Blue (For The Love of Purple #2) - Audrey Faye Page 0,3

eyes.

Violet shoots me an amused look.

I smile at her kind eyes. Then my gaze goes back to the woman beside her, standing stiffly with her hands in her pockets as she surveys my table of gifts.

I ache a little for one who finds such need for caution in an offer freely given.

The clay watches, too.

When Blue finally reaches out, her hand hovers over a teal mug. It’s small and shallow, with a strap handle and sensual swirls on the inside.

I smile. That one is made with hardy clay. No porcelain for her.

Violet grins and picks up a dainty porcelain tea cup that looks fragile enough to shatter the first time someone sneezes in its vicinity.

I shake my head. It isn’t as fragile as it looks, but I already know who’s supposed to take that one home.

Violet winks at me and sets the tea cup back down.

Blue touches several other pieces. Picks up one or two of them. A sturdy bowl. A practical and slightly off-kilter plate. Interesting choices, but not the right one. The silly rock gremlin peeking out of his cave makes her laugh.

I gather the sound. Hold it in my hands.

Her fingers move slowly back to the shallow teal mug, a reluctant journey toward clay I rescued from the foundations of an old house before they tore it down to put up a boring, structurally sound duplex. She touches it this time. Cups it gently.

I know better than to pick a side.

I do anyhow.

Her hand moves away and then returns in a jerky move and picks the mug up, her fingers sliding through the handle and wrapping around a teal glaze that has only ever adorned one piece.

She touches the dark, iron-rich glaze that circles the rim. Tilts the mug. Eyes the swirls on the inside warily.

Her cheeks turn pink.

The clay delights. She sees. She knows.

She sets the mug down with firm resolve.

I ache again for a soul who believes that cracks need to be properly mended before small teal cups with sensual swirls can be permitted to come close. I ache—and I watch. She knows who she is on the inside, even as she resists.

Soft presence reaches out and takes my hand, and together Violet and I stand silent witness for Blue as she struggles.

She snarls under her breath and picks up the teal mug again. Shifts it one hand to the other, studiously avoiding the interior swirls. Deciding whether today is a day that she’s willing to stand in her own discomfort.

Her lips finally quirk. She moves decisively, tucking the mug into her pocket and turning back to the safe, sturdy bowls.

I reach for the tools a clay mystic keeps on hand so that his wares can help to pay his bills. I tap the password on my tablet, run my finger down the price list, and let out a quiet breath.

Things just got interesting.

MABEL

I watch as Violet and Blue pay for their new trinkets. The bowls are pretty and well made, and the tiny blue bottle Violet took off the windowsill has a temper that will nicely fit its new owner.

But it’s the look in Blue’s eyes that has me most intrigued.

That cup in her pocket got under her skin, it did.

It’s about time.

I like this Grim fellow. He doesn’t talk to ghosts, but he talks to what we become, and that’s close enough. He’s got wise hands and a heart that knows how to be patient, and that’s what our Blue needs.

It’s a damn fool man she let choose her the last time. I can’t let any of mine make that kind of mistake twice.

Yes, she’s mine. Drew went and got himself a lover and a couple of new sisters, and this one has need of me. I’ll go have a chat with Naya, and Hamish, if he’s in a mood to listen. Our girl needs something interesting to read and maybe something new and tasty in her beer glass, too.

Not in her cup, though. That needs to stay in her pocket.

Chapter Three

“I don’t think meatloaf pizza is a thing.” Indigo, age 23.

BLUE

I roll my eyes at my most difficult client. “You need to use the stools I make for you. That way Indigo won’t have to cry her eyes out over your grave.” I don’t have time for that. I really shouldn’t have taken on the inn upgrades, but I don’t have any idea how to say no to two-hundred-year-old buildings.

Obstinate artists are far less of a problem.

Drew makes a face that says