Page 30 of Potions & Prejudice
I glared at him. “I don’t want to think any more about you. In fact, I’d be happy to never think about you again.”
He raised his brows. “Oh, so you do think about me?”
I knelt down, dipping my bucket into the little stream as water splashed inside of it. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Believe me, I’m not.”
“If anything, most of my thoughts revolve around that flying mug doing its job and hitting you in the head. Maybe that would knock some kindness into you. And good sense.”
His jaw ticked, and I found myself pleased that I’d gotten to him yet again.
I let the water flow into the bucket, then came to a stand, facing Draven, who was still glaring at me. The handle of my now-full bucket rested in the crook of my arm, the bucket propped against my hip.
Witch’s tits, this thing was heavy, and I was tempted to walk away, but the allure of making Draven’s jaw tick again was too tempting.
“Is there something else you’d like? Or are you going to stand here and glare at me all day? Some of us have work to do, Mr. Darkstone.”
“I own a tavern,” he gritted out.
I nodded at his clothing, as fine as Elm’s with no wear or tear, no stains, the material spider silk, which was incredibly expensive and rare.
“Yes, well your tavern must do very well,” I said.
A tavern owner shouldn’t have that much wealth that he could afford such clothing. Definitely a far cry from our simple dresses, made from cotton bugs, little insects who grew cotton on their backs, then dispelled the cotton on the ground when it got too heavy to carry. The cotton provided protection from predators, and the bugs grew large balls of it over and over throughout their lifespan. It was free to harvest but time-consuming. Nevertheless, it was our best, and cheapest, option for clothing. Auggie was actually a very talented seamstress, and she made the majority of our clothes with the guidance and help of Mama.
“What does it matter to you how well my tavern does?” Draven asked, gaze narrowing in a way that made me shift on my feet.
And this bucket was getting heavier and heavier. I grimaced, shifting it over to my other hip. “It doesn’t. You just don’t dress like a tavern owner. But it’s none of my business,” I said quickly, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to notice anything about him, and I certainly didn’t want him noticing anything about me.
“Well if you need recommendations on a tailor, let me know.” His gaze trailed over my worn green dress, patches covering various rips and holes.
My cheeks turned pink at the reminder of our cheap clothing. “I think that’s enough for today,” I said quietly, the bucket weighing more heavily than ever.
Draven’s glare softened for just a moment. “I can carry the bucket.” His voice was gruff as he gestured to it.
As if I would let him do anything for me. He’d probably hold it over my head every time we ran into each other, which seemed like it would be more often than I wanted.
“No thank you,” I said, the bucket wavering so that water sloshed over the side.
He scoffed and planted his hands on his hips. “Just let me help you.” He reached for the bucket, and I stepped away from him.
“No.”
I was now leaning over, the bucket drooping more and more. Why was it so damn heavy?
He stepped forward and grabbed the handle. “You are stubborn to a fault. I’m trying to help you so you don’t drop this water all over yourself.”
“Like you care.” I jerked away, more of the water sloshing out.
“I’m trying to be nice,” he said, his grip still tight on the handle.
“Well, I’d say it’s too late for that.”
I tried to back away but stumbled over a rock in the stream. Before I knew it, I was falling over backward, bucket flying up in the air, and Draven Darkstone was falling along with me, landing right on top of me.
Icy cold water sloshed down my back, my vision splitting as I looked up at the canopies above. Draven’s heavy body, his intoxicating scent, was once again overwhelming me.
“Why do you keep falling on me?” I murmured, not having the strength to shove him off this time as the cold paralyzed me.
