night after she last saw Ansel, she got drunk and felt inspired to reorganize her apartment. She’d passed out before finishing, and the inspiration never returned.

“Whoa,” Philip said as she came out from behind the door. “Where’s the wedding?”

Her neck got warmer. “First day at the lab. I thought I should look presentable. Speaking of, I’d appreciate it if you made this quick.”

He helped himself to coffee and sat at her table. Instead of drinking it, he turned the mug in circles.

“I came to apologize,” he said, tapping the ceramic. “For the way I handled things on the train and in Antrelle. I should have been more tactful.”

Gretta nearly over-poured her cup. Philip had been giving her shit for years, and he’d never apologized before. Not to anyone, that she knew of.

“Areyouokay?” she asked, sitting across from him.

He brushed a hand through his honey-brown hair. “Nat asked me to work on my way with people. You aren’t the only one he’s been riding.”

“Whipping his staff into shape before the big election. He’s probably terrified one of us will embarrass him.”

“He’s wound tighter than a priestess’s asshole.”

Gretta toasted him and sipped her coffee.

“Seriously, though,” he said. “Are you really fine? You haven’t been yourself since the swamp. Hell, you talked Nat into handing your captor a small country’s national budget.”

She’d done a lot more than that with her captor, so she couldn’t really argue. And a month ago, she would have told Philip to shove his apology up his ass.

“Maybe I’m changing,” she said wryly. “Late bloomer. And don’t worry about the train, I was an asshole, too.”

“Okay, now I’m truly worried.”

“Drop it, or I’ll tell Nat we got into a fist fight.”

The unscarred side of his mouth kicked up, and he relaxed in his chair. “Alright, I have a question for you. What’s this thing with you and the dust thief? You have to admit it’s peculiar.”

Usually, Philip was the last person Gretta would confide in, but he was a vault when it came to secrets. She hadn’t talked to anyone since Ansel left, and she was on the brink of exploding from it.

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