The mattress pressed against my bare back, but I didn’t bother shifting. The inn’s room was cold enough that my breath fogged when I exhaled, but my skin was warm where it mattered—flushed from the firewhisky I’d had downstairs, from the day’s work, from the way my own fingers knew exactly what I liked. I didn’t even think about it anymore. Just habit.**

  A few strokes between my legs, slow at first, then firmer, my fingers rubbing where I needed it. My other hand cupped my breast, squeezing just hard enough to make my back arch. I bit my lip, stifling the noise. The wolf’s face flickered behind my eyelids.

  Then it happened like a misstep on a familiar path—my mind slipped. *The Town Mouse.* Not princess Jasmine.** The records keeper. That no-nonsense, bureaucratic woman with her hair pinned back so tight it looked painful, her gsses, her fingers tapping against the ledgers like she was counting out sins. The way she’d looked at me today—like I *annoyed* her.

  My fingers faltered.

  I didn’t *fantasize* about women. I masturbated to men. I didn’t lie in the dark imagining what it’d be like to have a woman’s mouth on me, or to bury my face between that mouse woman’s thighs and see if I could make that prim little bureaucrat *whimper*—

  A jolt shot through me, unexpected, and I came with a muffled gasp, my hips jerking off the bed. My thighs trembled. My fingers were *soaked.*

  For a second, I just y there, panting. Then I wiped my hand on the sheet, rolled onto my side, and pulled the bnket up to my chin.

  *Huh.*

  I should’ve been weirded out. But I wasn’t. Just… *curious.* Like finding a new path in the woods. Might be worth exploring. Might not.

  I closed my eyes.

  Tomorrow, I’d have to figure out a way to get those blueprints.

  ---The hangar smelled like machine oil and magic—that peculiar combination of industrial progress and old-world enchantment that only pces like this produced. Goldilocks stood near her airship, half-listening to Fennrick, the elf designer her father had hired, gesture dramatically at the middle deck's gss paneling.

  "—and if we repce these panels with aurora gss from the Northern Wastes, darling, the *refraction*—" Fennrick's long fingers traced elegant patterns in the air. He was beautiful in that sharp, androgynous way elves often were, all cheekbones and graceful movements, wearing a jacket with so many unnecessary buckles it should have looked ridiculous but somehow didn't.

  Goldilocks nodded absently. She didn't care about aurora gss. She didn't care about any of this.

  Then she saw him.

  Across the hangar, talking to Henrik, the owner. That massive frame was unmistakable even at a distance. Little John, gesturing at something, his voice too low to hear but his posture rexed, casual.

  Her stomach dropped.

  *No. No no no. Not here. Not now.*

  She should look away. Should focus on Fennrick's expnation of light diffusion properties or whatever he was going on about. Should pretend she hadn't seen him.

  But she couldn't stop staring.

  "Goldilocks? Darling?" Fennrick had stopped talking, following her gaze across the hangar. "Oh my. Now *that* is a specimen."

  "What?" Goldilocks tore her eyes away.

  "That absolute *mountain* of a man over there." Fennrick fanned himself with exaggerated appreciation. "Is he real or did someone commission him from a particurly inspired sculptor?"

  "He's real," Goldilocks muttered.

  "Do you know him?" Fennrick's eyes sharpened with interest.

  "No. Maybe. Sort of." She couldn't think straight. Little John was still talking to Henrik, completely unaware of her presence. Or maybe he'd seen her and didn't care. That would be worse, somehow.

  "Well, that's decidedly vague." Fennrick studied her face. "Oh. *Oh*. There's history here, isn't there? The tragic kind?"

  "It's not tragic. There's no history. We barely—" Goldilocks stopped. Why was she expining this to her father's hired decorator?

  "Mmm-hmm." Fennrick's tone was deeply unconvinced. "Well, if you'll excuse me, darling, I need to consult with Henrik about the timeline for the aurora gss shipment. You take a moment to collect yourself. You look like you've seen a particurly devastating ghost."

