Page 27 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“She’s still asleep,” Isobel replies. “I don’t think she’s used to getting up this early, and I didn’t want to wake her.”
“No one should have to get up this early,” I grumble.
“Here. This should brighten your day.” She sets a cup of tea before me with a warm smile. “Now, let’s turn that frown upside down, shall we?”
Arching a brow, I take the first sip.
She settles across from me with her own cup, blowing gently on the steaming liquid. Her eyes sparkle, inexplicably happy. I’m completely baffled by her enthusiasm.
“How can you possibly be this cheerful? You’re up before the sun, and you are about to spend your day waiting on demanding customers.”
She shrugs, sipping her tea. “I have a job. I have breakfast. And I have good company.” She grins. “That’s plenty to be cheerful about, don’t you agree?”
“Good company?” I happen to know I am anything but. Especially in the mornings before I’ve had my breakfast tea. I narrow my eyes in mock offense. “Why do I get the distinct feeling you’re making fun of me?”
Isobel laughs softly. “I’m only teasing, Lyrion.”
Vaelar help me, I adore the sound of her laughter.
“Besides, how do you know I wasn’t speaking of Errol?” she adds with a grin.
I take another sip of my tea to hide the faint smile threatening to curve my mouth.
By the time we step outside, the faintest sliver of sunlight is peeking over the horizon, turning the sky into a delicate canvas of gold and pink. The village slowly wakes around us, windows glowing softly, the sleepy streets beginning to stir.
The closer we get to the café, the more villagers emerge. Shopkeepers wave cheerfully to Isobel, greeting her by name with easy familiarity.
Brakkus gives her a friendly smile as we pass his blacksmith shop. “Morning, Isobel,” his deep voice rumbles. “The sun always seems brighter when you pass.”
She laughs. “Why thank you, Brakkus.”
I grit my teeth, a sharp flare of irritation prickling my chest. Moon above, am I jealous? I shouldn’t be. It’s not as if she’s my mate. And she’s merely being polite. Yet the sight of her lovely smile directed at the Orc sends a surge of annoyance burning through me.
We enter quietly through the back door of the café, the scent of herbs and flour mixing with the comforting aroma of old wood and lingering tea leaves.
I watch Isobel move about the kitchen, her motions confident and practiced. She crouches before the oven, deftly coaxing fire from embers. Morning light filters through the windows, casting her in a lovely glow.
My breath catches at the quiet beauty of her determined focus. To think that she does this every morning, alone, without complaint. I cannot help but offer, “Is there anything I can do?”
She glances over her shoulder, offering a warm smile that squeezes at my heart. “I’ve got it, thank you.”
Isobel walks down into the cellar, emerging a few moments later with a heavy bag of flour. I move without thought, intercepting her burden. “Allow me.”
When I take the weight from her arms, she gives me a grateful look.
She then begins mixing dough to make scones, and I find myself drawn to her side again, compelled by some strange need to ease her workload. “Please, Isobel. Let me help.”
She hesitates, cheeks flushing prettily before she nods and hands me the wooden spoon. “Just stir gently.”
I follow her instructions as she moves about the small kitchen, humming quietly to herself, the melody sweet and soothing. Her industriousness astounds me. Already she has accomplished more before dawn than many do in an entire day.
We move seamlessly to the café tables, arranging chairs and polishing surfaces, preparing the space to welcome its first patrons. My gaze keeps drifting to Isobel, captivated by the simple beauty of her routine, her quiet strength mesmerizing.
The sound of the back door opening signals Tressa’s arrival. She sweeps in, her silver-white hair plaited in an elaborate braid and her delicate green dragonfly wings shimmering behind her. Her golden eyes sharpen with concern as she looks around the kitchen.
“What happened here?” She gestures to the empty shelves, where all her herbs once were. “Where are all the jars and containers?”
“Tressa, I’m so sorry.” Isobel’s voice trembles slightly. “I accidentally knocked over the shelves. All your herbs and jars.”
