Flustered, the Succubus pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and shook her head. “Okay, let’s rewind.” She picked the piece of cake back up and struck the pose Quin had first seen her in, spatula and plate aloft. “Wow, Quin, what a surprise to see you here. You look beautiful. Now, I stop talking, and you go.”
Quin struggled for a response for several long seconds until, instead of words, a laugh bubbled up her throat, preceded by an embarrassing snort. Glyma bit her bottom lip to smother a sheepish smile, and it made Quin laugh harder. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed down the next bout of humor.
Clearing her throat, she smoothed a self-conscious hand down her front. “Well, you’re not exactly wrong. I don’t really like wearing these types of things. My mother insists, though.”
Okay, that sounded way more pathetic than Quin thought it would, and Glyma must have thought so, too. The skin between her eyebrows wrinkled, and her lips parted, as if to speak.
Before she could, Quin said, “You look nice as well.”
And she did. Granted, Glyma could have worn a cardboard box and still looked beautiful, but Quin had the wherewithal not to say that part out loud.
“It’s a catering uniform,” the Succubus said dismissively, returning the plate of cake to the table.
“Right.” Quin fidgeted with the delicate emerald necklace hanging between her breasts. “Still. You look”—she gave Glyma a more scrutinizing onceover, noticing how her purple tail hugged her leg, the stiffness in her movements, the way her fingers tugged at her collar every now and then—“uncomfortable, too.”
Instead of being offended, Glyma snickered and gestured to Quin’s dress. “To be honest, I’d rather be wearing that.”
“Think anyone will notice if we swap?” Quin teased, and the last remnants of tension between them shattered.
“I imagine it would be quite the scandal,” Glyma said through a boisterous laugh, and Quin’s shoulders loosened for the first time since she’d arrived.
Dropping her voice to not be overheard, Quin said, “Not exactly the type of press my mother approves of.”
Glyma copied her volume conspiratorially and winked. “Then we better stick to our own outfits.”
It was playful, possibly flirtatious, but before Quin could decide how much to entertain it, Glyma was leaning away and returning her attention to serving the cake. Unsure what else to say, Quin’s gaze drifted behind the Succubus to the banner draped over the wall, advertising the charity they were here to support.“Illiterate Orphans and Animals Against Hunger,”was scrawled across is it in gaudy type.
“Wow, that’s a mouthful,” she mused.
Following Quin’s stare, Glyma read the banner before snorting. “I know, right? It’s, like, just pick a cause, already. It’s doing too much, in my opinion.”
“Rich people are nothing if not thorough when their reputations, and therefore their money, are on the line,” she said before she thought better of it.
As Glyma coughed out a shocked snicker, Quin hurriedly checked her surroundings to ensure she hadn’t been overheard by the other guests. Thankfully, no one was giving her the stink-eye, and she exhaled in relief.
“I guess, but it’s rather confusing,” Glyma said as she served two more slices of cake. “Like, are the orphansandthe animals illiterate? Or did illiterate orphans form a coalition with the animals that were already standing against hunger?”
“I doubt even the organizers know,” Quin quipped for no other reason than to hear Glyma laugh again.
“At least they’re trying.”
“It’s a small concession, I suppose.”
Tail dancing behind her, Glyma beamed at Quin, and her heart somersaulted inside her chest. Oh gods, that wasn’t a good sign, was it?
Glyma inclined her chin at one of the plates on the table. “Want some cake? I didn’t bake it, but it’s still good.”
With a shake of her head, Quin turned the emerald pendant between her index finger and thumb, back and forth. “Pity,” she said, hurrying to add, “that you didn’t bake it,” when Glyma cocked her head in confusion.
“Oh?” she prompted, and Quin stepped to the side to allow several guests access to the table.
“I tried yourkriltcake. The sample you left. It was probably the best kriltcake I’ve ever tasted.”
A more natural flush colored Glyma’s cheeks. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. Kriltcake’s one of my specialties.”
“It’s never been a favorite of mine, but I probably could have eaten the whole pan. Waryn found it before I could—” She cut herself off at the mention of her almost-fiancé, the strangest shame creeping up her neck. “Anyway, it was delicious. You have a real talent.”
Glyma had to have noticed Quin’s verbal stumble, but she, thankfully, didn’t address it. “Thank you. I think so, too.”
