Half Moon Truth: (The Eldeberry Chronicles Book 1) by Evelyn Fletching

Author:Evelyn Fletching [Fletching, Evelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ivy & Crown Publishing
Published: 2024-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

We’ve been on the road for hours, all the unsaids of last night hanging heavy between us. Her eyes follow my arms as I slow the horses, drawing back on the reigns. I’d be nervous if it wasn’t something I’ve done for years; if I didn’t see the curiosity and interest pooling in her gaze.

Fuck. I’m still nervous. I feel like a kid with their first crush. Only more intense, because Nolan O’Breen in fifth grade didn’t give me butterflies like this. This is something new. My stomach rolls, waiting for her next move.

Breathe in.

Will she make a move?

Am I making up everything between us?

Breathe out.

Maybe it was anger in her eyes.

Do I smell? I probably smell. I knew I should’ve bathed last night but a soaking wet Luna left me all sorts of twisted up. Maybe I should get a room in the next town to bathe real quick. I don’t want to spend the rest of the ride with Moon making her crinkle her nose.

Her eyes on me make me squirm in my seat. Is it warm? It feels warm. I think I might have sunburned my neck. Pressing my hand to it, feeling warm and flushed, Luna’s gaze stays fixed on me. Maybe I should get her to see if I have a fever? I think I’m running warm. This is not good. I can’t be sick for the wedding.

Not that I’m doing anything important in it other than sit in a crowd. But it kind of takes the triumph out of being there with a hot date if I’m bedridden for the entirety of the event.

I’m deep in my mind freaking out, but everything settles when she rests her hand over my forearm and kneads the ink with her thumb.

“Can I see your tattoos?” She sounds nervous, like she thinks I might say no.

Like I could say no to her.

We’re in the middle of the road, nothing but yards of green and hills stretching into the distance. But it wouldn’t matter if there were people surrounding us on all sides – for her, I’ll always try to meet her expectations.

Clearing my throat a few times, I nod. Her fingertips are gentle, teasing the hair on my arm, tracing the designs. Pushing my sleeve up in a slow, tortuous path, I shiver when the cooling air meets the burnt red leaves weaving up my arm following her touch.

“These are fireink. My people made these?” She muses.

“Yeah.” Her fingers are gentle, almost reverent, trailing along the art dripping from my shoulder.

“I know this art. Giovanni did this?” She pauses on the wreath I had done in my da’s memory.

Lifting a shoulder, I shake my sleeve down, suddenly self-conscious. “He’s good, you know? At his work.”

“He’s the best.”

Her hands drift away and I want to do something – anything – to make her touch me again. Even though the night’s cooling, I reach for the collar of my shirt. “I’ve got more. Wanna see?”

She nods eagerly, perched on the edge of the bench, shifting closer so her legs have room to tuck up under her.

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