Page 50 of Enchanting the Elf
“Yoda lady who?” The moment the words fly out of my mouth, I hear exactly what they sound like.
“I didn’t know you could yodel like that,” Florence says through giggles. She has to stop walking as she doubles over with laughter. Finding it impossible to withstand her cheerfulness, my own chuckles bubble up in my throat and join hers.
Being with Florence feels like a warm blanket on a cold night, causing an unnamed emotion to coil tightly in my chest.
Once our laughter subsides and we can resume walking, Florence says, “So, tell me more about where we’re going.”
I have this strange urge to hold her hand, but I quickly shake the thought away and point straight down the path at the bright light seeping through the gap ahead.
“We’re heading to a meadow I really like. It’s still within my warded area so we’re safe from being detected.”
“Is there anyone specific we should be happy about not being detected by?”
I think about my father, the other professors, and decide to be truthful.
“My father is my biggest concern. Especially at such a sensitive time. But we are safe here.” I give her a reassuring look before I continue, “This meadow is where I played as a young boy, and it is where I come to clear my head when needed.”
Florence pauses and my own feet halt. She places a hand on her chest and looks at me with the most sincere expression I have ever seen on someone’s face and my heart loses its rhythm for a second.
“Thank you for sharing such a personal place with me. It means more to me than I can express.”
We stay like that for a moment, eyes locked on each other, and I search her face. The desire to do something irresponsible—like threading my fingers into her hair and taking sweet, sipping kisses from her luscious lips, tasting her until she melts into my arms—rushes to the forefront of my brain. I swallow hard instead and form my lips into something that resembles a smile.
“You are most welcome.”
A contented silence settles between us as we resume walking, and I shove my free hand in my pocket to keep the flexing less noticeable, the other firmly grasping the picnic basket. Florence remains in my peripheral view at all times. I want—no,need—to see her reaction once we make it to the clearing.
She does not disappoint.
Florence’s hands fly to her mouth and her eyes fill with tears. A single drop makes its way down her cheek and the visceral need to wipe it away makes me stumble back a step.
The movement catches Florence’s eye and she turns to me with so many emotions blatantly apparent in her face. There’s awe, thankfulness, joy, and I lower my shields a sliver to read the final one. Curiosity.
Florence bites her lip, then takes a shaky breath.
“How did you…? Is this…? I mean, wow! It’s even more beautiful than my dream.”
I tilt my head, not quite following what she’s getting at.
“Come again?”
“This meadow. I had a dream about it months ago, but it was in fall and the colors were spectacular. I did an embroidery piece on it. But it was definitely this particular spot.”
“You had a dream about my meadow?” I ask incredulously.
Florence crosses her arms across her chest and pink stains her cheeks.
“Well, right until now I kind of thought of it asmymeadow.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and stares somewhere behind me as she speaks. “But yeah, I completed the piece well before the trip to the Caribbean. I have pictures of it on my phone back home. I mean your home. Not that your home is my home. I know it’s temporary. I just mean I left my phone in the bedroom that I am using while I am a guest in your house for a yet-to-be-specified period of time,” Florence rushes out with hands flying all over the place to emphasize her point. The pink on her cheeks intensifies to a darker shade of red, the color spreading to her ears and down her neck, blooming across her chest.
I avert my gaze the moment it travels to her perky breasts—pretending I never imagined coming all over those tits—and I look at the field with scattered cornflowers, surrounded by tall trees on all sides and a stately oak tree toward its center.
“You are welcome in my home however long you want. I would like it if you treated it as your own. Go through all the cupboards, study all the paintings, explore all the rooms. It is my fault for not making you feel more comfortable. I aim to rectify my behavior and show you each room personally.” I flinch as I replay my words in my head. “Okay, maybe noteachroom, but I vow to try my best.”
“You’re so sweet. Thank you for offering.”
“I am not sweet.”
“You’re ooey-gooey delicious caramelly goodness under that grouchy shell, Mr. Alberad. If I was allowed to touch you I’d totally tackle you into a tickle fight right now.” Florence lifts her hands in front of her body and flutters her fingers in a tickling motion.
