Eyes riveted on the paper, he made no move to take it, and I caved long before him.
“Here.” I shoved it into his coat pocket. “I’m in enough trouble as it is, without botching an order.”
“Thank you.” He touched a hand to the paper. “I would have returned for it on my regular day.”
“Oh?” Interest piqued, I leaned in. “What day would that be?”
“Friday,” he breathed, skittish as a mouse before a hunting cat.
“Friday,” I repeated, a bad idea already forming. “I’ll see you then, Saint.”
The boy—Hiram—snapped his head toward me. “Saint?”
“Your curls.” I reached up, tugged one straight, then released it to recoil against his scalp. “You look like an angel sent to walk the earth.” I scrunched up my face. “A fallen angel. Gilded hair, yes, but those eyes. There’s darkness in you, Saint.” I winked at him. “Lucky for you, I like a bit of mystery in a boy.”
Saint caught my wrist before I could lower my arm. “Why do they call you Howl?”
Thank all the gods and goddesses, I wasn’t a Christian, despite my weekly dose of church services.
“I strip naked,” I whispered behind my free hand, “and run with the Kornegay pack on full moons.”
Saint swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his gaze sweeping over my face. “There’s a full moon in two days’ time.”
Any witch worth their salt tracked the lunar calendar to cast spells requiring a bit of celestial aid.
“Oh?” I pretended innocence, not my best performance. “Is there?”
“You are…” he wet his lips, “…an unexpected complication.”
“You say the sweetest things.” I broke his hold with ease that told me he never meant me any harm. “Honey simply pours from your lips.”
Saint grimaced at the taunt, but he kept drinking me in as if he were parched for the sight of me.
“I’m not a good man,” he warned me, his voice rough and low. “You ought to keep your distance.”
“I’m not a good girl,” I stated the obvious. “Perhaps it’s you who ought to keep their distance.” I inched into his personal space. “Or have you already tried? Do you come to market to watch me?”
What little color lingered in his cheeks fled. “I…”
“I was only jesting.” I studied him, thrilled to have hit the target by accident. Papa always did caution my aim was excellent. “Do you fancy me, Saint?” I took another step closer. “Is that why you approached today? You saw I was absent and worried?” I grinned. “Did you hear rumors of me and Charlie, or did you invent them as an excuse to pry?”
“I must go.”
With that, he angled down an alley, disappearing as if he were never there. Before I decided whether to chase after him, John caught me by the upper arm and hauled me back to the market, where he sat me on a hay bale to contemplate my reckless behavior. But the only thought circling my head was how soft Saint’s hair was between my fingers and when—not if—I would feel his curls again.