At the hamburger patty.
Then she set it aside and grabbed more meat.
“The book’s okay,” Jason went on as he went back to strumming. “But Elle’s better at teaching me. I looked at the book last night and –”
Strange vibes started emanating from Prentice and Isabella thought it unfortunate her hands were filled with meat because she really needed to fist them.
Prentice interrupted his son, “You had the guitar last night?”
“Aye,” Jason answered distractedly, concentrating on his finger work. “We started last night. Elle showed me more when I got home from school.”
Jason hadn’t finished speaking when Isabella felt Prentice’s hand at the small of her back and his lips at her ear.
“Put the mince down, Elle,” he ordered in a whisper.
Oh dear.
She licked her lips and then, screwing up her courage, she looked at him. His face was carefully blank. She didn’t think this was a good sign.
“Okay,” she whispered back, dropped the meat, went to the sink, washed her hands and was still toweling them off (slowly) when Prentice closed in.
He pulled the towel from her hands, tossed it aside and, hands to her hips, he part guided, part shoved her into his study where he closed the doors behind them.
She turned and decided to do what she could to defuse the situation.
Which meant apologize and quick.
“Prentice, I –”
He cut her off, “You call me Pren.”
She blinked, confused at what he said and also confused at his voice which was thick to the point of being hoarse.
It hit her he was holding back emotion.
Her heart broke and she felt her eyes sting.
“Pren,” she whispered.
“You’re a f**king miracle worker.”
Her body locked, all except her eyes which she blinked again.
“What?” she breathed.
“Jace hasn’t touched that guitar, not once since his Mum got sick, without him having one of his nightmares. Last night, you worked with him on it and he didn’t have a nightmare,” Prentice explained, Isabella stared at him in shock at his words and he walked to her, put his hands to her jaws and repeated, “You’re a miracle worker.”
“I –” Isabella started then stopped, not having any earthly clue what to say.
No one had ever called her a miracle worker.
Because, in her life, miracles didn’t occur.
Except in this magical little village.
Something flashed in his eyes, his face dipped close and his fingers flexed at her jaw. “Has it occurred to you that if you’d been shown a little love and compassion, the nightmares you’ve had for thirty-two years would have gone away?”
No.