“In your day? What are you, twenty-five?” Victor rolled his eyes and walked away to answer the ringing phone.
“Sorry,” she grimaced at Kingston who waved away her concern.
“Don’t worry about him. Go on, I like hearing about your day.”
“Well, only the rich had heels and soles, and those were made of wood covered in silk and calfskin with buttons and lace. Not me, of course.”
“Why not you?”
“Oh,” she frowned, “Well, I was an outcast for my entire life. Granny Rose kept us fed, but only just.”
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
It was true, there was a time she had hated her circumstance of birth, but only briefly.
“I was angry about it once, but I don’t feel that way now.”
“How come you’re not bitter?”
“Because,” she shook her head and stood up, walking over to him, “I have a chance at life now. I spent decades just watching, but I am here now, and I am breathing the same air as you, hearing the same sounds, seeing the same things-”
“You can’t possibly see what I see,” he said, and his eyes glittered as they seemed to devour her from head to toe in the closed confines of the shop.
Holley’s chest heaved with the efforts of breathing, and she understood then what it was to be in the eyeline of a predator. Kingston was part beast, and his Dragon was watching her from behind golden eyes that seemed to see far too much.
“I like these,” she grabbed a pair of something called Converse and held them high.
“Those are classics,” he grinned.
“But how does a shoe converse with its wearer? Perhaps a Witch created these?”
“She wants those?” Victor came wheezing back into the room and looked sideways at her choice.
“You heard the lady. Get her a dozen pairs, one in every color. How about boots for the snow and rain?” Kingston asked.
Holley nodded demurely and accepted his offer of the extra pairs of shoes. It was extravagant, in her opinion, but he insisted.
“Well, you’re gonna need socks,” Victor waved to the wall where dozens of clothing called socks hung on tiny plastic hooks.
Holley was amazed at the variety. Each one was so different! There were tall socks, and short, something called no-sees, and dozens more.
“They’re like stockings,” Kingston explained when the little man left to gather her things.
“Yes,” she nodded.
The colors and patterns were extraordinary! Holley had seen them on television often enough, but in actual life, they were something else.
“Can I, uh, can I touch them?” she asked and held a hand out tentatively.
“Of course,” he sounded angry, but she was so intent on a pair of little white socks with tiny dragons in every color of the rainbow to notice.
“Take as many as you want. Victor! Add these to the total and bill my credit card. I’ll carry these boxes to the car.”
“Okay,” Holley bit her lip and made her selections once he was out of sight.
By the time Kingston came back inside, she was tying the laces to a pair of forest-green Converse into two lovely although misshapen bows. A plastic bag filled with her secret hoard of dragon socks sat next to her, but she carefully avoided bringing any attention to them.
“You ready?” Kingston grunted.
Holley nodded and stood up, moaning loudly at the sinfully comfortable shoes. He growled in his throat and headed for the door, shoving it open with a loud crash.
Holley jumped and followed happily oblivious to his state. Kingston strode purposefully towards the car, leaving her to follow behind him, and she suddenly wondered why he was so angry. It had happened out of nowhere!
He didn’t look at her. Wouldn’t talk to her. And why? What had she done wrong? In her opinion, not a darn thing. But still, she worried and frowned, chewing on her lower lip as she did whenever she was nervous or contemplating something puzzling. The scenery was not that interesting anymore, not when faced with the conundrum of a Dragon’s moods.
Sigh. First hot, then cold, not hot for a different reason. Would she ever understand this man? Could she win his heart? Perhaps honesty would be best. Maybe she should just come right out and admit her feelings.
It was new to her, this uncertainty on how to proceed. Nothing had ever mattered so much to her. Yes, Holley had fought for her life, but this was different. Now, she was fighting for her love.
She played with the little button that controlled the window as she contemplated her situation. Kingston was a man and man followed base instincts. Perhaps she could appeal to those first, then make her case. But how?
She was not exactly schooled in the arts of seduction. And the idea of using feminine wiles to woo the man left her mouth dry and goose pimples running up and down her arms. Up and down, she flicked the button only stopping when he slammed on the brakes and caused her to spill forward slightly in her seat.
“Up or down. Pick one,” he growled.
“Fine,” she answered with no small amount of cheek, opting for down.
The glass was clear, but she’d been gazing at life from behind a veil for far too long. The air had grown chilly while they were shopping, but she didn’t care.
It felt good. Time to save her worry for another day, she decided. Holley smiled and waved to people as they drove past. She didn’t understand why they frowned and pointed, but that was alright. She was free. She was happy. And she wanted to share her good spirits with the entire world.
The traffic light ahead of them flashed red and Kingston stomped once more on the brakes. Holley held her hands out to keep from slamming into the dashboard this time.
Heavens, he was upset, but her curiosity was soon overpowered by a sudden undeniable hunger. Not for him. For food. Her stomach growled loudly as the most delicious fragrance she had ever encountered filled the car.
“Oh heavens! What is that smell?”
“What? Holley!”
He yelled her name and tugged on her skirt, but she already had her entire head out the window and was sucking in great, greedy gulps of air to satisfy her curiosity. The aroma was cleverly executed. A delicate balance of several fine ingredients. The result made her mouth water.
Contrary to the Guardians’ belief that the Keep’s kitchen was operated by one source of magic, Holley knew that was not true. Yes, she had coaxed the castle into punishing Storm by denying him his favorite meals on one or more occasions. And yes, she did encourage the Keep to listen to their wishes and cravings as it was her firm belief happy stomachs led to happy Guardians. But she was not the cook.
Not being able to taste anything would grossly inhibit her ability to produce anything edible. To be honest, cooking was never her forte. She did dabble in the kitchen arts, her talents lie mostly in healing salves and ointments, and some other areas. Like precognition and necromancy.
“Are you talking about Pizza Palace?”
She turned and looked at him. He was staring with one eyebrow raised perfectly in inquiry. He was so handsome.
“Pizza?” she turned back to the window, “is that what smells so wonderful?”
That was pizza? She had seen it on TV but had never smelled such deliciousness in life. Unfortunately, food in the eighteenth century was more perfunctory than appetizing.