"So how was the big date?" my jubilant voice rang through Sonata Tailoring, ricocheting off the pale teak walls, absorbed by the fuzzy balls of pastel coloured yarn adorning the tabletops; pink cotton candy and lavender pavlova and yellow cream cheese.
Candace sat with intense concentration before her sewing machine, tiny leaf lattice details carved out from the curved legs. Even the individual veining of each sprig had been etched in. Her knee brushed against the delicate design, caverns and crags of the wood tangible against her satiny skin.
"It was," she started, drowning her own doe-like tone out with the steady hum of a linen dress being hemmed; short, neat, expertly sewn threads creating a tidy margin dotting along the edge of the skirt, "okay."
"Okay?" I echoed, bewildered, "You've waited your entire life for this, and it was only okay?"
Luna piped up, from where she sat behind the register, kicking her petite legs back and forth in extreme boredom, "Right? Imagine my shock when she came home that night and all she said was the date went, 'okay.' That little coward is going to make my sister die a spinster." Her elbows lounged languidly on the camel tabletop, angular pouting jaw – the fell swoop of a knife's blade – resting heftily in one silky hand.
"Luna," I chastised, the twenty-three-year-old tart cherry having grown older ever since I first arrived on Castanet, but not a shred more reserved. Even so, I loved her; bratty little sister, venom and all. I admired how she seemed to possess more business sense and determination than an entire village combined, despite the lacerating glass shards that dripped out from her mouth every now and again.
"It wasn't what I imagined it to be," Candace's quiet voice wisped into the bustling air, almost getting lost amongst the melodic harmony playing in the background, the rhythmic scratching of Luna's strawberry sorbet ballet flats against the moaning floor.
From where I sat, perched atop the countertop Luna sat behind, we shot each other a look where our eyebrows traversed the length of our foreheads. Hers was impeccably powdered with rose-scented foundation, a dewy radiance glowing in the fluorescent indoor lighting. Mine: riddled with the remnants of my morning's work, evaporated sweat and leftover sunlight lolling comfortably on my brow.
"How so?" she probed, her status as sister gifting her with the luxury of no limits – a present she chose to bestow upon herself with everybody else anyway.
"I've probably thought about it for too long," Candace mumbled, ellipses studding her sentence, "It's my fault."
"Not at all," I replied, resting my palms against the cool tabletop, so that my wrists shouldered the burden of holding my arms up, "Maybe it just needs more time."
"Or maybe he needs a good talking to," Luna sounded belligerently; ever fiercely protective of the bashful fawn that was older sister.
The gold bell above the ivory shop doors jingled, a fairy singing, pirouetting in winding circles on the tips of her toes. The clacking of polished brown oxfords against paneled floorboards reverberated through the room.
"Hey, it's my best friend," I goaded mockingly; purposefully dragging out my he-e-e-ey in a manner that I knew would tap-dance on his nerves.
Gill sent me a sour glare that I had rapidly grown immune to. Once I had discovered that the ice king did, in fact, possess a human heart – or, at least, something bearing a likely resemblance to it – his daggers of threatening frost had morphed into vain wastes of muscles. The muscle set required to create a scowl was probably already irreversibly ingrained into his facial memory.
"You wish. Far from it," he retorted snappishly, blinking in a way such that I could tell his eyes were rolling exasperatedly behind his lowered eyelids.
"You're right," I acquiesced humbly, grinning cheekily as I brought an innocuous finger to my cheek, "I would never insult Toby like that."
"What are you doing here anyway? Do you even do any work on your farm?" Gill interrogated haughtily, aggravation playing on his perpetually furrowed eyebrows, neat pleats residing just above his high nose bridge, "Or do you just go around town bothering people all day?"
"Please, you think that farm was all sunshine and roses when I got here? Your dad and you pretty much fooled me into selling my soul for the dingy hole it was four years ago." Behind my bravado, I secretly beamed, taking pride in the fact that I had managed to breathe such undisputable life onto the farm I loved so dearly. Wilting flowers breaking out from beneath old soil, reaching towards the morning's sunrays for all they were worth.
An evil smirk plastered itself onto his face; him evidently taking belated pride and joy from the fact that he had played me for a sucker, even if it had been back when I was twenty-one and had just arrived on Castanet.