  He swept away before she could protest, leaving her standing alone near the airship.

  She should leave. Should get out of here before—

  Little John's head turned. Their eyes met across the hangar.

  Recognition flickered across his face. He said something to Henrik, then started walking toward her.

  *Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.*

  Goldilocks forced herself to stand still, to look casual, like she wasn't dying inside. Like her heart wasn't hammering against her ribs.

  He stopped a few feet away, looking her up and down with that same direct, assessing gaze. "Hey. Silver-mane, right?"

  For a moment, she couldn't speak. Then: "What?"

  "Your name. Silver-something?"

  The humiliation was instantaneous and complete. "It's *Goldilocks*."

  "Oh. Right." He didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. "Goldilocks."

  She wanted to scream. Wanted to sp him. Wanted to demand how he could forget her name when she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him for *days*.

  Instead, she lifted her chin and said, as coolly as she could manage, "Yes. Goldilocks. And you're Little John. I *remember*."

  If he caught the emphasis, he didn't show it. "What are you doing here?"

  "I could ask you the same thing."

  "Asked you first."

  God, he was infuriating. "If you must know, I'm here to get my airship redecorated." She gestured at the three-disk vessel behind her. "My father hired a designer."

  Little John's gaze shifted to the airship. Something changed in his expression—a sharpening, a focus that hadn't been there a moment before. "That's yours?"

  "Yes."

  He walked past her, moving closer to the ship. His eyes traveled up the stacked disks, taking in the curved gss panels, the open-air top deck. "How high can this thing fly?"

  Goldilocks blinked at the question. "I—I don't know exactly. Pretty high, I think. Why?"

  "Just curious." He was walking around the lower deck now, one hand trailing along the gss wall. "It's stable? Doesn't tilt or anything?"

  "It's perfectly stable." She followed him, her earlier hurt temporarily forgotten in the face of his sudden interest. He was actually paying attention to something about her, even if it was just her ship. "The enchantments keep it level no matter what. You could have a party on all three decks and it wouldn't even wobble."

  "You have parties on this thing?"

  "All the time." Was that judgment in his voice? She couldn't tell. "It's what it's for."

  He made a noncommittal sound, still examining the ship. Fennrick had appeared on the middle deck, talking animatedly with one of Henrik's mechanics about gss specifications.

  "You fly this yourself or you got a crew?" Little John asked, looking up at the three stacked disks.

  "I have a pilot," Goldilocks said. "But I've flown it. Twice. It's not that hard once you understand the controls."

  "Where do you keep it?"

  "There's a private mooring ptform near my father's estate. Why all the questions?"

  Little John shrugged. "Never seen anything like it. It's impressive."

  *He's impressed. He's actually impressed.*

  "You could see it sometime," Goldilocks heard herself say. "If you wanted. When it's all decorated."

  "Maybe."

  They stood there for a moment, the sounds of the hangar around them—mechanics working, Fennrick's voice drifting down from above, the hum of enchantments.

  Little John gnced toward the entrance. "I should get going. Got things to handle."

  *No. Not yet. Not again.*

  "Wait." The word came out more desperate than she'd intended. She took a breath, tried to sound casual. "Can I see you again?"

  Little John looked at her, something unreadable in his expression. Then: "Yeah. We can do that."

  Relief flooded through her, so intense it was almost painful. "Really?"

  "Sure."

  "Do you want to exchange numbers?" The words tumbled out before she could second-guess them.

  "Sure."

  Relief washed over her. She pulled out her magic mirror, the small enchanted device gleaming in her palm. "Okay, what's your number?"

  He rattled it off, and she tapped the digits into the mirror's glowing surface, her fingers slightly unsteady.

  "Do you want mine?" she asked, looking up at him.

  "Nah." He gave her a wink that made her stomach flip. "Just call me when you're ready to get together again."

  And then he was walking away, that easy, unhurried stride carrying him toward the hangar entrance.

  Goldilocks stood there, frozen, her mind spinning.

  *Get together again!*