That was Nissa’s thing.
“What are you doing?” Nissa (who had a kitten with a crown on its head on the T-shirt she was wearing, unsurprisingly) was still hissing.
“I—” Maurelle started.
“You don’t even know their names,” Nissa pointed out irritably.
“Hey. Is everything okay?”
The deep voice stopped their fairy conversation (which, by the by, was below human hearing level—dogs could hear them, and cats, and horses, and such (no, your cat or dog was not staring at nothing with perked ears just for the sake of making you think they were weird or dotty, they were listening to a fairy conversation)—they’d have to shout really loud to be heard by a human, though that was strictly verboten).
Maurelle felt Nissa touch her arm and then she felt herself go invisible just as they both watched the woman look up at the man.
This is the good part, Maurelle thought as she watched the woman pale, her lips parting, and then the becoming pink started to creep up her cheeks. Yep, this is the good part.
Maurelle smiled.
“You’re not okay,” the man murmured, his gaze falling to the woman’s wet, flushed cheeks.
“Yes . . . I . . . no, really . . .” the woman stammered, straightening and pushing back into the wall at the same time lifting a hand to her face to rub some wet away. “I’m fine.”
“You’re crying in the hallway of an arena at a Spice Girls reunion concert,” he pointed out bluntly.
Maurelle winced.
It might not be good if he wasn’t the kind of guy who could go gently.
“You . . . are . . . gonna . . . get . . . into . . . so much trouble for this,” Nissa whispered. “They told you last time you did something like this, and it didn’t go that well, that you might be pulled out of the field so you can re-take the entire Appropriate Match Scenario course. And that’s a whole year!”
Maurelle had forgotten to mention that sometimes her maverick ways didn’t work out as she’d hoped.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Maurelle whispered back.
“And what if it isn’t, Maurelle?” Nissa asked. “What if this goes really bad and they get really mad and they don’t make you retake Appropriate Matches. They take you off Match Duty altogether and reassign you to Woodlands. I mean, you’d be sitting on toadstools or guarding four leaf clovers forever.”
Maurelle liked the Woodlands (toadstools were super cushy).
But only for a visit.
Her fairy heart started pounding.
“Well, it’s kind of an emotional song,” the woman stated lamely, and Maurelle and Nissa’s conversation was halted.
“‘If You Wanna Be My Lover?’” he asked incredulously.
Boy, he had very pretty green eyes (though, with his erroneous titling of the song, she found she was correct, he was no Spice Girls fan).
Goodness, Maurelle hoped he wasn’t a dud.
And not just because her future actually did have Woodlands Duty complete with toadstool lounging on the horizon if this went bad.
“That song is called ‘Wannabe,’” the woman corrected.
“Whatever,” he muttered, his lips twitching once before he got serious again. “It’s obvious you’re not fine. Do you need something?”
The woman blinked up at him.
“I . . .” she began but stopped.
Gracious, but she had very pretty blonde hair. It was straight, though there were some flips at the ends, and it was really shiny.
“What would I need?” she asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Seeing as you’re all by yourself, leaning against a wall crying at a concert, maybe someone to talk to,” he suggested.
“I don’t know you,” she stated the obvious.
“Best person to talk to when things are going down that make you cry,” he returned.
“I don’t know if that’s true,” the woman refuted.
“Are you crying now?” he asked.
She was not.
For a second she just stared up at him. Then she curled her lips in between her teeth, but that move didn’t hide her smile since her pretty brown eyes were sparkling.
And not from tears.
He blinked.
Good.
He was observant.
He absolutely did not miss that sparkle.
No, I was wrong, this is the good part, Maurelle thought.
The woman uncurled her lips to answer, “No.”
“So one thing down,” he replied. “Now, hit me.”
“With what?” she asked.
“With what made you cry,” he explained.
It was then her cheeks got very pink, it was very pretty, and Maurelle bit back a giggle because she knew what made the woman cry and it wasn’t something she could share with him.
Namely, it was that she found him attractive and never thought in a million years he’d be right there, standing close to her, asking (okay, maybe kinda demanding) she bare her soul to him.
His eyes narrowed on her face.
Hmm.
How did that ominous look make him even more handsome?
“Shit, is it a guy?” he demanded to know.
“I—” she began.
His shoulders straightened and his face got hard.
And he was even more handsome.
For real, that square jaw looked made from granite!
“Is some guy being a dick to you?”
The woman immediately waved her hand between them. “No, no . . . it’s not a guy.”
“You sure?” he pushed.
She nodded.
He studied her a moment before looking over his shoulder at the concession stand then back to her. “Let’s go get a beer, find someplace to sit down and then hash it out. Or . . . do they sell beer at Spice Girls concerts?”
Panic hit her as she glanced at the concession stand across the wide walkway, and her voice was a lot louder when she cried, “No! No beer.”
“Oh man, damn. Sorry,” he muttered. “You don’t drink.”
“No,” she stated hurriedly. “I drink. Wine and cocktails and beer. Wine mainly. And cocktails. Okay, maybe cocktails mainly, if I’m not at home. But I like beer. Beer is good. I like the darker beers, and craft ones, though IPAs are kinda bitter, I think. But I’ve had some good ones and . . .” she trailed off from her blabbering when he started chuckling.
“Okay, so you drink beer, and apparently you’re down with alcohol on the whole. Are you driving tonight or something?” he asked.
She shook her head then apparently changed her mind and nodded it.
Another deep chuckle.
He had a nice laugh.
“Is that a yes or a no?” he queried.
“I . . . no, my friend is driving,” she admitted like she didn’t want to say the words, which she didn’t since saying them gave her no reason to refuse a beer.
“Okay, then you just want a pop?” he offered.
What she didn’t want to do was limp to the concession stand.
This was where it might go bad.
Maurelle’s teeth caught her bottom lip.
“Listen—” the woman began.
But he reached in and grabbed her hand.
Tugging on it gently, he said, “Let’s go.”
Maurelle got stiff.
Nissa murmured, “Oh dear.”
He tugged her from the wall and she took one step with him before she ripped her hand from his.
He’d turned toward the concession stand, but when she pulled away, he twisted back to look down at her.