“Here,” the manager says, all cocky and about to get another jab at his balls.
“Hand it to her.Notme,” Rhys barks and steps aside. “She did all this hard work.”
Vin walks up to me, and I give him an assassin’s glare.
“Don’t come back next year,” he says low, putting his life in his hands.
“Jerk.” After I swipe the envelope, he rushes away.
Families and couples start to sit at the tables with trays of cocoa and steaming pretzels. Their faces light up when they notice the plants. I clutch my chest, watching their smiles as they smell the blossoms.
The market noise doesn’t press on my skull as much anymore. It fades, like someone turned down the volume inside my head. All because of something I did.
Rhys took care of Vin, but he didn’t tell the kids to shut up or take their noisemakers away. He helped me get through all the chaos.
He wants me strong enough to take whatever storm is coming.
Chapter 34
Rhys
The market noise fades to black, as well as my anger toward yet another person acting rudely to Fallon. I’m aching for a pint to take the edge off, but I’ve noticed Fallon doesn’t drink.
Fine by me. It’s better if I stay sharp. Before, I would drown myself in whiskey after a kill, but now, just sitting with Fallon makes the screaming in my head and the smell of blood slowly vanish.
Fallon’s hand is tucked firmly in the crook of my elbow, cheeks glowing from the cold. That impossible smile of hers hasn’t stopped curving her mouth.
“All these people enjoy your plants,” I say, pointing to the crowds at the food tables. “They’d be your friend in a heartbeat.”
Her brows knit. “I think Basil will be jealous.”
“Is he jealous of me?” I ask, and oddly, I mean it.
“No,” she snorts.
“Where are we going now, love?” I ask, lengthening my stride to match her skipping pace.
“Ornaments,” she says, as if that explains anything.
I blink down at her. “Ornaments?”
“For the lobby Christmas tree,” she adds, like it’s obvious. “Remember? We have the decorating committee meeting on Wednesday at four p.m.”
I shake my head, and there I am, typinglobby decorating committee meetingin my phone. If my enemies ever hack me, they’ll think it’s a decoy entry for an assassination attempt.
A laugh rumbles out of me.
Ordinarily, I’d be shaping up one of my manyI’m busyexcuses to slip away. But after what I saw at that marketand how that guy Vin went from trying to feel her up to stiffing her paycheck, there’s no way I’m letting her spend the rest of this day alone.
If Fallon is going to fight for color and beauty in the world, I’ll fight to make sure no one dares to get in her way.
Halfway down a narrow street that I bet only a fraction of the city knows about, we reach a shop, and Fallon practically bounces through the door. The place looks like the North Pole had a yard sale the day after Christmas. It’s wall-to-wall lights, frosted garland dripping like frozen waterfalls, and ornaments dangling from every beam like jeweled raindrops. There are glass baubles shaped like nutcrackers, acrylic hand-painted finials, and tiny glittery snow birds with silk feathers.
The place reeks of cinnamon and sugar, pine and glue. My skull throbs instantly.
Yet, Fallon exhales, “This is perfect.”
She grabs a wicker basket and blazes a trail down the center aisle on a mission, unaffected. Her short skirt swishes against her candy-cane tights, flashing red and white with every step of her black ankle boots.
