“Hey, Puck, you sodding bastard, look at me!”
I peered at the furious fairy over the rim of my beer mug. “Good morrow, fairest spirit in the land. What cause—”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she said. “And don’t you dare give me that cheeky grin.”’
“But how have I offended thee, my dear?” I asked, lowering my voice to avoid making a scene in the crowded pub.
She glared at me. “You don’t even remember who I am.”
“Of course I do, Pease… Mustard… Cobweb… Moth!”
“Fourth time’s the charm, you shrewd and knavish sprite. You moaned my name enough the other night.”
My eyes wandered over her tangle of dark hair, sapphire-blue eyes, crimson lips, settling finally on her ample bosom. Ah, yes, that was a bosom to commit to memory.
I held out a hand to touch her face and, with a flick of the wrist, I produced a red rose from thin air.
“Could I forget a flower like yourself?” I asked.
She grabbed my mug, dumped the beer in my lap and stalked out. But I knew she’d be back… Once she noticed the donkey ears.