Page 33 of Enchanted Village

The hammering started up again, making Margaret jump. Now, this was too loud. It was as if it was coming from—

Downstairs.

Margaret sat straight up. She threw off the sheets, dug around for a clean sweater from the laundry pile on the floor, and yanked it on. She searched for her slippers and slipped her feet into those after finding them, then dashed toward her door and down the stairs.

Liza’s voice floated back up to her.

“—been telling her that she should decorate for the contest coming up,” Liza was saying. “That would certainly draw some folks in—oh, good morning, sunshine!”

It was not the first time that Liza had let herself into the pub, but it was, perhaps, the first time she had done it before Margaret had gotten up. After all, Margaret had always been an early riser, the one up at six during their sleepovers while Liza slept in until nine. So how was it possible that Liza was now sitting in the newly reupholstered and mended chair, which she had turned toward the window, where . . .

Where Silas was practically horizontal on the ground, hammering away at the bottom of one of Margaret’s bar stools, one that was most notorious for wobbling under customers. Margaret had always relied on the tried and true “folded-up napkin” strategy to keep it steady, had never even considered attempting to, well, fix it. But that was exactly what Silas appeared to be doing now. And there, curled beside him, was Bernie, watching rapturously as he worked.

“Ah, Margaret,” Silas said, looking up at her and grinning. “Apologies if I woke you up. Liza assured me you were already awake.”

Margaret glared at Liza. “What time is it?”

“Ten,” Liza said with a smirk.

Margaret’s eyes widened with horror. “Ten?”

“I charmed your alarm so you wouldn’t wake up,” Liza said with a shrug. “Seemed like you needed to rest.”

“How did you—” Margaret stammered. “How did you even know I—”

“I ran into Silas last night when he was on his way home from working on the pub,” Liza explained. “And he said you’d been helping Norma with some kind of creature all afternoon. Said he needed to get some materials and come back, so I offered to let him in this morning.”

There was glee in Liza’s eyes. Margaret wanted to swat at her, wanted to be annoyed, but the truth was . . . god, Liza was right. She’d needed that sleep. However—

“Silas,” Margaret said. “I’m extremely grateful for your help, but I assure you, you don’t need to do this. What you did last night was more than enough to make up for what happened. And, like I said, that wasn’t even your fault.”

Silas gave the stool one last hammer, then tilted it so that it stood up. He pushed against the side, but even on the stone, it didn’t wobble.

“Right,” Silas said, standing up and dusting off his slacks. They were dark brown, and he was wearing a cream-colored undershirt that clung to his chest and arms. There was the slightest sheen of sweat at his temples, which he wiped with the back of his hand. His shirt lifted, revealing a sliver of his stomach that Margaret swiftly averted her eyes from.

“So, while I appreciate what you’re doing,” Margaret continued, seeing as Silas had not exactly responded to what she’d just said, “I want to again stress that it isn’t necessary.”

Silas chuckled, turning to face her now as he pushed back his dark curls with his free hand and settled those shockingly blue eyes on her.

“I thought we decided yesterday,” he said. “That we’re friends and that, as a friend, I’m here to help.”

Margaret sucked in a breath. “Well, yes, but you also said you wanted to make up for what happened—”

“And I’m glad we’re in agreement that that particular debt has been paid,” he said. “But I swear that, now, I’m not doing anything because I feel like I have to. I’m doing this because I want to. And there are very few things that will stop me from doing what I want.”

His eyes shone in her direction, hair falling across his brow so that he had to swipe it away again with the back of his hand. That movement, combined with what he’d just said . . .

Margaret swallowed. He was only talking about the chores, only talking about fixing things around her pub. And they were friends. They’d both made that perfectly clear.

“Besides,” Silas said, straightening up and sliding the hammer into his pocket, “the quicker we get all of these little things fixed, the sooner we can prepare for the opening of Fox Bar, right?”

Margaret’s mouth felt dry. “Oh, of course, but—”

“Exactly right,” Liza cut in, “she needs all the help she can get. So, thank you, Professor. She’s extremely grateful.”

Liza’s eyes narrowed at Margaret, as if daring her to disagree.

“Great,” Silas said, grinning before checking his watch. A non-magical watch, Margaret assumed, that told him the actual time. “I should probably get going to prep for my afternoon classes. But I’m happy to come back for the window tomorrow. I should be able to figure out the materials by then.”