Dante lingered in the doorway, watching her work. The silence stretched, comfortable in ways it shouldn't be. In ways that made her remember firelight and whiskey and the taste of him still ghost-warm on her lips.
Her body remembered too. Remembered the solid weight of him. The way his hands had cupped her face. The heat that had sparked between them like lightning looking for ground.
Damn it.
The front door opened and freezing air rushed in along with Twyla Honeytree, looking far too chipper for this hour. She carried a basket that smelled like chocolate and cinnamon, her hair perfect despite the wind.
"Morning!" She breezed past Dante like he was furniture. "Brought breakfast. You look like you need it." Twyla set the basket on the bar, pulling out fresh pastries and a thermos. "Hot cocoa. The good kind with real chocolate. You'll thank me later."
"I'm already caffeinated."
"You're never caffeinated enough to deal with whatever drama's brewing between you two." Twyla poured cocoa into cups she'd brought, handing one to Maeve and one to Dante. "Drink. Both of you. You look exhausted."
"I'm fine," Maeve said.
"You're wound tighter than a spring." Twyla settled onto a barstool, grinning. "And you—" She pointed at Dante. "You look like you slept on a couch that's three sizes too small."
"How did you—" Dante stopped. "Never mind. Fae."
"Fae," Twyla agreed cheerfully. "We know things. Like how you spent the night on Maeve's office couch instead of going back to your nice warm inn bed. Which is very interesting."
"It's not interesting," Maeve said. "He fell asleep. That's all."
"On your couch. After patrolling all night. Making sure your tavern was safe." Twyla's smile turned knowing. "Almost like he's protective. Territorial, even. Wonder what that means."
"It means he's nosy and has poor time management."
"He looks like a lion who's staking a claim. And you look like a lioness who's too stubborn to admit she wants him to."
"I don't?—"
"Please." Twyla waved a hand. "You kept his coat. I saw it hanging in your apartment window. You kissed him during a power outage. You're letting him sleep in your office. These are not the actions of someone who wants him gone."
"These are the actions of someone too tired to throw him out." Maeve grabbed a pastry, needing something to do with her hands. "And for your information, you've been here more in the past week than you have in the past year. What's with the sudden breakfast delivery service?"
"I'm being supportive." Twyla's smile turned wicked. "And maybe a little nosy. Sue me. It's boring at the Griddle and Grind. Nobody there is having dramatic reunions with prodigal lions."
"There's no reunion."
"No?" Twyla glanced at Dante. "You planning to leave soon?"
"Not soon," he said carefully.
"See?" Twyla turned back to Maeve. "Not leaving. Sleeping on your couch. Wearing your kisses like badges. Definitely looks like a reunion to me."
"Twyla—"
"I'm just saying." The fae stood, gathering her basket. "You've been alone a long time, Maeve. Built walls so high nobody could reach you. But this lion?" She gestured to Dante. "He's scaling those walls whether you like it or not. Might be easier to just let him in."
Silence settled over the tavern as Twyla left just as quickly as she had arrived. Maeve busied herself with arranging glasses that didn't need arranging. Dante stayed by the door, cocoa cup in hand, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
"She's right, you know," he said finally.
"About what?"
"About me not leaving." He set his cup on the bar. "About staking a claim. About all of it."
Maeve's hands stilled on the glass she held. "Dante?—"
