Page 183 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“Cass, won’t you look at me?—”
“You don’t have to do this,” I interrupted just as I set two cups and saucers on the counter with a clatter.
“Do what?”
“Act like everything is normal when it’s not. And that goes for making more lame excuses why we can’t, I don’t know, make out or sleep together or whatever it is we both clearly want.” I turned and held out his cup and saucer, tea bag floating atop the water.
Gingerly, he took it. “It’s not what you think.”
“Ithinkyou and Caomhán let the cat out of the bag by telling me that we’re ‘mates’ or whatever. Ithinkthat to you, it spells disaster. After you left last time, Robbie and Caitlin told me everything. About what children do. How it might compromise my manifestation. Ruin your…immortality.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened, and he scrunched his lips together, contemplating this revelation. “They weren’t supposed to tell you that.”
“Because of the whole weirdly social Darwinist position the fae community has adopted? Yeah, not sure I agree with that either. Regardless, Caitlin said it was necessary after she saw us together. Shockingly, she decided that appealing to my sense ofreasonwas the best way to convince me to stay away from you.” I poured my own tea, then set the kettle back on the range with a bit too much force.
His jaw worried as he considered the situation. “I’m glad Caitlin told you,” he admitted, tapping a finger on his lips as he spoke. His normally unflappable eyes bore traces of uncertainty. “Do you mind, then?”
“Mind what? That we can’t sleep together or that in spite of that, I’m apparently promised to you for all time?”
I pulled some cream out of the refrigerator and topped my tea before passing it to him. He poured several ounces and pushed it back.
“I meant my—” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and pounded his chest with a flat palm before continuing. “My age.”
I stared. “You mean the fact that you are old enough to be my grandfather? That’s what you’re worried about? Seems the least our problems, all things considered.”
Jonathan glowered into his teacup. “That’s not exactly how I would phrase it, but yes. It’s a concern.”
I sighed. “Brigid help me. Listen, other than the fact that you chose Benny Goodman over the Duke Ellington records over there, I suppose I can live with the fact that you’re a centenarian.”
That full mouth quirked. “It’s not my fault I have excellent taste.”
“It’s also not your fault that you were probably present for the original recording.”
“I was maybe twenty when this was recorded and nowhere near the United States,” Jonathan sputtered, setting his cup down harshly enough that it rattled in the saucer and sent some of the light brown liquid over the sides.
I smiled into my own tea, but couldn’t keep my shoulders from shaking with silent laughter. I was still mad, but something about disarming him disarmed me too. “Jonathan?”
He glared. But I held his gaze, and the longer we watched each other, the more that scowl melted into something vulnerable. Something tender.
He really was worried. It was endearing. Annoyingly so.
I set my cup on the counter before edging closer to him. He smelled of freshly turned soil, the sweet, resinous scent of cedar and fir trees, of fresh water and wild berries—all distinctly foreign scents in a place where there were no trees. I took a deep breath, enjoying the scent before I realized he was barely breathing at all.
“You smell good,” he echoed my thoughts with closed eyes.
“Funny, I was just thinking the same of you. You smell like the forest.” I looked out the window. “This whole thing would be a lot better if you smelled like rotting fish or something equally horrible.”
He inhaled, nose hovering over the crown of my head. “You smell like lavender and sorrel and the sea, briny and fresh. Like you would taste very good.”
We stared at each other for several moments, breathing in the other’s scents.
“Just do it,” I whispered. “I won’t ask for more.”
It was a lie. I knew it, and he knew it. But that was what addicts did, right?
Jonathan’s gaze drifted to my mouth and fixed there like it was drawn by a chain.
Unconsciously, I tucked my lower lip between my teeth.
