Clint swiped left on his phone, gazing at the familiar face again. If someone hacked into his Google search, they would think he’d gone completely insane. Even he had to admit, his obsession with these fairies was getting out of control.
It had started innocently. Emily had gone on about the fairies she’d seen in her friend’s bedroom for a while, and after Ruth and Emily left the house that day he decided to check them out for himself. He found the books first, six of them to be precise. That led to perusing social media accounts, which was where he found a treasure trove. Drawings, of course, but there were photos also. Photos that were all part of a long, ongoing story about an imaginary flying insect person named Arabelle.
He had a dream about her last night. Sort of. The monarch butterfly wings were there, and the flowing curly red hair, but when she turned around her face was the face that had been looking up at him a week ago with that magnifying glass on her head.
Willow Sharpe. There were a lot of pictures of her on those social media accounts too, and he had looked at them enough that he now knew every inch of her face. Definitely Google guilty.
The ongoing story she had with the main fairy, Arabelle, went back nearly two years. Each of the posts had a caption with the hashtag #willowfairies. The tiny fairy was strong, spunky, and fiercely independent. He’d been watching the accounts all week, waiting for the pictures to change. And each time they did, he studied them with fresh eyes.
He berated himself again, not that it would do any good. It had been exactly a week since he’d nearly killed her with his lawnmower. A week where he went about his routine of mowing lawns on Mondays and Wednesdays and helping a roofing crew the rest of the week.
And this one little added nuisance of stalking the fairy woman.
“It’s just because I’m going to her place to mow the lawn,” he muttered, clicking on the account so he could look at the latest post. The drawing from the day before held the top spot, with over six thousand likes. Those monarch wings were set against the background of a field, and she was gazing over her shoulder to the woods beyond. A simple figure stood at the edge of the trees, clad in green with wings that resembled military camouflage. Male, as evidenced by the shadow stretching across his chin.
If he didn’t know better, he would say it looked a lot like himself.
With her forearm, Willow pushed a swath of hair from her brow. Using a little strip of cloth that she kept beside her canvas, she smudged the pink pencil against the sunset. After three long years, Arabelle had her love interest. Maybe. With just the glimpse of him at the edge of the trees, it was the smallest of snippets to whet her fans’ appetites.
The glimpse of “fairy Darcy” was being shared like gangbusters, too. And just as she’d expected, thousands of people were breathing down her neck. What’s his name? As though she knew that one herself.
So she focused instead on her next drawing, attempting to give him a little more detail while she pondered an appropriate moniker for the miniscule chap.
A knock on her door startled her, and she pushed away from the table, dropping her pencil beside the drawing. Who would be calling on her? The whole point of renting the woodland cabin was the privacy.
Pulling the blinds up, she stumbled back when she saw the black truck with the rusted fender. So he’d returned to the scene of the crime. At least this time she’d been prepared. The stakes with the flags on them stood in a circle around her fairy landscape, directly in the middle of her yard, forming a barrier. No doubt he wanted to complain.
Jerking the door open, she stretched to her full height, only measuring to the level of his chin, so she had no choice but to look up at him. Those blue eyes still sparkled, even when they weren’t in the sun, and he had his ball cap between his hands, giving her a good glimpse of his nearly-black hair. It was cut short on the sides, unlike that beard, which was at least a couple of inches long. He did look like a lumberjack. Especially with those muscular arms on a relatively slender frame.
“May I help you?” she asked, keeping the door partly closed. He didn’t need to see her messy, makeshift work area.
“Ma’am,” he began, twisting the cap between his fingers. “I’m about to mow your lawn, and I just wanted you to know.”
The gentlemanly demeanor was definitely unexpected. Stepping onto the porch, she pulled the door closed behind her, bare feet lighting on the wooden deck.
“Thank you for letting me know.”
With a quick glance at his mower on the trailer, he returned his attention to her, scratching the side of his beard. “You don’t have any objections?”
She stepped past him and down the steps, letting her toes sink into the grass. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in nearly a decade. It was refreshing and made her want to relish it for a moment, just standing there with her eyes closed, listening to the breeze rustling the leaves. But she didn’t, because he already thought she was a nut.
Instead, she moved to those stakes with the flags at the top, placing her hand against one. “If you could just avoid this area, that would be great.”
“You’ve staked out your yard,” he said, meeting her on the grass. His boots marked quite a contrast next to her pink-painted toes.
“Yes, I’ve staked out the yard.”
She expected some kind of crack about her level of sanity, but he simply nodded his head and topped it with the ball cap. His eyes roved over her, crinkling at the corners as he squinted from the sun. “Oh, the name’s Clint.”
His hand extended in her direction, and she stared at it for a second. Long fingers, tan hands. An inexpensive, utilitarian watch on his wrist.
Shaking herself from her stupor, she reached her own hand out, folding it in his. “Willow.”
“Nice to meet you,” he stated, releasing her fingers and heading toward the trailer.
Clint, she thought to herself as she watched his back, shoulders wide above jeans that hung low on his hips. Her hand somehow still felt the gentle pressure of his fingers, so she stared at it, wondering at the odd sensation.
