Bookishly Ever After (Ever After #1)(37)
As soon as I reached the Oh, Knit! storefront, I started breathing again.
On Monday, Dev won the coveted seat in English again. He threw a grin over his shoulder, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and started texting something. Zhdanova was going to kill him.
My phone buzzed and I snuck a peek at it.
Sorry I didn’t ask you about your trip yesterday. Talk at lunch?
No sitting at our table to talk about the spring musical stuff—he just wanted to hang out with me. A giddy little feeling rose up into my head like I was filled with helium and I boldly tapped his shoulder. When he turned to face me, I nodded. My grin matched his, like we were sharing our own little secret.
December was going to be amazing.
Golden series book 1: Golden PG 320
“So, if you hadn’t found me and I hadn’t touched the harp, someone else would have become the Harper?”
“Yes, if they had the potential.” Aedan finished pulling on his embossed leather breastplate and turned around so she could fasten his straps. “It’s lucky for us it was you, with the advantage your goblin blood will give us.” He added over his shoulder.
She’d been so focused on tightening the leather buckles without letting her fingers linger too long on the muscles of his back that his last sentence registered only after she was done. Maeve pulled back and covered her mouth and nose with her hand, unable to hold back a snort-y laugh.
“What’s so funny?” He strapped on a pair of gauntlets and side-eyed her when she let out another snort.
“The luck of the Irish?” She peeked through her fingers and scrunched her nose at him. The air in the weapons cavern had been so heavy with battle, it felt good to laugh. “Or maybe Leprechaun luck? Next, you’re going to tell me I need to defend your pot of gold, too.”
“Stereotypes, the whole lot of them.” He shook his head. “Americans. We should have banned travel to and from the New World centuries ago.”
“Mmm-hmm. You’re just lucky to have me. Maybe I should kiss the blarney stone or jump a bonfire before the battle or something to make me even luckier7.”
“Those superstitions aren’t about luck,” Aedan turned to the pegs on the wall holding the leather armor the weaponsmith had fashioned especially for her. “And even if they were, luck isn’t going to—” he started, switching back to serious warrior mode.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. It was now or never. “Before you say anything else, I want to give you something for the battle.” She reached into her pocket and tried to keep her voice light. “I have my lucky coin, but you need something, too.” The small, clear resin oval started cooling the minute it hit the air. “I had one of the girls in the dorms make this for you.”
Aedan reached out to take the stone from her upturned hand, his fingers brushing her palm with the barest of touches that shot fire up her arm and nearly stopped her heart. Silent and serious, he held it up to the light, the trapped four leaf clover glowing green at the heart of the clear stone.
Bracing herself for another rejection, she barreled on. “I found this clover on the hill at Tara the day I met you. My grandmom always told me the best good luck charms come from someone who loves you8.” Her eyes met his golden ones and suddenly, all her doubts about his true feelings dissolved. “I didn’t think it was lucky back then, but—”
With his free hand, he pulled her as close as his armor would allow, dropping his forehead to touch hers. “It’s better than lucky, because it brought me you.”
22
December turned out to be frustrating.
“Again, from the top,” Osoba ignored our groans and lifted her baton. “I’m not letting any of you go until you get this phrase right.”
I glanced at the clock, trying not to look too obvious. At the rate we were going, we would miss the late bus, which meant bumming rides off of the seniors or playing parent pickup roulette. Even though Osoba had the power to call after-school orchestra practices for our winter concert, I wondered if she was actually allowed to make us stay this late.
We started again from the top, and, as we got to the flute section she always picked on, Osoba yelled out, “Staccat-to!” I staccato-ed the heck out of those notes and could hear the other flutes do the same. When the entire orchestra hit the last note, we froze, silently waiting for her verdict. As soon as Osoba put down her baton and said, “Fine. We’ll fix the rest tomorrow,” we dove for our cases.
“Totally obsessive,” Em muttered as she speed-cleaned the spit out of her flute.
I shoved my piccolo case into the pocket on the side of my flute case. “I know. It’s just a holiday concert. No one’s going to care if we’re not ‘staccat-to’ enough for Carnegie Hall or something.”
“And half of the people in the audience will be asleep, anyway,” Dev said as he passed us, then stopped and looped around to stop right next to Em. “If it makes you feel any better, it sounded staccato enough to me.”
I zipped my flute case shut and pulled my coat out from under the chair, totally aware of how Em was hovering around us, pretending she wasn’t listening. “You are kind. Deaf, but kind.”
His smile stretched across his face. “We could debate that, but I gotta go. I’ve got a youth religious thing in Philly. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”