See Me (See Me #1)(16)

I had to smile. “It’s this stuff called shampoo. It’s liquid soap and it’s scented.”

“Ah.” He looked confused.

I remembered now the bar of soap in our bathroom had been unscented, but I assumed they knew how to make scented soap if they’d wanted. A little man came around the corner and gasped out loud. He jumped back and shouted something in Gaelic when he saw me, then skittered away. McKale’s eyebrows went up.

“I should go,” I said.

“I’ll show ye the back way out.”

He led me the opposite direction from where I came in, and we stopped at the door. My heart gave a nervous sputter as we faced each other. He held my eyes and scratched his cheek.

“Robyn?”

Oh, my. The way he said my name…

“Yeah?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes dropped and roamed the ground as if he were struggling for words. And then with a forward rush of air he said, “Ye should know… a forced binding is not the way of our people.”

Okay…? Thoughts stuttered through my mind. “It’s not the usual way of my people either,” I said. “At least not the forced part.”

Magical boys and girls were usually given a chance to get to know one another, starting from childhood, before any sort of agreement was made by their parents. What we had was different. I wondered if he had any idea we’d been set up by a Faerie.

I wanted to assure him I wasn’t a fan of our exact predicament either, but the words wouldn’t come. We were still strangers, and I couldn’t read him yet.

He finally looked at me again, a plea in his light eyes. Sudden panic struck my chest. Did he want out of this? If McKale didn’t want to go through with the binding, would the Fae still come after my family? I would do anything in my power to keep them safe, but if he refused, what could I do? He needed to know what we were up against.

“Look, McKale, I understand how you feel, but a Faerie claimed me to bind with you when I was a baby. It’s not something that we—I—can easily back out of.”

His lips pursed and his head dropped. He scratched his cheek again. This was coming out all wrong.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to—I mean, not right this second, but if you don’t want to, then… Crap.” I shook my head. “I’m not making sense.”

“They’re forcing you?” he asked. “The Fae?”

I exhaled. “Yes.”

And now he looked sad, or hurt, or maybe worried. The pressure between us was awful. I should have never let myself imagine it would be as natural and easy as my parents’ getting together had been. They’d been forced to meet, but they had other options if they hadn’t liked one another. It sucked not to have a choice. But was I really so bad that he’d want to call it quits before he got to know me? Or maybe we were having communication problems. My hands were shaking, so I crossed my arms.

“McKale!” someone called from inside the Shoe House.

“I must go,” he whispered. His eyes met mine at the same time as the warm morning sun shifted through a break in the trees.

I had so much to say, but the only thing that came out was, “Will I see you tonight?”

“Aye.” He gave me an apologetic look before stooping to disappear through the open doors.

I spent the rest of the day pressing down paranoia that wanted to grow. Underneath it was a seed of hatred for the Fae. Such emotion was futile and would only cause bitterness, and yet the roots had sprouted.

“Maybe it was a misunderstanding,” Cassidy said at lunch, though she didn’t sound certain. “You guys will work it out when you talk tonight.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I chewed my grainy roll. “We just need to get to know each other. Right?”

“Mm-hm.” Cassidy glared across the field to where McKale walked, head down.

I knew she was thinking the worst. That he didn’t want me. And that hurt more than I cared to admit.

THE PARTY WAS IN full swing when we made it out that night. My eyes did a quick scan of the clearing until finding McKale among the musicians. As we entered the gathering, people began to approach and introduce themselves. I’d met a few people that day, but most had been busy working.

I stood with my family, shaking hands or hugging each male and female who bounded up to greet us. Brogan stood nearby, receiving claps on the back and hearty handshakes of congratulations from the men. I’d never be able to remember all of the names just yet, but they were all so friendly that my face hurt from smiling by the time we were through.

We found an open spot at a table near the musicians and sat, watching McKale on his fiddle and the people dancing. Other Irish instruments were played: wooden flutes, tin whistles, and even a small harp. McKale caught my eye between songs and held it for a few beats before giving me a bashful grin, turning me all toasty warm and confused inside. Maybe I’d made too much of our conversation that morning. Maybe he’d just been giving me an out if I wanted it. Cass saw the exchange and bumped my ankle with her own.

Across from us, Dad took a sip from his wooden mug and slapped a hand to the table, shaking his head before letting out a “Woo!” He leaned over the table and whispered, “Girls, do not drink the moonshine!” And then he took another drink.

“It’ll put hair on your chest,” Mom said, patting Dad’s pec.