"Can I help you?" Luna's uninterested voice broke into our game of arguing: first to pause was the loser. Her arched dusky pink eyebrow, skillfully filled in with a matching gel, raised in expectant silence. "If not, you guys can go outside and bicker. Or I'm going to start charging rent."
"I need a suit for my father," Gill answered, dutifully formal, the composure of a future mayor coming to settle on him like a cloak. It astounded me how, in mere milliseconds, he could switch from spewing shredding insults to the perfect picture of political decorum. "For his birthday."
"Here's a list of all the ready-made suits we have available," Luna handed him a dense book, stray multicoloured leaflets sticking out from the sides, "We can also custom-make one in a colour and fabric of your choice. But, all our fabric comes from Molly's farm, so it'd do you well to be nice to her." Her baby blue eyes flashed me a knowing wink. I've got your back. I smiled gratefully in return.
"That explains why you came down here," I couldn't resist the irrepressible urge to taunt him, "Couldn't have possibly been that you wanted to get some clothes for yourself."
"I'm afraid you're speaking in words so simple, only you can understand." Poorly disguised confusion emanated from his crumpled forehead.
"Who's the dumb one now?" I sniggered teasingly, "What I am saying, Mr Smarty Pants, is that those boy shorts you choose to wear are ridiculous. I don't know if they ever came into fashion, ever, but I'm two hundred percent sure that they went out of fashion when dinosaurs still roamed the earth. Back me up here, girls."
"Never came into fashion, and for a very good reason," Luna fanned the flame effortlessly, still slouched in her seat, "They should be burned." Candace remained stereotypically mute, unwilling to take part in this ritual of derision her tender heart was not created to bear.
"I'm not about to take fashion advice from a dirty farmer girl," he retaliated, without missing a beat.
"You know, that really doesn't do what you think it does," I explained smugly, "I'm a farmer and I'm a girl, and I bathe twice a day so everything's peachy. Meanwhile, pompous arrogant snob sounds like the perfect name for you."
"I don't think your two showers are cutting it, then," he snipped snootily in reply, "And pompous and arrogant mean the same thing."
"You see what I'm talking about?"
"Alright, that's it," Luna called out, her mascaraed eyes growing tired of watching this back and forth spectacle, "I'm charging you guys rent. Twenty each. Pay up."
The ephemeral fragrance of fresh blueberry cocktails wafted through Brass Bar's air, waving tickling fingers across my senses. I inhaled, refreshing berry scent bubbling up in my lungs. Popping at the surface in kaleidoscopic sparkles. Kathy glowed throughout the middle of the room, zipping to and fro with a seemingly self-replenishing tray of drinks. Her lush platinum blonde ponytail swayed in fluid motions, a horse's luxurious velvety tail.
"What's this I hear about you and Gill?" the twenty-five-year-old barmaid quizzed perkily the moment she sat down with Toby and me. I swished the milky liquid of my coconut concoction around in its condensation-clouded glass, noticing how it left a creamy trail of translucence in its wake.
"What're you hearing about me and that snob?" I responded, offended that people would be lumping me together with him.
"That you've actually got him talking?" Toby asserted, chuckling gently into the mélange of copper and bronze swirls forming overlapping layers of froth in his tumbler.
"Trust me, it wasn't that hard. All I had to do was pretty much breathe, and the insults just came flying."
"Dear, sweet Molly," Kathy shook her head compassionately, emerald eyes glimmering under the caramel orange peel light, "You know how little boys pull a little girl's pigtails when they want to get her attention?"
"Do they?" I echoed, attempting to play the clueless victim.
"No one's buying that, so you can just cut it out," Kathy giggled, faint crow's feet appearing by the corners of her tapered eyes, the angled end of a basil leaf, "What I'm saying, twenty-five-year-old-but-as-innocent-as-a-three-year-old Molly, is that Gill's being mean to you because he likes you."
My hazel eyes rolled so far back into my skull, I was sure that they made one entire revolution before coming back to rest in their original positions. The moon marking one time lapse around the earth. "Not the slightest chance," I blenched, revulsion crawling in my synapses. Something else accompanied it – I wasn't sure what it was. "Hello? This is the ice queen we're talking about. He's incapable of emotions."
"Fairly sure she likes him too," Toby whispered sneakily to Kathy, completely and purposely in the range of my hearing.
"What? Why? Wha-" I sputtered impalpably, saliva inadvertently spewing in all directions, "How would you even come to that conclusion?"
