Page 25 of Never Been Gargoyled
I’d happily help her with anything and everything for the rest of my very long life.
“Yes,” I said.
We walked back toward the house together, the wacky weeder silently watching from where I leaned it against the shed. The sun was high overhead, and the air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the flowers she'd been tending.
Dazy hummed again, that unconscious melodythat seemed to follow her everywhere. I found myself timing my steps to match hers, wanting to stay close but not too close.
This was what contentment felt like. Walking beside my mate after working together to make something beautiful. Simple and perfect and everything I'd never known I wanted.
When we reached the front steps, she paused and looked back at what we'd done.
“It's already looking better,” she said with satisfaction.
I followed her gaze, seeing the tidy borders and cleared pathways. “You have a good eye for this.”
“I hope so.” She turned to face me, and for a moment we stood there, looking at each other.
Her face was flushed from exertion, her hair escaping its braid in copper curls. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and her clothes were rumpled, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to pull her close and never let go.
Instead, I stepped back and gestured toward the door.
“After you,” I said.
She smiled and headed inside.
I followed, my heart full of hope and longing and the desperate desire to be worthy of the woman who'd brought me back to life.
Chapter 11
Dazy
It was cool inside the house, and it felt amazing. Nothing beat a big old stone building for keeping out the heat.
I was so sweaty, I must reek. Not that Feydin would mention it. From what I’d seen so far, he was a gentle-gargoyle. I could be wearing a dirt suit, and he’d tell me I was beautiful. After setting my gardening gloves on the kitchen counter, I turned to find Feydin watching me with that intense stare of his. The one that made my stomach do little flips.
“We should probably get cleaned up,” I said, brushing dirt off my jeans. “I'm a mess.”
He didn't move. Just kept looking at me in that way that made me feel like I was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Which was ridiculous. I was saturated in sweat. I had dirt under my fingernails and grass stains on myknees.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “Where do you sleep? Where do you bathe?”
The questions hung in the air. His wings tucked tight against his back and his expression went carefully blank.
Oh no. My heart sank. He didn't have anywhere to go, did he? Great Aunt Helga may not have thought about where her house gargoyle lived. What kind of person was I, not thinking to ask about his living situation before now?
“I mean, you're welcome to use the guest bathroom upstairs if you need to,” I added quickly. “Or really, any of the bathrooms. There are like five of them in this place. Maybe six. I need to do a bathroom inventory. And bedrooms too. You could pick whichever one you want and?—”
“Helga gave me the gatekeeper's cottage.” His voice came out quiet. “I sleep and bathe there.”
Relief loosened my spine. “Oh. Good. That's good.” I probably sounded silly, but I was grateful he wasn't homeless. “Is the cottage nice?”
“It's adequate.”
Adequate. That could mean anything from barely livable to gorgeous, but he was too polite to gush about it. With Feydin, I was learning that reading between the lines required a decoder ring I didn't have.
“Well, I'll wash up in my bathroom while you…” I waved my hand his way. “Take your time.”
