stare. The sun filtered through the canopy of leaves to illuminate the warm brown skin of his back – darker than David’s – as he bent and pulled at a stubborn shoelace. With a quiet mutter he finally got it undone and kicked it into the trunk of a nearby cypress tree.
As if freed from shackles instead of clothing, Tamani’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed noisily. Even though he was a bit short by human standards, his arms were lean and long. He stretched, flinging them out wide, his broad shoulders forming the top of a slender triangle that narrowed to his waist, where his jeans hung loosely at his hips. The angles of his back caught the sunlight and for a moment Laurel fancied that she could see him soaking in those nourishing rays. She knew she should say something – announce her presence – but she hesitated.
When he placed his hands on the hips she was eyeing and lifted his face to the sky, Laurel realised she’d better make some noise before he took something else off. She cleared her throat quietly.
The sun tossed golden light through Tamani’s hair as he spun, visibly tense. “It’s you,” he said, sounding relieved. Then a strange look took over. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” Laurel said quickly.
“A minute?” Tamani pressed. “Two?”
“Um, about one, I guess.”
Tamani shook his head. “And I didn’t hear a thing. Damn human clothes.” He dropped on to a fallen log and pulled off a sock. “They’re not just uncomfortable, they’re noisy! And what is with that school? It’s so dark.”
Laurel stifled a grin. She’d told her mother the same thing after her first day at Del Norte. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, handing him the nectarine. “Eat this. It’ll make you feel better.”
He took the fruit from her, his fingers brushing hers. “Thanks,” he said softly. He hesitated, then faced forward and took a bite. “I trained for this. I did! But they never made me stay indoors for this long at once. I was focused on learning the culture and didn’t even think about the consequences of being inside so much.”
“It helps if you get a seat under the windows,” Laurel suggested. “I learned that the hard way.”
“And who the hell came up with jeans?” Tamani continued darkly. “Heavy, sweltering fabric? You’re seriously telling me the race that invented the internet couldn’t create a fabric better than denim? Please!”
“You said internet,” Laurel said with a snort. “That is so weird.”
Tamani just laughed and took another bite of the nectarine. “You were right,” he said appreciatively, holding up the fruit. “This helps a lot.”
Laurel stepped over and sat down next to him on the fallen log. They were almost close enough to touch, but the air between them might as well have been a granite wall. “Tamani?”
He turned to face her, but said nothing.
Not sure whether it was a mistake, Laurel smiled and leaned forward, circling her arms round his neck. “Hello,” she said, her lips near his ear.
He wrapped his arms round her, returning her greeting. She started to pull back, but he held on tighter, his hands begging her to stay. She didn’t fight it – realised she didn’t want to. After a few more seconds, he released her, but it was with obvious reluctance. “Hi,” he said quietly.
She looked up into his light green eyes and was disappointed to realise that the colour still bothered her. They weren’t different, really; they were still his eyes. But she found the new colour irrationally disturbing.
“Listen,” Tamani said slowly. “I’m sorry this was all such a surprise for you.”
“You could have told me.”
“And what would you have said?” he asked.
Laurel started to say something, then closed her mouth and instead smiled guiltily.
“You’d have told me not to come, right?” Tamani pressed.
Laurel just raised one eyebrow.
“So I couldn’t tell you,” he said with a shrug.
Laurel reached down, plucked a small fern, and began tearing it to pieces. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Shar wouldn’t say.”
“Mostly in Scotland, like I said in class.”
“Why?”
It was his turn to look guilty. “Training.”
“Training for what?”
“To come here.”
“The whole time?” Laurel said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Tamani nodded.
Laurel tried to push away the hurt that instantly filled her chest. “You knew this whole time that you were coming back and you still left without saying goodbye?” She expected him to look ashamed, or at least apologetic, but he didn’t. He met her eyes without blinking.
“As opposed to waiting for you to come and tell me in person that you were choosing David instead of me and wouldn’t be coming round any more?”
She looked away, guilt crowding out her hurt feelings.
“How would that have done me any good? You’d have felt better – heroic even – and I’d have looked like a fool going off to the other side of the world to play scorned lover.” He paused, taking a bite of the nectarine and chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “Instead, you had to feel the weight of your choices and I got to keep some of my pride. Just a touch,” he added, “since, regardless, I still had to go off to the other side of the world and play scorned lover. I think my mother would say, ‘Same fruit, different bough.’”
Laurel wasn’t sure she grasped the idiom. Even after two summers in Avalon, faerie culture mostly eluded her. But she got the gist of it.
“What’s done is done,” Tamani said, polishing off the nectarine, “and I suggest we don’t dwell on it.” He concentrated for a second before throwing the pit hard at the trees.
A quiet grunt sounded. “Hecate’s eye, Tamani! Was that really necessary?”
Tamani grinned as a tall sentry with closely cropped hair materialised from between the trees, rubbing his arm. “You were spying,” Tamani said, his tone light.
“I tried to give you some space, but you did ask me to meet you here.”
Tamani spread his hands wide in defeat. “Touché. Who else is coming?”
“The others are watching the house; there’s no reason for them to join us.”
“Great,” Tamani said, sitting up straighter. “Laurel, have you met Aaron?”
“Several times,” Laurel said, smiling her greeting. “Several” was probably stretching it, but she was fairly certain they had met
