Page 31 of Raising the Sun

The next morning, the human received a letter of acceptance into his flower contest. There were tears, there was the ever-lingering scent of nerves, but above it all was pure, unfiltered joy. The cheek-dimpling smile that split his face was brighter than any I’d ever seen.

And why did that make my cold heart skip?

Chapter eight

ISAAC

It was kinda mentalhow quickly a month passed when we were elbow deep in contest prep.

Amongst other things.

The most shocking part? I wasn’t panicking. Not every day, at least. Obviously, as it drew closer and the reality sank in more and more, the idea of being in front of so many people, showing off my craft, had me bricking myself. But only a reasonable amount. I was mostly excited or too distracted to sit down and think about it.

Ash was to thank for that.

Whenever I wasn’t working, we were fucking, and when we weren’t doing either, we slept in the same bed because Ash was, surprisingly, a cuddler and refused to sleep on the single bed in the spare room. My bed was comfier and easier for five a.m. wake-up blow jobs, he’d said, and I couldn’t disagree.

Our situation was a complex one, and if I had to label it, we were in the realm of fuck buddies, probably. But spending timewith him, whether we were having sex, or bickering because he’d tried to poison my neighbour, and replaced all my clothes with fashionable alternatives, it was like a constant wave of dopamine.

It was partly to do with our ‘deal’ and the benefits he’d offered up, but still. He made me feel wanted, and sexy, and it was addictive—a boost to my ego, to be sure. Being in a constant state of satisfaction also caused a domino effect. I didn’t have time to dwell on my failures, and if I wasn’t dwelling on my failures, I wasn’t… failing? It was bonkers, and I could hardly make sense of it, but since that first night sleeping with Ash, there hadn’t been nearly as many disasters.

I hadn’t had an anxiety attack in weeks, and I felt… good. Clear-headed and calm. I laughed more with him around. Even Wayne had made a comment about it when we’d last met, and that was progress in itself. Ash’s presence here seemingly had everything falling into place. He’d come into my life at exactly the right time, pulled me from my hole before it got irreversibly deep, and steered me back on track.

It was almost as if accidentally summoning a demon and having sex with him to unlock his magic worked like the charm it was meant to.

Who’d have thunk it?

Except Ash kept insisting that he wasn’t using magic to help me. That he had no need to, and I wouldn’t have believed him if he hadn’t clicked his fingers, glamoured his demon attributes, and taken on the role of my assistant in the shop.I’d thought it was a joke at first, or part of some bigger scheme that wouldn’t outlast the week—manual labour outside of the bedroom was not his thing—but he’d proven me wrong. He came to work every morning, at a morereasonable houras he needed time to make himselfpresentable, but that wasn’t an issue since he was actually really useful.

And good at it.

He left me to handle the flower arranging, mostly, although an afternoon masterclass had shown he was excellent at that, too. He would schmooze with customers, work the till, give me encouragement whenever I felt my mask slip, and hold down the fort whenever I was out making deliveries. It was kinda perfect, and despite my initial reservations, I could admit, if only to myself, that having an extra pair of hands around wasn’t as catastrophic as I’d once made it out to be. Accepting his help didn’t feel like grounds for a mental breakdown. It didn’t make me feel weak or less capable, but maybe that had to do with it beinghim,and how easy and… nice it was having him around more than anything else.

It also didn’t hurt that, since his first day, my monthly sales had shot up tenfold.

It had to be magic, even if it was just a sprinkle. I refused to buy it was coincidence that after every time we fucked, a miracle seemed to happen. But then again, why would he bother getting his hands dirty if that were the case? Usually, he whinged if I so much as insinuated that the dishesneeded to be washed, but maybe working with the flowers was a more agreeable type of work for him?

I wasn’t complaining. Whatever he was doing, he was free to keep doing it, but it just struck me as odd that the only change I’d made in the shop washim, and everything was already so different. Yes, he was charming, and though he still had that air of the upper class about him—even dressed in more ‘ordinary’ garb—the customers found him approachable. But that didn’t really explain why I’d gone from barely needing to order stock once a week, to twice, or even three times.

Like today.

I’d popped out to run a few errands and pick us up some lunch, leaving Ash in charge since he was more than capable. I’d been gone for maybe two hours, tops, but came back to bare shelves and empty buckets.

My first thought was that we’d been robbed, though there were no dead bodies strewn across the floor, or piles of smoking ash, so maybe not.

“What do you mean you sold everything?” I dumped the food bags on the counter in front of where Ash sat, feet up, book in hand, calm as anything.

Not at all concerned.

“Exactly as I said, my dear.” He flipped the page he was on, and the action brought my attention to his nimble fingers, now sans metal claw-cuffs.

It never failed to astound me how good he looked in a more human form. It probably shouldn’t have, as he’d pull offanything, and it wasn’t as if a lot had changed—his horns gone, his fangs blunt. More on par with an Oxford professor than the demon-prince vibe he typically aced. Still, I couldn’t help but find it a little jarring, even if it was only for a few hours a day until we headed back upstairs where he could unveil and be his full self again.

I’d grown accustomed to his demonness and, dare I say, it suited him better. Infinitely so. Especially those orange eyes, vibrant like the petals on a Naranja rose when they flared as his emotions ran passionate. They were temporarily dimmed to a more natural amber-tinged brown, equally beautiful, but I barely resisted lighting a fire just to see a reflection of their natural state.

A total digression to the issue at hand.

I dragged my gaze away from him to take another scan of the place. There were one or two candles, a picture frame, and literally a single stalk of fern left. The last time I’d seen it so empty was the day I’d moved in.

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