"You mention his name a lot during our conversations," he shrugged simply, playful grin tugging at the corners of his supple lips.
"Yeah, accompanied by the phrases, 'makes my blood boil,' and, 'prissy pants,'" I defended myself to no avail, as my two closest friends took all sorts of joy from my flustered aggravation. Their chuckles: gardenia petals falling on an early spring day.
"Come on, guys," I wailed, breaking through their wall of taunts, "We're twenty-five. If he actually did like me, and no way in hell is that possible, he'd be mature enough to let me know in a way that did not involve calling me smelly."
"He called you smelly?" Kathy questioned, face precipitously swathed in a mask of pure seriousness, solemnity resting thickly along her contoured cheekbones. She placed a firm hand on my arm, staring me intensely in the eyes. I writhed uncomfortably in my seat. "He's in love."
"Oh my god," I groaned exasperatedly, refusing to take part in their mock-Molly club, "Can we act like adults now?"
"Can you? Seems impossible," an icy voice crept up my spine, walking on its fingers up my neck, crawling into my sensitive ears. Crystallized snowflakes falling on my lobes.
Whipping my head around, chestnut locks lashing tersely against my round cheeks, I was met with the sauntering sight of Gill, his postured, formal figure cutting a strange sight against the backdrop of the boozy Brass Bar.
"Do you actively seek me out just so you can insult me?" I charged.
"Your ice prince has come for you," Kathy harassed, relishing every moment of it.
"I said ice queen, queen," I repeated, drilling the name into their skulls, "At no point did I mention prince."
"Didn't have to," Toby chirped, joining in on the fun.
"I'm going to do you two a favour and relieve you of this burden poisoning your table," Gill spoke cordially to them, grabbing my wrist. When his skin pressed against mine, I could feel my own warmth. The coolness of his soft palm lingered on my arm.
"Have fun," my best friend tittered back, jade eyes gleaming with unconcealed amusement. With guarantees that he would be sure to tease me about this tomorrow.
"What do you want?" I yelled at Gill, painfully conscious of how all eyes in the bar were on us, boring voracious hyena pupils into this gossip-worthy spectacle. My mind was acutely aware of his long fingers wrapped around my pulsating wrist. Haze swirled around it.
"Will you keep it down?" he hissed, effectively dragging me out of the bar, "Were you born with the inability to lower your voice below the decibel of deafening?"
"You've got a lot to say for someone who just pretty much demanded my company."
"It should be your honour."
"Do you think you're some kind of prince of Castanet? Walking around all hoity-toity thinking you can do whatever you want?"
He smirked, conceited satisfaction drawing the sharp corner of his lips up. It caught me by surprise, the way his normally straight mouth was able to lift so sinuously into an even arc.
"Where are you taking me, anyway?" I probed for the umpteenth time, feet having long given up protesting, instead, passively following the lead of his glossy oxfords. Click, clack, they harrumphed against the dusty cobblestone paths.
"Do you have to ask so many questions?" he sighed, irritation quickly evolving. A deep tomato blush painted his slim, rounded cheeks. The skin above his curved cheekbones clung sweetly onto the calcium underneath. His creased lips pursed together ever so slightly, his impossibly perfect teeth biting the waxy inner surface. I'd observed that that was a habit of his – pursing his lips under the guise of vexation, when in actuality he was masking his uncertainty. Beneath that veneer of stoic indifference, of thunderous egotism, was a real person with real flaws and fears. That made him all the more tangible; less of a threatening idea and more of an intriguing reality.
Of course, you had to dig deep, deep, deeper to reach the person secluded in his core, protected behind all the layers of the tear-inducing onion – I had barely even scratched the surface.
Lost in my thoughts, I failed to digest his sudden halt, leading me to unintentionally collide into his back. As I had suspected, the cashmere of his sweater vest was so soft that I was almost reluctant to pull away. In my fleeting moment of close proximity to him, I noticed how he smelled of a unique blend between fresh laundry and snow.
Before I could catch a glimpse of the store he had hauled me to, Gill lugged me through the door. I was greeted by the familiar harmony of harps and graceful flutes playing in the background.
Luna's disinterested pixie voice attacked my eardrums, stilettos piercing into the flimsy membrane, "You guys again?"
"Us again," I announced tiredly, wondering why Gill had brought me back to Sonata Tailoring for the second time that week.
