Page 1 of Kissing Potions and Elves
CHAPTER 1
ISOBEL
I’m nearly finished mopping the café, ready to head home for the evening, when a sharp knock on the door makes me jump. It’s not a polite knock, either. It’s one of those firm, crisp knocks that saysI don’t care that your sign says Closed. Open the door anyway.
I freeze mid-swipe, staring at the window through the steamy glow of our lantern charms.
Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him. Please don’t be—
It’s him.
Lyrion.
Of course it is.
Tall, brooding, and annoyingly elegant, he stands framed in the café window, his broad shoulders squared confidently despite the drizzle soaking through his cloak. His pointed Elf ears peek up through the damp strands of his long, straight black hair as it falls forward, framing a face so strikingly handsome it momentarily steals my breath.
With piercing violet eyes, his features are sharp and refined, with high cheekbones that seem sculpted from marble, a strong, defined jawline, and full lips that look perpetually set in a faint, alluring smirk.
The fine fabric of his dark tunic clings to his lean, muscular form. His trousers are neatly fitted, tucked into polished black boots that gleam even in the dim lantern light. His dark cloak adds an extra layer of sophistication to his appearance.
My pulse quickens as his lips part, just enough for me to glimpse the sharp points of his canines, a subtle but unmistakable reminder that he’s a High Elf. His long, graceful fingers tap impatiently against the glass, revealing short, gleaming black claws.
He knocks again, and the sound echoes through me like a summons, pulling me reluctantly yet irresistibly in his direction.
With a deep breath to steady my nerves, I wipe my hands on my apron and shuffle to the door, unlocking it with a trembling hand. The moment I crack it open, I’m hit with his delicious scent of parchment, and rain-drenched pine.
Every inch of him radiates noble elegance, his presence so commanding yet effortlessly refined that my heart races wildly, warmth blossoming in my cheeks.
“Good evening,” I squeak.
Lyrion winces and presses his fingers to his temple.
I recognize the signs. It must be another one of his headaches. He seems to have them rather often and he comes here for Tressa’s famous headache potion tea.
His gaze barely flicks toward me. “I need tea.”
Right. Nohello. Nosorry to bother you so late.Just...tea.Like a royal decree.
I twist my fingers in the hem of my apron, trying to sound polite. “We’re actually closed for the evening, my lord.”
I instantly regret calling him that. He’s not technically a lord—probably. Though everyonesayshe’s of noble blood. His robes are always too fine, his boots too polished, and his posture too straight for a common Elf. Not to mention, his gaze is extremely judgmental. He evendrinkstea like he’s judging the leaf’s lineage.
He lifts one perfectly arched brow, then rubs his temples again. “I can see that. But I’m not asking for the entire menu. Just a headache tonic. One cup.”
“But—”
He steps forward like the door isn’t even there, and I instinctively move back. Before I know it, he’s inside, shaking water from his cloak and looking around the shop like he owns the place.
I trail behind him helplessly. “I—I really think it might be better to wait until morning,” I offer, twisting a damp dish towel in my hands. “Tressa is much better at the potions. I mostly, um... wait the tables and clean.”
“I don’t have until morning,” he says, voice tight and clipped. “The headache has been building all day, and now it feels like a hammer behind my eyes. I need the tonic now.”
He moves to sit at his usual table by the window and rests his elbows on the surface, fingers pressing against his temples.
His notebook is nowhere in sight for once. That alone tells me how bad it is.
Still, I hesitate. I shouldn’t do this. I’m worried I’ll mess up the recipe. I have trouble identifying the ingredients because I can’t read. It’s the reason I always volunteer to work the front counter and wait tables while Tressa mixes the potions.