He fought the urge to shake his fingers out as he walked away. Staring at that beautiful face online had been one thing, but when she looked up into his eyes, he’d had the strangest sensation.
It was foolish to feel like he already knew the woman, unless he was somehow equating her with that redheaded fairy. All those little flying people were characters, he reminded himself, not real. As though he needed the reminder that two-inch tall women with butterfly wings were imaginary.
Besides, the fairy was beautiful in those drawings, but she couldn’t hold a candle to the woman he’d just touched. Blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, streaks of color twisted into the mix. And those eyes, violet-blue and so large he’d almost imagined himself lost in them.
Almost, because he wasn’t crazy.
Firing up his mower, he drove off the trailer ramp and forward to the grass, dropping the blade. She’d moved to the deck, standing there on the steps where she could see his every move, which meant he’d have to be extra careful not to face his mower in her direction. Rocks timed perfectly from a mower blade could bust through windows. No telling what they’d do if one of them hit her, and he certainly didn’t need that on his conscience.
Affixing his sunglasses on his face, he tried not to look in her direction. The woman flat-out dressed like a hobo, again wearing the same ratty sweater she’d been wearing the first time he met her. The magnifying glass was thankfully not still perched on her head as she leaned herself against the railing next to the steps, staring down at her fingernails.
So she wasn’t actually opposed to him cutting the grass, it seemed. But she still cared enough about it to sit there in case he made the wrong move. At least she wasn’t watching him like a hawk, instead content to peer at her own hands or stare at the freshly stained boards on her deck. That fact only gave him the opportunity to look at her with more brazenness, and he found himself doing so as he rounded the corner of the y
ard to make another turn in her direction.
The closer he got to that section of the yard—the one littered with those reedy stakes she’d somehow gotten to stick in the ground—the more her eyes followed him. And when he made the closest pass, narrowly missing the new barrier by about six inches, she rose from her perch on the porch, giving him an intense inspection. He could feel the sweat begin to trickle down the center of his back, even though the sun wasn’t particularly overbearing.
And then he swung away, following his path to the far corner of the yard, having finished the area she’d marked. By the time he turned the lawnmower around and started a return pass, she was gone.
Clint couldn’t help feeling like he’d passed some kind of test. Why else would she have removed herself from her post after watching him so intently? Somehow she’d convinced herself that he wasn’t going to decimate the section of the grass that she thought so valuable. He tried not to think about it as he finished up the last portion of the yard, because standing sentinel over a patch of grass was still pretty weird, no matter whether the woman intrigued him or not.
Plain, dopey, bizarrely weird, if he really wanted to spell it out.
While he drove the mower back to his trailer, he intentionally took the path closest to those stakes again. Partly to see if she’d come roaring back out the door, and partly because he wanted to understand what was so special about it. Maybe she’d planted a tree there that he hadn’t seen before? Seemed like she could be the tree-hugging type. Or maybe she had some flower bulbs in the ground right there and she was afraid he’d mow them over.
As he drew close, a little flash of red caught his eye. Just enough that he nearly choked the engine as he jerked his mower to a stop. Mushroom huts. Two of them, that he could see. What else resided there he couldn’t tell, because he spurred his mower on, afraid of being found gawking at her little fairy village. But as he loaded his mower back on the trailer, he allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. Protecting her artwork was a lot less strange than some of the things he’d been imagining.
And in avoiding the little village’s destruction, he’d suddenly found himself a small part of the story.
Chapter 4
Only the deepest love would tempt Arabelle into matrimony. Such being the case, she was fully prepared to spend her days teaching other fairies’ children to fly very ill. #willowfairies
Clint paused in front of the glass door, turning around to stare at his truck and trailer. He was a man who made up his mind. Had been right out of high school when he’d joined the military. Had been when he returned from overseas and couldn’t imagine settling anywhere other than his childhood home. Had been when he decided he wanted to be a landscaper and started his own business.
So why was he waffling about mowing one little lawn?
Shaking his head in self-disgust, he turned back to the glass door and jerked it open, making just enough noise that the few heads remaining in the café at the odd hour popped up to see who was making an entrance. Keeping his own head down, he moved to a booth out of the way and seated himself, extending his legs in front of him beneath the table.
Ten o’clock. Shouldn’t be many patrons at ten o’clock. The breakfast crowd would have dispersed and the lunch crowd wouldn’t be making an appearance for a while yet. So he could sit at the booth and think for a bit before he made any potentially dumb decisions.
At least that was the plan, until Ruth settled into the seat across from him, placing her palm-sized notebook on the table.
“That’s a face I don’t see often.”
Glancing up, he set his phone on the table between them as well. She looked a lot more energetic than she usually did at the end of her shift.
“Yeah, I tend not to do much besides work during the day, so I don’t get in here often enough.”
She tapped her fingernails against the tabletop. “I didn’t mean your face inside the café. I meant that expression you’re wearing. You look worried.”
“Naw, I’m not worried.”
“Good, because the Clint Kirkland I know doesn’t worry about things. He fixes things.”
He could attest to the truth of that. At least, he could have before.