"What do you want?" Luna sounded, a precise mix between hostility and business-like primness.
Silence reigned in the air, as I stared at Gill expectantly, tamed eyebrow raised in anticipation for an answer to my dangling question. I rested an anxious hand on my hip for good measure. The uniform whirr of Candace's sewing machine filled the booming pause.
Gill looked like he was caught between deciding whether to just spit the words out or to storm right off and leave that very instant. Finally letting go of my wrist, he spun around to face me, carefully averting his gaze. "If your fashion sense is so good, and I'm betting that it isn't, then pick something out." His cheeks scorched the same fire red of his favourite vegetable – I still held firm to the opinion that it was a fruit.
Visible question marks flew over my head, as even my eyelids pulled together in unadulterated bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"
All at once, it dawned on me: I had cruelly and relentlessly ridiculed his shorts two days back, and he was asking me for fashion advice – albeit, in the most indirect, obscure and thankless manner I had ever witnessed. Regret immediately washed over me in a bucket of freezing cold water.
"I was just kidding, you know," I softened my tone, gazing at him with kind eyes, "I know I said some really mean things about your pants, but they're not so bad." Luna scoffed in her corner; I shot her a nippy glare. "I mean, they do look kind of stupid, but they're a good kind of stupid. You're probably the only person in town who could pull them off."
His usually harshly etched face watered down at the edges, invariably relaxing in return. His glacial blue eyes: the corners of a block of ice beginning to melt away.
"I might say some insensitive things sometimes, especially when I'm talking to you, because, let's face it, you're pretty much asking for it. But I never mean any of it. I'm just playing around," I elucidated soothingly. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Candace's large ultramarine orbs lifted to observe this scene, nimble hands still deftly running along a piece of peach cloth, magenta embroidery decorating the edges. "Besides, as long as you like them, you shouldn't let anyone else tell you what to wear."
The rare sight of his impeccably level smile came to rest on his face, each corner of his lips sloping with equal gradients, ending at a faultless equidistance from the other. The ice prince: thawing. "Maybe you're not as dumb as I took you for," he commented approvingly, with the faintest nod of his head.
"There are plenty of nicer ways to say that."
"I prefer this way," he countered, turning back to let his piercing eyes survey the mounds of cloth piled throughout the room. Following the trail of his gaze, my eyes landed on an angora forest green scarf, the tiniest of hand-stitched daisies dotting the plush fabric. Elaborate tassels dangled seamlessly from the ends of the scarf, twinkling olive green, waterfalls of freshly cut grass. The epitome of spring captured in an item of clothing: definitely Candace's handiwork.
"Since we're here, you might as well help me pick out a suit for my father," Gill's voice broke me out of my enchantment, reminding me of the definition of winter standing in front of me.
"Normal people would say, 'I'd really appreciate it if you could so kindly help me pick a suit for my father,'" I berated, shaking my head in disapprobation.
"I told you, my way's better." He grinned smugly, and the ice block melted some more.
"Let me get this straight. You don't know how to speak in sentences that aren't cutting insults, but you still want to be a gentleman? I'm pretty sure that ship sailed long ago." Gill and I trudged along the dirt path leading to my house, evening having shrouded Castanet in its luminescent veil of deep indigo. Occasional street lamps casted vermillion spotlights at calculated intervals, glowing orange against the landscape of sandy walkways.
"Shut up," he growled, tenaciously masking his embarrassment; the blood rushing to his cheeks barely visible in the misty light, "You can walk home alone for all I care. I just don't want to be held accountable if you get attacked or something."
"What, pray tell, would even attack me?"
"Me, probably."
I chortled indelicately in response, "More like definitely."
Between his slender fingers, Gill clasped the bag from Sonata Tailoring containing Hamilton's new suit. Twilight navy, curled lapels and a flamboyant tailcoat. It hadn't exactly been the most fashionable item, but it screamed the jolly mayor's name. As soon as we had made the purchase, Luna practically evicted us from the store, claiming we had stayed past their closing time.
"Anyway, this town is so safe, there's no way anything would happen," I remarked, eyes floating over a lone raspberry petunia lying sleepily on its side. I thought I heard it snore.
"It is," Gill concurred, possibly the second time he had ever agreed with me on something, "It's a really great town." He looked pointedly at me, crystal blue eyes so piercing, I almost believed they could see right through me. "I know that you, and a lot of other people, think that I want to become mayor so I can go around waving a staff and lord over everyone else. But really, I just want to make sure that nothing bad ever happens to Castanet."
