Veela weren’t descended from moths.
Her wings were glorious and scaley, not colorful and soft. Never before had she been drawn towards a light to the exclusion of all else.
But his bare skin glittering in the midday light drew her as surely as if he was a flame and she the helpless bug. Instead, fire coiled in her belly and surged through her veins, propelling her over the not-quite-dry asphalt and over to the man hammering at a piece of wood; each swing an arc as perfect and golden as his skin.
Veela probably weren’t descended from moths.
He noticed her shortly before she tripped over him in her haste, so absorbed in his hammer and the metal triangle in his other hand. An arm made of corded muscle and taut skin drew sweat from his brow and the strength from her legs.
“You the inspector?”
And a voice of confident authority to boot. A question so full of commanding certainty that she could only nod and try to work some moisture back into her mouth.
Internally, she rallied, tearing her eyes from glistening skin and tried to focus on the waist-high piece of wood he had finished erecting. Pounding.
Nailing.
“Ma’am?”
She blinked, realizing too late that she had missed another question. Too late to go back now.
“What were you working on here?” She asked.
He blinked at her, brilliant green eyes vanishing for a moment behind his dusty glasses.
“The window,” he said after a moment, pointing to a frame she hadn’t noticed. “Just got the last jack stud in. We’ll be able to mount the window once it arrives, make sure it fits.”
“I know a jacked stud when I see one,” she murmured.
“Pardon?”
“Nice work on the jack stud.” She gestured to the narrow alcove they stood in and the larger space beyond. “And this is?”
The kitchen,” he answered slowly. He pointed to wires dangling from the ceiling. “We’re stil working on electrical. Lots of electricity in here. We’ve got to be careful and do it right.”
“Enough electricity to do me right.”
“What?”
She was saved having to make up another excuse by the arrival of a pudgy man in a hat, holding a clipboard.
“Just set it in the grass,” the shirtless carpenter said, pointing. “We’re not ready to put it on the pole yet.”
“Pretty sure it’s ready for the pole now,” she said, this time quietly enough not to be overheard.
Or at least she thought so.
“No,” he said slowly, eying her up and down. “It just went in the ground yesterday, it’s still too wet to support any weight. Besides, we need to finish running the pipe to the restrooms before we can get heavy machinery anywhere close.”
She licked her lips, unsure of where to even begin.
“You’re…not the inspector, are you?” He asked, his lips turning down into a frown.
She shook her head and grinned. “Why don’t you show me to the bedroom and I’ll let you inspect excactly how wet my ground is.”
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“Ma’am, this is a Wendy’s.”