Baelfire throws an arm around the back of the booth and slides closer to me, flipping open the menu on the table in front of me and whispering in my ear.
"Hungry, hellion? I'm dying to feed you."
Everett smacks Bael's arm away to put his arm around me instead—but we all jolt in surprise when an animalistic snarl rips out of Baelfire's throat as he bares his teeth at the elemental. His gaze has shifted to the fiery golden-eyed slits of his dragon.
Shit. He hasn't hunted today.
Immediately, the gorgeous shifter flinches and buries his head under his arms on the table like he's trying to silence his dragon.
"Damn it. Sorry, Boo," he rasps quietly.
Luckily none of the humans nearby seem to have noticed that outburst. Resting my hand on Baelfire's knee under the table, I rub it reassuringly.
At least, I hope it's reassuring. I suck at shit like this.
"Maybe you should go hunt a squirrel or something."
"I'm not leaving your side."
"But—"
"Ican'tleave your side," he grits, voice muffled. "My dragon won't let me. Just keep touching me. It helps keep him in check when nothing else will."
Seeing my charming, cheerful match so tortured irks me deeply. Before I can demand that Baelfire go and kill something to appease his curse, a waitress approaches the table. Even though she's smiling as she greets us and starts filling water glasses, there's an unmistakable eyebrow raise of suspicion as her gaze flicks around the table.
"Happy holidays, and welcome to Bella's Diner. What can I get for you…five?"
Yep. She definitely suspects that we're a quintet of legacies.
Except for Crypt, the others place orders while I try to decipher the menu. When my turn comes, I still have no fucking idea what's in most of the dishes listed. I decide to play it safe with something Kenzie ordered for me when we used to go to Halfton.
"I'll have potatoes."
"Mashed or baked?"
Neither sounds right. What are those things called again?
"She means chips," Crypt offers, spinning a butterknife on the table out of boredom.
The waitress frowns. "Like, just a bag of potato chips? We don't have that here."
"Fries," Everett clarifies.
Right, that's what those are called.
My ice elemental goes on with, "Let's make that a large order of parmesan fries, the Southwest salad with absolutely no chicken or bacon, and the vegan specialty black bean burger. What else?" he glances at the others.
"She's never tried hot chocolate. Let's also add the French toast," Silas says. He looks at me and telepathically asks,Yes or no to whipped cream on that?
What the fuck is whipped cream?
"Extra whipped cream," he decides aloud.
"And a hot fudge sundae," Baelfire tacks on, sitting up finally. "Or do you want a milkshake instead, Mayflower?"
Hang on. Are they trying to order all of that just for me?
I'm about to remind them that I'm not a bottomless pit like Baelfire, but then I notice the waitress's wary expression. Obviously, witnessing that interaction has only cemented her suspicions. Now she's staring at us like we're sprouting horns and tails before her eyes. If I don't do something, she'll ask to see legal legacy identification from all of us.
