I wasn’t sure if that was the truth. But if so, it made sense for a wood spirit.
“Cool,” Gunnar said. “I’m glad to hear there’s still ground that can be planted. You have to stay for dinner. Burke brought plenty of food.” He glanced at me for support, and I felt bad that I hadn’t thought to ask them in the first place.
“Absolutely,” I said, glancing at Liam, then Nix. “We’d love to have you. Liam brought us some bread,” I added. “Homemade.”
Not surprisingly, Nix begged off—all the better to keep her away from two PCC agents—and Liam walked her to the door. When he made it back to the table, he paused beside me.
“Please be careful,” I whispered.
He leaned forward, his breath just a whisper. “I’m not the one with skills. Keep yourself in line, Claire.” He’d meant magic, obviously, but there was still something in the rumble of his voice that sent a spark down my spine.
I slipped an arm into Tadji’s. “Tadj, maybe you could help me in the kitchen? And, Gunnar, can you please set the table?”
I gestured to the cypress table on the left-hand side of the store. It was absolutely beautiful, with a bumpy edge of raw bark. A shame it hadn’t sold, but there weren’t many who needed a fifteen-foot-long table these days, or could afford it. I took advantage and used the store as a dining room when Gunnar and Tadji came over.
Gunnar grinned. “She says ‘set,’ but she means put away the price tag and find some chairs.”
“The less furniture I keep, the more furniture I can sell,” I reminded him.
“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
I left them to their sarcasm and hustled Tadji into the kitchen, snapped the curtain closed again.
“Details,” I whispered as I pulled out a tray to carry necessaries to the table. “Gunnar says you aren’t feeling it with—” Since the curtain was thin, I pointed toward the room where Burke stood.
“He’s a nice guy,” she said. She’d let her hair curl into ringlets today that bobbed when she moved her head. “But I’m just not sure there’s chemistry. I don’t think we have that much in common. He’s a football kind of guy. I’m an OED kind of girl.”
I nodded, moved to a drawer, pulled out a bread knife and spoons. “That might be the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Grammar isn’t nerdy,” she said with a grin. “It’s important. And my point still stands.” She shrugged. “He’s not going to be here forever, so it wouldn’t even make sense to get into something.”
“You aren’t going to be here, either,” I pointed out. When she finished her research, she wasn’t likely to find a job here. There weren’t a lot of professorships in the Zone. “If that’s your standard, you can’t date anyone.”
“And I’m okay with that, Claire. I’ve always been an introvert, and I’m not afraid to be alone. Besides, I’m focused on my work right now. I don’t really have time for dating.”
Those were perfectly legitimate reasons. She was entitled to be happy, whether with or without other people. And if being alone made it easier to track the “Etymological Origins of Paranormal Designations in Post-War French Louisiana”—I think I had the title right—more power to her. But I still worried she was making excuses. Because of her childhood, she’d never felt like she fit in anywhere, and she hated that feeling. I hated to think she was avoiding a potential love interest because of it.
“Your call, Tadj. As long as you’re happy, it’s your life to lead. But I’m still a smidge bummed. He seems so nice. And he brought dinner.”
“So why don’t you date him?”
I smiled. “Because he only has eyes for you.”
She patted my arm. “Let it go.”
“It’s gone. Will you grab some napkins?”
While I searched for enough bowls and cups, she pulled out a long drawer, took out a stack of folded napkins. Good food might have been hard to come by, but in an antique store, good linens weren’t. The monograms and embroidery didn’t match, but that hardly mattered now.
She put the napkins on the tray next to the glasses I was gathering. “And who are the new kids?”
“The bounty hunter or the gardener?”
“Let’s start with the bounty hunter. Is this related to the wraith thing? Gunnar told me about that.”
Good. Saved me trying to remember what I’d told him and match up the stories. Lying was filthy, complicated work.
“Yeah,” I said.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“And you two are . . . ?”
I frowned. “Friends. Kind of.” I pulled the bread from the sleeve, placed it on the tray. “But he brought bread. And it looks really good.”
The tray assembled, we looked down at it. Mismatched silverware, mismatched bowls, mismatched cups. Linen napkins, bread, bread knife.