“So what is it, huh?” Ruth continued, dipping her head in an attempt to get him to meet her eyes. “Business problems? You don’t want Em getting off the bus at your place anymore? I could talk to Jess about my shift and see what we can—”
“Em’s fine getting off the bus at the house. And I’m not worried. Just got a lot on my mind’s all.”
Her eyes softened, and she propped her elbows on the table between them. “Want to hash it out? I got a break coming.”
Lifting his hand to his cheek, he rubbed the side of his beard as he stared out the window at his truck. “Nothing much to hash out.” The thought of running that truck and trailer across town swept through his mind again. “Okay, just for grins, say you met this person. Not someone you’re well acquainted with or anything, just a random stranger. And you’ve got nothing in common with them. Nothing. But they make up people who seem like they could be … What I’m trying to say is—”
“You’ve met a woman.”
“Yes.” His gaze drifted to her face, and he quickly shook his head. “No. I mean not exactly.” Leaning in, he brought his voice down to a whisper. “You remember Em’s fairies? The woman who draws the fairies?”
“The one you almost killed.”
Glancing behind him, he pinched his eyebrows together. “I didn’t almost kill anyone, now hold your voice down. The thing is, I think that she …” Nearly groaning at his inability to spit out the words, he grabbed his phone and pulled up the account he’d become so familiar with in the past two weeks. Clicking on the picture, he slid the phone across the table to Ruth. “This is from the first time I mowed the lawn.”
A slow nod accompanied her perusal of the picture. “I see.”
Grabbing the phone, he clicked again and brought up a more recent photo. “This is from last week, after I mowed the lawn.”
Ruth’s jaw slackened as she glanced from the phone to his face and back again. “She’s drawing you.”
“Look at his name,” he prompted, watching as her eyes scanned the photo.
“Flint.” Pressing her hand over her mouth, she giggled. “The fairy lady has a crush on you.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Oh my word. Clint Kirkland, you have a crush on her!”
He peered over his shoulder again, sinking a little in his seat. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your voice down?”
“You’re going to ask her out, right?” Ruth waited expectantly for an answer, and when he didn’t respond, she crossed her arms against her chest. “Please tell me you’re going to ask her out.”
“To do what? Paint our hair pink and stare at butterflies? We’re not the same, Ruthie.”
Pulling her pad nearer her side of the table, she scribbled on it while he sat watching. “Men are infuriating, you know that? Have you bothered to find out what she likes? Asked her what her interests are, besides her hair color and her job? Because painting is her job, you know. I’m sure she likes it or she wouldn’t do it, but how would you like to be described that way? ‘Oh, that landscaper guy? What would we do? Comb our facial hair and stare at grass?’ Give me a break.”
The little outburst startled him enough that he leaned back against the booth seat and pulled his baseball cap from his head, readjusting it a little too forcefully.
“Look at this drawing,” she continued, pointing at his phone again. He grabbed it from her hand, staring at the redheaded fairy standing so close to the bearded newcomer. “Did she draw this guy with pink hair and dainty hands? No. She drew a big, strapping guy with a black beard. A big idiot, if you ask me.” Ripping the top paper from her pad, she tossed it at him. “Your tip, sir.”
While she rose from the seat across from him, he flipped the paper over in his hands. Try being yourself, it read. Not an entir
ely scary prospect in a normal situation, but he’d never been good with women. Couldn’t force himself to say more than a few words in their presence, and what woman would want a guy who couldn’t even carry on a basic conversation?
“Shove over,” Ruth ordered, scooting next to him on the bench. “Really look at the picture. Maybe it’ll give you some clues.”
Trying to give her a little extra space, he moved to the far side of the booth as she grabbed his phone again, studying the drawing while he peeked over her shoulder. Arabelle stood at the door to her mushroom hut, saying goodbye to Flint. Her eyes almost looked alive, and as he stared at them, he imagined those huge, blue-violet eyes of Willow’s staring back at him.
“He took her for a jaunt in the woods,” Ruth finally stated.
“Huh?” Shaking his head, he tried to remove those eyes from his line of vision.
“The fairy boyfriend. He took her on a nature walk, basically. So you ask her to accompany you into nature.”
Looking at Ruth next to him, he squinted his eyes skeptically. “So I’m supposed to ask her to go into the woods with me?”
“Seriously, how do you function on a day to day basis?” Tapping the brim of his cap, she twisted her mouth to the side. “Tell her you know the area, and you could show her some of the best natural landscapes. Ask if she’d like to go hiking. Or just hog tie her and throw her in the back of your truck, Caveman.”
“Very funny.” Taking his phone from her hand, he hit the home screen to remove the fairy scene. “Thanks for the tip.”
Ruth slid out of the booth, offering the slightest hint of a smile, but he couldn’t really take it to heart. Especially when he was no closer to committing himself on what to do than he had been when he sat down in the first place.
Willow’s living room blinds made a metallic snapping noise as they bent from the force of her fingers. The sound came as a surprise, and it made her pop back from her spying position. Straightening the offending slat, she attempted to peek out the window a little more gracefully.
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