Page 35 of The Witch's Cottage
Aurora hurries ahead of me to meet with them, pale yellow dress shining in the sun as she goes. Meanwhile, Harrison seems a bit perturbed by the number of people milling about the square, if his lowered tail and pinned-back ears are any indication.
“Hey, Harrison.” Stooping, I pull back a flap of fabric to reveal the lower shelf on the cart, which is currently empty.
Ears flipping forward, Harrison leaps into the bottom of the shelf, then promptly sits down. The last thing I see before I drop the fabric back into place is Harrison’s bright green eyes staring up at me, and even though I can’t talk to him like Aurora can, I’m pretty sure that look on his face is a thank-you.
“Well, look who finally made it to a festival,” Lydia says as I settle the cart full of baked goods next to hers. An assortment of items from her mercantile are displayed on the cart, along with a few pairs of gleaming silver earrings.
“Did you make those?” I ask James, glancing at the jewelry.
“I did. My smithing is coming along.” He smiles proudly, showing off the thin gap between his front teeth.
“I’d say. Last year these were little more than smashed coins.”
“Hey!” Lydia snaps, but James laughs.
“It’s okay, Lyd. He’s got a point. Theydidlook kind of like badly smashed eldertokens.”
As the sunlight hits one pair of earrings, it sends a prism of light shining across Aurora’s face. She’s staring into the crowd, lips slightly parted, eyes absolutely sparkling. I realize that I don’t even know if her ears are pierced.
“Aurora,” I call, but she doesn’t look my way. “Aurora!”
This time she hears me over the din of the crowd, and she turns.
“Are your ears pierced?” I ask, and she nods. “Do you want a pair?” I point to James’s display.
“Really?” She blinks at me like she’s surprised. I think I probably appeared much colder to her than I’ve ever really been. I probably have some making up to do for all those grumbled responses and the grunts I used to use in place of words.
I offer her my hand, and she lets me take it and guide her toward the cart. As Aurora leans closer to the display to get a better look, Lydia catches my eye over her head.
She’s smiling, lips turned up very gently in the corners, a warm look sparkling in her dark eyes. And when she gives me a subtle nod, I think I know exactly what she’s approving of.
“How about these?” Aurora asks, pointing to a pair of earrings that look like feathers with tiny blue gems embedded in them.
“I think they’re perfect.” My gaze flicks up, and I toss James my coin pouch. “Just take what I owe you.”
With delicate fingers, I take the jewelry from the display. The earrings feel so tiny and breakable in my hands. Maybe it’s a good metaphor for what I have with Aurora. Right now it feels small, fragile. But I’ve every intention of nurturing it, of caring for it in every way I know how.
“Are you sure?” Aurora whispers.
“Positive. Now hold still; I don’t want to poke you.”
I push her hair back behind her shoulder, then slip the first earring gently into her lobe. She turns her head for me to put the second one in, and when I’m done, I run my fingers over the soft petals of the flower still tucked behind her ear. The gleaming silver and tiny blue gems catch the spring sunlight and sparkle with each movement of Aurora’s head.
She looks perfect.
And I’m not sure how many times her beauty will hit me like a punch to the gut, but so far, the awe shows no sign of stopping.
Chapter 21
Aurora
OSTARA IS BETTER THAN I could ever have imagined. The air smells of sage and sugar, and the sunshine on my skin is tantalizingly warm—so warm that I even pull my boots off to let my toes soak up the heat of the cobblestone beneath my feet.
Music twines around the market square from a troupe of musicians as they move through Faunwood. A horde of children skips along behind them, dancing and twirling to the beat of the drums and the rhythm of the lute. I clap as they pass, and one of the young girls pauses to hand me a flower. Kneeling, I press a kiss to the top of her head, and she flushes pink before hurrying away to rejoin the dance.
The cookies and bread are a wild success—and it’s all thanks to Alden. If he hadn’t helped me with the kitchen and the table and the bread baking, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to get everything done on time.
“I hope you enjoy it,” I tell Welma, the elderly Faunwood librarian, as I hand a bread loaf over to her.
