After a quick shower and dinner, I enjoyed the rumble of Fabian’s engine on the way to the pub. Walking Rug didn’t occupy what most people considered prime real estate. Which it more than made up for in its customers’ views by the ample parking and the classic rock that was low enough to allow conversation but loud enough to fill the silence. Unlike most bars, they didn’t crank the music when the crowd made some noise. That tradition had started with the owners, a family of werebears, but their patrons, mostly shifters and other species with sensitive ears, had rewarded them by coming back for over fifty years.
The bouncer, sporting a shirt striped like a beach ball, let me in with a smile.
Thursday wasn’t their busiest day, since ladies’ night was more of a college thing, so I walked right up to a high top and sat down. At three to seven, the friendly waiter deposited a lemon drop mocktail and a water to my table.
Exactly two minutes later, Nash walked through the door in cowboy boots and jeans that could’ve been painted on. The collared shirt with rolled-up sleeves and the top two buttons undone showed the smooth lines of his chest. His silver hair fell to the middle of his back with only two slender braids holding it away from his face. He spotted me, grinned, and adjusted his course.
I gulped half my lemon drop, wishing it had some alcohol. I’d thought my jeans, boots, and a cute shirt were fine for meeting a coworker for some friendly complaining about the job. We’d clearly had different expectations tonight, and I didn’t want there to be any confusion. Of course, how was I going to explain what I’d meant when I made the offer without sounding like an idiot?
“Close your mouth, Pine.” Nash slid into the seat opposite me. “I own something other than slacks.”
“My mouth wasn’t open.”
“If you say so.” He signaled the waiter and ordered nachos and a soda.
Maybe my mouth had been open, but the coveralls I’d first seen him in hadn’t exactly been flattering. While the waiter was there, I ordered fries. When the waiter left, I didn’t know what to say.
Nash twisted around and caught sight of the bar’s main attraction, the werebear sleeping on a balcony above the bar. It wiggled around, and the light played off its black fur. I couldn’t tell from here, but based on the size, I was willing to bet one of the ladies in the family was on duty.
“Ten years I’ve lived in Nashville, and no one ever recommended this place.” He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “I hear about wine and piano bars. I think I’ve been to every one around town. Stuffy, pretentious places.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“This is more your style?” I let him hear the surprise in my voice. Elves did have a reputation, and Walking Rug didn’t really fit it.
“A guy can relax here, laugh, have fun.” His glee faded. “But I can’t keep calling you Pine. We aren’t at work.”
“Kelsey.” I hesitated and then stuck my hand across the table. “Nice to meet you…”
“Nashua, no last name in elf tradition, but most people call me Nash.” He shook my hand.
“Well, Nash, I’m glad you like the place.” The waiter arrived with our food and saved me from thinking of what else to say.
Nash all but inhaled two chips dripping with cheese, leaned back in his chair, and studied me. “Nervous, Kelsey?”
“How’s a girl supposed to answer that without sounding like an idiot?” Not the best answer, but it saved me from saying what I was thinking.
He narrowed his eyes.
I ate a french fry.
“I’m single. I’ve had all my shots, and I’m not looking for a girlfriend tonight.” He popped another nacho in his mouth. “I was really hoping to have a good time and get to know someone I think I’ll see a lot at work.”
It was my turn to narrow my eyes. Was I really that transparent? Not a question I was willing to ask. “I didn’t say anything.”
He lost any sign of amusement. “You didn’t have to. I really would like to have a good uncomplicated time.”
“Well, now that we’re on the same page.” I lifted up my lemon drop. “To a good time.”
He clinked glasses with me. “I’ve been wondering, how did you end up at the TBI? Hardly a normal career path for a witch.”
The practiced reply I’d perfected through college and two years of training rolled off my tongue. “My clan does a lot of contract work, mostly spells set into building foundations and the like. I wanted to help people, and as a kid, I liked the idea of being a cop. A little older, and ever so slightly wiser, I realized that wasn’t the best way I could help. Going through the clans for every bit of magic puts a strain on law enforcement. I could do something about that, even if it only helped one state.”
I tugged the basket of fries closer. “What about you? Most elves love nature and growing things.”
Nash snorted. “Silly really. If they’re so in touch with the earth, why do they focus only on one part? Mother Earth’s cycle includes death, and it was the part never covered in my lessons, so I went to college and medical school. My family thinks I’m crazy, but they still love me.”
“Same.” I grinned at him.
After that, conversation rolled along. With the easy banter, I relaxed and had a good time. Two hours later, he walked me to my car, which I’d protested, not that it did much good.
“Night, Kelsey, and thank you.” He bowed his head.
Sometimes elves were just odd. “I’m here any time the mountain of papers gets to be too tall.”
The corners of Nash’s mouth turned up. He bowed his head again and walked away.
Elves, men, I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand them.
Back home, I spent a few minutes on the promised research. All I found was what I already knew. Something had drawn those charms to the house rather than to the individual bodies housing (or in the fey’s case, previously housing) their blood. Whatever created the connection was stronger than that tie.
That sounded fancy and helpful, but not much was stronger than a blood tie.
Too tired and frustrated to even attempt to puzzle out what had diverted my charms, I went to bed. As I closed my eyes, I prayed I’d get to sleep through the night.
