Page 12 of The Incubus's Angel
Maisie doesn’t know it yet, but not only has she unconsciously yanked me out of my comfort zone, but she has inserted herself into my safety bubble too. Oddly, I mind it much less than I thought I would. I kind of don’t mind it at all. I may even be looking forward to her coming over. If she decides to show up.
No, Ren. Don’t spiral now. One thing at a time. Tidy the house. And for fuck’s sake make sure the shutters are open this time. Don’t want her to think you live in a den of darkness, even though you do half the time.
I weave my way through the tangerine grove, pausing a couple of times to snap pictures of things that catch my eye—the petals of a daisy, the intricate bark on a tree, a bee gathering pollen—before I finally make it to the clearing of my house.
The moment my feet hit the familiar cobbled path, I look up, only to freeze on the spot.
Framed by my turquoise front door, is Maisie. Her hand hovers in front of the door, looking like she’s about to knock before she lowers it again. Even from this distance I can see her chewing nervously on her lip.
How long has she been standing there? Has she knocked once already and thinks I’m purposefully not answering the door? Or that I stood her up?
Maisie’s shoulders curl forward as she wrings the handle of her wicker basket, and my heart gives an uncomfortable squeeze. I want to call out to her, but my voice is trapped in my throat. Pushing my glasses higher up the bridge of my nose, I think about what I want to say, but I can’t manage to think of one thing, and for some reason my feet don’t want to move either.
Luckily, she turns around right at that time.
The way Maisie’s face blooms when she sees me thaws every single icicle rooting me to the spot. Finally able to move my limbs, I raise my hand and wave at her, and my mouth lifts into a distant echo of her smile.
Maisie drops her basket by the door and skips over to me. “I knocked but there was no answer. And you said you were always home so I thought maybe you changed your mind. Which you’re totally able to do, no hard feelings. But I’m glad to know that you were out here and not in there listening to my knocks only to ignore me. Kind of not very good for the ego, if you know what I mean. Have you had breakfast yet? I know I’m early, but we didn’t really specify a time. That’s another thought I had. What if you were sleeping and didn’t hear me? How long should I wait outside before I try again? And… I’m babbling again. Sorry. Hi.” Maisie slaps a hand over her mouth as if she needs the extra effort to keep the words from running free, a charming pink tinting the tops of her cheeks.
She’s the most adorable creature I’ve ever encountered.
I clear my throat. “I was out taking some photos. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you stress.”
Maisie shakes her head and kindly waves my excuse off, one hand still clamped over her mouth.
Together, we stroll back to the house. Needing to fill the silence, I explain, “I’m not much of a morning person, but today I wanted to be outside early.”
That seems to do the trick because Maisie drops her hand from her mouth and hooks her arm into mine. “I hate mornings too. I’m much more of a night owl. Scratch that, I’m the ‘I need a nap in the middle of the day’ kind of creature. Does that make me a cat? The ceremony was brutally early, wasn’t it?”
I try my best to act nonchalant, like this isn’t the first time in my life a female of roughly the same age as me has shown me physical affection. “Yeah, it kind of was.” Needing her to fill the silence with easy chatter again before I say something stupid like tell her how good she smells, I ask, “What kind of baking do you have planned today?”
“Oh! I was thinking about making a tangerine cardamom olive oil cake. I brought all the ingredients with me. Only need to add fresh tangerines. I tried picking a few earlier, but many were still hard. I need them soft so I can squeeze the juice out of them.” Maisie interrupts herself to give me an appraising look, and I can’t help but puff out my chest, trying to look tough and not like my heart is in my throat.
“You’re pretty tall!” she says. Don’t know if it’s real or my imagination, but her tone sounds impressed. “Maybe you can help me reach some of the tangerines that are a bit higher up in the trees? If you don’t mind, of course. And could you maybeshow me how to tell if they’re perfectly ripe? I picked a couple on my way into town yesterday, but they were a little sour. Thankfully I taste test everything before I combine ingredients or bake. Can you imagine the disaster that would be if I didn’t?”
Maisie, I’d climb every tree and strip them bare for you if it’ll make you smile.For the first time in my life I’m happy for my shy nature, because I couldn’t entertain giving voice to such revealing thoughts. Instead, I settle for a friendly, “Sure. I’d be happy to help. Do you want me to show you now?”
“Yes! And later, I’d love to see some of the pictures you took. If you want to show me, of course. I’m a big fan of consent.”
Oh fuck. I’m going to have to tell her about the picnic.Sweat prickles the back of my neck at the mere thought of how much Maisie will hate me once she finds out what I did.
Pretending I’m not spinning out, I clear my throat. “Sure. But fair warning, my pictures are all boring. Just nature stuff. It helps me get out of the house and not stuck in front of my computer all day.”
“Can’t imagine anything about you is boring,” she says sincerely, her eyes shining with the sentiment.
Oh, Maisie. If you only knew.
Chapter 7
Maisie
Ren is probably the sweetest creature I’ve met in my life. After helping me pick tangerines and showing me how to tell when they’re ripe, he helps me unpack my basket and organizes all the ingredients neatly on the kitchen table while I tie my apron on over my yellow plaid sundress. He takes care with my small collection of spices, arranging them so all the labels face my side of the table. The thoughtful action sends a pang of gratitude through me, making my toes tap happily inside my shoes.
Ren hovers next to the table, fidgeting with the string of his hoodie. “Uhm, I’ll get out of your hair now. Feelfree to call me if you need anything. I’ll just be by the computer over there,” he explains, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the room across from the kitchen.
In other homes, people might use that space as a living room, but Ren’s desk takes up almost half of it, with only a small blue couch against the opposite wall. Besides that and the kitchen, the only other thing down here I can see is the bathroom tucked under the stairs, which means his bedroom is most likely upstairs.
Before he can leave, I reach out and take one of his hands in both of mine. “Thank you so much for all your help. And for letting me use your oven. I’ll try to be quiet and not disturb you too much,” I say, infusing all the appreciation I have for him into my voice. “And I promise to be on my best behavior and bake you the best cake I can,” I add with a cheeky wink.
