Page 28 of Kissing Potions and Elves
Tressa’s expression darkens with clear distress, and I feel a sharp pang at seeing Isobel’s shoulders hunch, tension tightening her features.
Fierce protectiveness surges through me, and I step forward. “It was my fault entirely. I came in late a few nights ago and startled Isobel. She bumped into the shelves because of me.”
Relief washes over Isobel’s face.
“Please, take this as a token of my apologies.” I press a heavy pouch of gold coins into Tressa’s hands. “I believe it will more than cover the loss.”
Surprise flickers briefly across Tressa’s delicate features, replaced swiftly by gratitude. “Thank you. That’s very generous of you, Lyrion.”
It occurs to me that Tressa is a master potions maker. She could potentially help me and Isobel with our problem. But I worry that if we reveal what happened, it could cost Isobel her job, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Perhaps it’s best not to mention it.
“Fortunately, I have extra herbs downstairs and I know most of my potion recipes by heart. There should be enough supplies to get through for the next few days until I can procure more,” Tressa says as she heads to the cellar to retrieve them.
When she leaves, Isobel turns to me, a grateful look on her face. “Thank you, Lyrion. You didn’t have to take responsibility for—”
“There is no need to thank me,” I tell her.
“Well, thank you anyway.” She smiles warmly and then leads me to my usual chair near the window.
She places a cup of tea on the table for me and then walks to the doors, opening them to welcome the customers. As she walks to the counter, her eyes catch mine once more, full of silent thanks before she takes the first order.
The morning rush soon overwhelmsThe Enchanted Teacup.Customers chatter happily, the café filling swiftly. Isobel darts around the room waiting tables, her golden hair slipping free of its braid as she hurries back and forth from the kitchen.
She’s utterly absorbed in her work, oblivious to the eyes following her every move. But I see them—every lingering glance and hopeful smile from the male patrons scattered throughout the space.
Something sharp and unfamiliar twists in my chest. My fingers tighten around my cup as a low, possessive growl rises in my throat.
Jealousy. I recognize it now for what it is. The same feeling I had when we met with the Fae jeweler and also when she spoke with the Orc blacksmith. I clench my jaw.Wonderful. Just what I needed. The realization sends an uneasy shiver down my spine, tangling awkwardly with the kissing potion’s ever-present insistence that I pull her against me, and kiss her until neither of us can think straight.
Across the café, a young human man with brown hair, broad shoulders, and a chiseled face that would rival even a male of my own kind, flashes a charming smile at Isobel as she hurries past.
I grit my fangs as he asks her if she has plans for the weekend, hinting that perhaps he’d like to court her. But Isobel only smiles distractedly, completely oblivious to his flirtation.
I force myself to look away, but my gaze snaps back immediately as another male patron—this one a Fae—tries to catch her eye. He even has the audacity to flare his blue wings in an obvious display of interest.
And I understand why they are all drawn to her. She’s radiant—kind, intelligent, beautiful, and strong. Her laughter floats across the café, melodic and bright as the sun. Who wouldn’t notice her?
The fact that it bothers me… that another male merely looking at her makes my pulse quicken and my mood darken is deeply unsettling.
Is this jealousy just a lingering side effect of the potion, or something entirely my own? I should be able to dismiss it easily, yet I can’t. Not completely.
When she turns to me and smiles, something twists sharply in my chest. An emotion I have absolutely no desire to examine.
And yet, deep down, I realize that this jealousy… this protectiveness isn’t something I can simply blame on the kissing potion. It’s coming from somewhere within. And I’m not quite sure how I feel about this.
Stars above, what is this human doing to me?
CHAPTER 15
ISOBEL
As we make our way back to Lyrion’s home, at the end of the day, the village streets are quiet, lit by lanterns glowing in windows, spilling pools of warm, inviting light onto the cobblestone paths. Lyrion walks beside me. Occasionally, our shoulders brush, and every small touch sends a delicious shiver racing along my spine.
I glance around, noticing the villagers’ curious eyes as they peek from behind curtains or pause in their conversations, their expressions openly intrigued. Heat climbs my neck, burning my cheeks.
I glance up at Lyrion. “You realize people are probably talking about us, right?”
“Let them talk and assume whatever they want,” he says casually. “Their opinions do not matter.”
