Page 25 of My Faire Lady

“Lottie’s,” Scarlet echoes.

My chest balloons. I like the way it sounds coming from her.

A warm breeze twists through the bar and lifts the hem of my skirt, dragging it over the dusty, knotted wood. Scarlet opens her mouth, as if she’s about to say something, but another group slides up to the bar.

“You’re wasting time standing here,” Scarlet says, turning to the customers.

The space behind my sternum freezes over, and I lower my gaze to my feet, fingers knotting into my skirt. It’s better this way, to remind myself that my time here is just as fleeting as whatever warmth she gives me. Swallowing, I step through the swinging doors and into the back room.

I lift my bag from the hook and shove the stained clothes deeper into its depths. I could give them to Scarlet now, or leave them behind in the backroom for her to find, but a small, selfish part of me wants to see her again before the day is over. And if I still have the clothes, she’ll have to come see me at the shoppe.

But not any shoppe.

Lottie’s.

Smiling to myself, I push through the back door and follow the dirt path around the front of the bar. The new flower baskets swing lazily in the breeze, and a line forms, curling around the building. Scarlet looks up from where she’s bent over the counter, taking an order from a pirate, and our eyes meet, lingering for a heartbeat longer than they should. She tilts her head, studying me like she’s asked a question I haven’t yet answered. But she swallows and returns to the customer.

I weave through the paths, following the signs to the quad and shoppes. Tree limbs curl over me, offering a small reprieve from the sun climbing into the sky. Last weekend, I only saw a couple of people, but now a steady trickle of fairgoers pass by, their faces turned toward the schedules on the back of their maps.

Laughter billows into the air, and a group takes off toward the mermaid’s cove, their iridescent wings flapping, dust pluming under their footsteps.

Something catches my attention overhead—little more than a shift in the treetops. There’s a glimmer, as if a ray of sun passed through a kaleidoscope. I halt and squint at the broad leaves, where a pair of wings no bigger than my palm splays open, each catching the light in a prism.

Then it’s gone.

Pursing my lips, I scan the path, but no one else has their face tilted to the sky. A thin layer of dew clings to the treetops, droplets shimmering beneath the rising sun. It could have been a trick of the light. Perhaps a butterfly or hummingbird took flight deeper into the tree.

“Have you lost your way?”

I startle and whirl on my heel, where Boden stands with his hands clasped behind his back. His hair is pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, and his pointed ears part through the thick waves. I’ve only seen him a handful of times since I started here, but this is the first he’s been in typical clothing.

Giving a final glance to the treetops, I shake my head. “I thought I saw something. Like a butterfly, but not quite.”

He comes up beside me, but doesn’t stop, leading me along the path and closer to the shoppes. “These grounds are ancient. There are bound to be things you cannot explain.”

I furrow my brow. “Have you seen things, too? Things you can’t explain?”

“Oh, Lottie, there are things all around us that can’t be explained, and it’s a waste of time to try.”

I tilt my head, looking at him through my curtain of curls. “You don’t think we should try and make sense of our world?”

“Why should we? If there are things in the world that don’t want to be made sense of.” His eyes take on a depth, like he’s sorting through a lifetime of experiences I’ve stayed too sheltered to hold in my hands. “But there’s one thing I can’t quite sort out, no matter how hard I try.”

My gaze flicks to his ears. “What’s that?”

The trees go silent—not a snap of a twig or a bird chirping in the branches. In the distance, the quad opens, and people walk back and forth across the opening.

He slows. “Life is short. So I can’t piece together why two people who are so clearly drawn to each other would do everything in their power to stay apart.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I⁠—”

“Don’t deny it,” he interrupts, pausing at the edge of the tree line.

“Even if I was drawn to her, which I’m not, it wouldn’t matter,” I say, under my breath. “I’ll only be here for the summer.”

Blowing out a low breath, he shakes his head. “Could you live the rest of your life with the ‘what ifs?’”

A churning swells in my stomach, and I cross my arms over my chest as if it can shield me from the truth in his words or the way those ‘what ifs’ gnaw at me. Now I understand why Scarlet is always in armor.