Her look of concern gives way to a curious frown. “What is F for?”
“Frogs.” I grin, grab one, and hold it right under her nose. “Maybe your super prince hides inside one of these?”
Instead of grimacing and pushing away like I expected, she just folds her arms and cocks a daring eyebrow. “What? You think I won’t kiss it?”
I think I would throw up if I had to put my lips on one of these little slimebags. Since she’s so eager to meet her royal ever after, I push the frog forward a little.
Riley tucks her legs under her bottom and takes the toxic-green amphibian from me. Almost tenderly, she holds it up to her face. In a tick-tock rhythm, her gaze switches from the animal to me and back.
“Scared?” I taunt her, unsure if she really has the guts to go through with this.
Determined, she presses her lips together then puckers them and closes her eyes. Good Grimm, she can’t really—
No!
My face contorts with disgust when the smack sounds out, and Riley leans back with a content expression. That, however, morphs quickly into a sullen frown. “What? You don’t turn into a prince?” She presses another kiss on the amphibian’s head. And another. When her efforts remain fruitless, she tosses the frog aside and grabs the next.
In a rapid mania, she kisses her way through at least seventeen of the slimy fellas. I need to duck to escape getting hit square in the face by her discards.
“Ugh, Riley.”
My grunt breaks her mission. “What?”
“You’re like a steamroller on love drugs.”
A deep sigh escapes her. Still holding the latest frog in her petite hand, she drops her arm, and her face scrunches in disappointment. “What’s wrong with them? Why won’t they turn into gorgeous princes?”
“I don’t know.” I try, but I can’t hold back a chuckle at her cute expression. At least it doesn’t explode out as full-on laughter. “Maybe you’re going for the wrong kind?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, everybody can kiss pretty frogs, right?”
“You think a real prince would hide in an ugly toad?”
“The ugliest.” Luckily, we have one right there on a rock. I pick up the warty thing and offer it to my gallant prince huntress. Her cheeks turn pale, and her eyes pop wide as she takes the toad and nearly gags.
Okay, total fail. I’m rolling on the ground, laughing.
“Oh, man, why can’t princes hide behind pretty animals? Like birds,” she whines. “I wouldn’t mind kissing a robin.”
Bravely, she puckers her lips once more but, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t bring herself to kiss the toad. Every attempt ends with her face contorting, and her body shaking in revulsion. I have to wipe tears from my eyes.
“You’re doing this because I stuffed the wooden spoon down your throat, right?” she murmurs.
Revenge? “Maybe…” Being forced to choke up an old woman—and a cat—was one of my less pleasant experiences this week. She deserves to be taunted a little for it. In the end, I take pity on my girl, though, and release the toad from her death-grip. “Let it go, honeydrop. There was only ever one prince that turned green, and that frog is already taken.”
“But…” Her shoulders slump, and her eyebrows follow suit.
I put the toad back on the rock, take Riley’s hand, and pull her up with me. As we take a shortcut home, I drape an arm around her and kid with a smirk, “If you’re really so desperate to find a royal lover, you’ll have to dig a hole and wait until some unlucky bastard falls into it.”
Riley stops so quickly that my hand drops from her shoulders. Her suddenly exhilarated gaze locks with mine. “Say that again!”
Uh-oh. “It was a joke.”
Clasping the front of my t-shirt in her small fists, she beams right up at my face. “No, Jack, you’re brilliant!”
I’m not exactly sure I would call myself that right now. “You don’t really want to catch a prince in a burrow, do you?”
“Of course not, silly. That would be a stupid idea.” Releasing my shirt, she grabs my hand and enigmatically pulls me along the path through the trees. “How long is Geppetto’s workshop open today?”
“I don’t know.” But from the excitement in her whole bearing, perhaps I should hope it’s already closed when we get there.
Chapter 11
Riley
Thursday morning, I carry a basketful of nails, screws, rope, a screwdriver, and two hammers into the forest. Jack trudges after me, carrying the wood.
Yesterday evening when we came to Geppetto’s workshop, the Closed sign was still swinging behind the glass in the door. We missed him by seconds. With this brilliant plan forming in my head, every hour counted, so I told Jack to meet me at the shop right at cockcrow the next morning. It took a bit of hard work to make him come when he kept rolling his eyes, but in the end, he agreed. Most likely because he was too curious to see what I would craft today.
“Don’t dawdle back there!” I call over my shoulder. “There’s lots to do before this trap will be prince-fit.”
“I’m a wolf, not a drudge,” his querulous words drift to me from some twenty feet behind, followed by a low grumble of curses that I don’t want to repeat.
Close to the mill near the Timeless Brook, warm sunrays break through the treetops and mark the perfect spot for my trap. With a happy sigh, I put the basket down and swirl around to Jack. He’s a walking woodpile on legs. I can’t see anything of him above his belly button. “Watch out!” I say quickly and step aside before he knocks me over. “You can drop it here.”
A relieved grunt sounds from behind the wood. He lowers his arms, and a giant load of laths falls, tumbling to the mossy ground. With his forearm, he wipes the sweat from his face and braces his other hand against a tree trunk to catch his breath. “What do you need all this wood for? That’s enough to build a house.”
Not a house, but a box. A huge one. I push the hood of my cloak back. It’s fastened around my neck again because, last night, I replaced the button that popped off when Jack tried to blow me naked. From the inside pocket of the cloak, I remove the plan for my genius trap, which I rather awesomely drew with some fancy crayons. Unfolding the paper, I lay it on the ground and beckon Jack over with a nod. He lowers beside me.
The picture shows some trees. “That’s the woods,” I point out.
It earns me a wry look from Jack. “No shit.”
Ugh, he can be so unnerving in the early morning hours. “Right, so this,” I explain, ignoring his grumpiness as I point a finger at the blue square in the center of the drawing, “is the bed we’re going to make for the prince.”
“A bed?” Jack raises one eyebrow, sitting back on his heels. Like a sulking pixie, he folds his arms across his chest. “In the forest?”
“Yeah, well…they are easier to catch when they’re asleep.” Why can’t he just shut up and stick with my plan? It’s brilliant! “If a prince is racing his horse through the woods, he might be tired and appreciate a snug place to rest for a moment. I thought of bringing my sofa out here, but a pile of pillows will do, I guess. The main point is for it to look cozy and inviting to him.”
His eyes sparkle and his mouth becomes a tight curve, small dimples in his cheeks telling me how hard he’s trying not to laugh. Argh! He waves a hand at me. “Okay, go on.”
Bracing my palms on my thighs as I kneel on the ground, I lick my lips and emphasize my next words. “If you don’t take this seriously, you may as well go home, and we’ll eighty-six the whole plan.” I nail him with a scowl. “But then you’re coming to the ball with me, and you're going to help me pick a lover. Understand?”