A pulse surged through my heart; it swelled to absorb the impact. Softness came to rest on my face, beaming in the dim evening glimmer. The stars in the night sky chattered amongst themselves, cupping infantile hands over their mouths to whisper secrets into the others' ears. Dozy crickets sang their orchestrated melody.
"Then you're going to need my to help keep the town going, huh?" I teased jestingly, kicking a marbled pebble with my boot.
"Unfortunately, yes," he sighed exaggeratedly, his one free hand tucked into his pants pocket.
"I'll be sure to do my best then, Mr Mayor," I performed laughingly, before our consistent steps came to a stall. "This is me, by the way," I gestured to my house redundantly, as we both stood on my porch.
"Right," he replied, candied porch light casting a radiant tangerine sheen on his stiff silhouette; posture impossibly perfect. The crickets paused their chirping. Swaying leaves suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. The night seemed to hold its breath.
Stillness.
Abruptly immersed in a game of chess, neither of us made a move. Our hands: poised above the pieces, wrists sveltely suspended in thin air, stuck in a momentary tableau.
His oxfords shuffled against the wooden boards. A solitary cricket dared to creak its love song. "Goodnight."
The world spun back into motion.
"Night," I smiled in reply, before ducking into my cozy home, closing the oak door behind me. I leaned against it, resting my calloused hands behind my back.
What was that?
I waited for a few more moments as I slowly steadied my breathing, remembering the way his eyes looked positively warm underneath the glazed light. My heart did a skip, threatening to jump out of my throat.
I heard a faint rustle on the other side of the door. Suspiciously, I cracked it open, only to be greeted by a letter on the ground, accompanied by a mop of forest green fabric.
On the sheet of crisp white paper was Gill's unmistakable, pristine, cursive handwriting.
Dirty Farmer Girl,
You know, you really should take more baths. I think your two showers a day – that probably last the entirety of three seconds each – aren't nearly enough to cleanse the odour of manure off of you.
Anyway, knowing you, you're not going to take heed of that last sentence in the least. That means you'll smell of cow manure forever. So, here. I saw you eyeing this scarf at Sonata Tailoring, and as a symbol of my gratitude for your help, I got it for you. I can see why you like it. It looks exactly like the kind of thing you would wear. You can use it when it gets colder, so the entire town doesn't have to suffer the torture of your stench.
Even in his smart, looping handwriting, I could detect the grudgingness embedded into the next few words.
Thanks for today.
When you have some free time – and judging from how often I see you hanging around town, being a bother to people trying to do their jobs, you have plenty of it – you can come over to my house. As future mayor, I have to put the needs of the townspeople before my own. That means being tormented by your endless chatter so that they don't have to. Besides, I think I'm unfortunately becoming accustomed to your noisiness.
Yours,
Gill (Pompous arrogant snob)
P.S.: You smell fine.
The organ residing in my chest beamed, prancing and twirling its chiffon knee length skirt. Arms spread out and face looking to the blinding sky.
Heart feeling like it was opening for the first time in over a year.
I knew that it was written in generality, and had probably been penned down without a second thought, stemming from his engrained sense of formality, but that didn't stop my hazel eyes from skidding over the word, rereading and rereading it until it was locked behind my corneas.
Yours.
I look at my children, as they fall wholly into the new chapter of my story.
"Kids," I say, "There are some people who bring out the best in you. And there are some who bring out the worst."
Enchantment waltzes in their eyes, gemstone-hued ball gowns brushing against maple floors.
"He brought out the worst in me, and I would have followed him straight to hell just to get my fix."
I drift into my reminiscing, smiling tenderly at the memory of him; the one who lit a fire within me, who could be so cold, and yet, still set my heart ablaze. My head tilts to one side, lopsided grin gracing my cheeks.
"He was icy waters in spring, and I wanted to drown."
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Shadowfever' by Karen Marie Moning.
Author's Note: I'll admit that Gill has never been my favourite bachelor (neither is he my least favourite though), hence my lack of writing about him, but I think that I'm starting to warm up to his character. There's something so intrinsically endearing about his cocky sweetness. Thank you for all the supportive feedback so far; I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you thought! And thank you so much for all the lovely reviews/follows/likes, I love hearing from you all!