Neve (Silver Skates #3) - Helen Scott Page 0,7

it was the truth.

Once he had made his way over to the table I’d chosen, he glanced at the glass in my hand and asked, “Enjoying your drink?”

“I am actually. Let me get you one as an apology. We got off on the wrong foot, and I want to fix that.”

“I don’t think I should have a drink with my new boss,” he grumbled.

“One drink isn’t going to kill you. I just want to chat, get to know the heart of the Gazette, understand what you like about Silver Springs, what makes Seren tick, all that good stuff. You can ask me anything in return, and I’ll answer honestly, scout’s honor.” I raised my hand with my thumb holding down my bent pinky so just the three fingers in the middle were raised.

I knew as soon as I offered to answer his questions, I had him. The curiosity lit up his eyes, making the blue sparkle even more.

“Fine. One drink.” He flagged down a waitress and placed an order while I got a refill.

We both sat bundled up in our respective blankets, an awkward silence covering us more than the material on our laps and around our shoulders. I blew out a breath, watching it cloud the air in front of my face.

“What do you want to know about the Gazette?” Seren asked, finally breaking the silence between us.

“Just the normal stuff. Why do you like working there? Do you like your coworkers? What would you change if you could? That kind of thing.”

Before he could answer, the waitress returned with our drinks. He thanked her, and told her to keep them coming, evidently feeling as though he needed more than one beer to get through this conversation. As she walked away, he rubbed a hand along his jaw in thought, and for the first time, I noticed some pale blond stubble starting to form. It cast the lightest shadow on his cheek, just enough to show the texture. For some strange reason, it made me want to touch his face.

I’d only had three martinis, and that wasn’t usually enough to make me handsy. Come to think of it though, when was the last time I’d gotten laid? It had been a while, so maybe that was why Seren was having such an impact on me.

Finally, he saved me from my thoughts fully descending into the gutter and said, “I like the other reporter, Samson, though he tries to stir up stories where there are none. It’s just the two of us so I don’t really have a choice other than making it work. As for the Gazette itself, I like it because it’s not focused on supernatural beings like so much in this town. Sometimes, it feels like this place is only supes these days. Not that I mind, but I like the Gazette because it’s something just for the humans, you know?”

Oh, he was going for it, wasn’t he? “How do you know I’m supernatural? What if I’m human?”

“You’re not. You give off a witchy vibe.” He gave me a bit of side-eye as he swigged from his bottle of beer and faced the ice rink proper.

“Witchy, hum? Well, you are technically right, but I’m a terrible witch. More human than witch really, though not literally. It just feels that way.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in here. Silver Springs has a number of witches that aren’t quite in control of their magic. Julian, one of the owners of Jewels Cafe, has a tendency to have his magic go haywire. He’s even blown up a door or two.”

“Good to know,” I replied, unsure how that made me feel. Had my father sent me here because it was a place to put his defective daughter? He didn’t often practice magic, but when he did, it was always flawless, unlike mine. I cleared my throat and said, “So if the humans having their own paper makes you enjoy working at the Gazette, what makes you enjoy living in Silver Springs?”

“Because things like doors blowing up happens, or people finding love because of a spelled book, or having cops that are trolls, or magical dildos flying around… Basically, because it’s never boring here. Sure, we’re a small town, but with the number of supes living here, it’s not exactly quiet.”

So he liked supes and humans equally. Interesting.

“So since you know I’m a witch…” I let the sentence hang, hoping he’d just fill it in and not ignore me.

“I’m a shifter.” Three words,