"I'm just saying it's poetic."
"Eat your breakfast."
I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup and felt the warmth of it seep into my palms, and looked around the table at these loud generous people who had apparently been rooting for me since before I knew there was anything to root for.
The morning light came through the tall windows and caught the gold of Kael's scales through his shirt sleeve where his arm pressed against mine.
I thought about my tiny apartment and the radiator that clanked and the neighbor's TV through the wall and every quiet solitary morning I had spent telling myself that small and safe was enough.
It had been enough.
But this was something else entirely.
14
KAEL
The society pages worked faster than I seemed to be to bake a pastry.
I was standing behind the counter at six thirty on a Monday morning, still warm from the shower at the estate and running on approximately three hours of sleep, eating a honey-ember tart straight off the cooling rack when Marco walked in, took one look at me, and held up his phone.
The headline read:YOUNGEST SOLAS PRINCE CLAIMS MYSTERY OMEGA AT VALENTINE GALA. SCALES SEEN FROM ACROSS BALLROOM.
I took another bite of the tart.
"So," Marco said.
"So," I said.
He stared at me for a long moment. "You actually did it."
"I actually did it."
He looked at the phone again, then back at me, then at the bite mark on my neck that I hadn't bothered to cover, and his expression moved through approximately six different emotions before landing on something that looked dangerously close to tears.
"Marco," I said.
"I'm fine," he said, turning away immediately and tying his apron with unnecessary force. "I'm completely fine. Six months I watched you make those tarts and moon around this bakery like a lost puppy and you're standing there eating one like nothing happened."
"Something happened," I confirmed.
"I can see that." He pointed at my neck without looking at me. "Congratulations, boss."
"Thank you, Marco."
He nodded firmly, still not looking at me, and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard him say something that sounded like finally under his breath and chose not to address it.
The first hour was normal enough.
But the second hour was not. By eight thirty the bakery was fuller than any Monday morning had any right to be. I noticed it gradually, the way the tables filled faster than usual, the way people lingered longer over their coffees, the way eyes kept drifting to the door with that particular quality of waiting for something specific.
They knew.
Everyone in Fernwood knew about me and Amara.
Word had spread from the society pages to wherever word spread these days, and apparently what people wanted to know was whether the mystery Omega would show up to the bakery of the prince who had claimed her in front of two hundred witnesses at the Solas Valentine Gala.
Marco appeared at my elbow during a brief lull, pretending to wipe down the counter. "You see what's happening out there?"
