Both men froze when Ceri smiled at them, and I jogged into my room. Snatching the two garment bags, I hustled back. I was alive—check. Still had the focus—check. Introduced Trent and Ceri—check. I’m kind of hungry. Wonder what I’ve got in the fridge? My eyes widened, now that I realized what that metallic stench was. Damn it, I had left the kettle over the flame, and it had gone dry.

“Here,” I said, dumping the two dresses into Trent’s arms. “I’m not working your lame-ass wedding. I’d refund your money, but you haven’t given me any.”

Trent’s face was murderously furious, and he dropped them on the floor. Turning on a heel, he stiffly walked out the door, leaving it open behind him. I heard his feet on the sidewalk and the sound of a car door opening and shutting, then nothing.

Quen made an elegant bow to Ceri, who drew her dress up and curtsied back, shocking me. Hesitating, Quen bowed again to me, and I gave him a sloppy see-you-later salute. Like I could curtsy? His dark face smiling, Quen followed Trent out and quietly shut the door.

My exhaled breath seemed to be very loud.

“Holy crap,” Jenks said, leaving my shoulder to make circles around Ceri. “That was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen!”

As if it had been a signal, the sanctuary was abruptly pixy-filled. My head started to hurt, and though I was obviously happy with how this had ended, I was worried, too. I had to get rid of the focus as soon as possible. “Ceri,” I said, waving pixy kids from my path as I flung the discarded dresses over the back of the couch and hotfooted it into the kitchen to turn off the burner, “just what am I to you anyway?”

She had followed me, and I was surprised to see Trent’s gift in her hand when I glanced over my shoulder. “My friend,” she said simply.

The stink was awful in the kitchen, and I wedged the window higher. See, this was why I liked coffee. You couldn’t screw up making coffee. Even the bad stuff was good.

Using a hot pad, I moved the black kettle to the sink, the pops of superheated water startling me when the kettle hit the damp porcelain. “You want some coffee?” I said, at a loss for what to do. I knew she’d rather have tea, but not made in something so dirty on the outside.

“I like him,” she said wistfully, and I spun, shocked at the shy tone.

“Quen?” I stammered, remembering him kissing her hand.

She was standing in the threshold to the kitchen, a dreamy look on her face where a powerful anger had just been. “No,” she said, as if mystified at my confusion. “Trent. He’s so deliciously innocent. And with all that power.”