“So the pain won’t come back?”
“It will. Eventually.” Eli looks up and down the street. “Which way?”
Disoriented by his unpredictability, I scan the area and point in the direction of my room over the coffee shop, a piece of my past I thought was gone forever. A piece of me I never thought he’d see.
A few blocks later, I climb the stairs to my room, each step heavy with memories. I flip around halfway up. Eli stands at the foot of the stairs, eyes glued on the coffee shop on the first floor.
“What?” I ask.
“I know this smell.”
I almost smile. “It’s been closed for hours. How can you smell the coffee over all the street food?”
“I told you my senses are strong.”
Right. “It’s a good thing I can’t smell it, or I’d be drooling on the glass. Come on. We can get some in the morning when they open. I’ve already waited months.”
His eyes narrow, and with a final glance at me, he rams his fist through the glass window.
Chapter 9
EVER
My feet pound down the steps. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Getting you coffee.” His boots crush the mountain of glass into smaller fragments as he makes his way to the counter. “I know you can’t wait for anything.”
“You can’t just break in!” I whisper-shriek, following him inside. But he can with the whole realm drugged. No one cares. No one comes running.
Eli pokes at the espresso machine. Then the register and blender. He opens the small milk fridge, pulling back suddenly and slamming it shut. “It’s cold.”
“It’s supposed to be cold.”
He frowns, inspecting his surroundings. “Where’s the coffee?”
“I have to make it first. Sit at the counter.” I gesture toward the raised bar and high stools with coffee bean-patterned cushions.
He spares a glance at the stools, but stays firmly in place, arms stiff and folded. He’s on high alert, his eyes darting about, seeking the dangers that lurk behind the condiment station. I smirk, turning away so he can’t see. He’s cute.
“Or stand there and watch like a serial killer.” I flit around behind the counter as if I hadn’t missed months of work, filling the canister with water and grinding beans. I brew an extra dark roast, add a huge slosh of cream and hand a steaming mug to Eli. Or at least I try to.
He stares at my offering.
“Try it,” I urge.
“You first.”
I run a finger along the rim of the mug, ending in two taps. “It’s not poisoned.”
“I broke in here so you can have your damn coffee after waiting for months. Drink it before I pour it over your chest and lick it off you. One way or the other, you’re going to enjoy it.”
I take a huge gulp, mostly to mask my burning cheeks, and scald my throat in the process. But it’s even better than I remembered. “You can’t lick me.”
A smile teases his lips, daring me to let him prove otherwise—maybe the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days. He takes the mug and shifts it around awkwardly until he’s holding the bottom in his palm and gripping it with his fingers to keep it from falling. All I’ve seen anyone in Sonnet drink from is a canteen. It could be hundreds of years since he used a cup in a past life. It’s a struggle not to help him lift it to his mouth. Milky coffee dribbles down his chin.
Now I’m the one who wants to lick it off him. Shit. I take the mug back and chug the rest, only worsening the burn in my throat. He nods toward the street as he wipes his face clean with the back of his wrist.
Caffeinated and distracted by his smile lingering in my mind, I crunch over the glass and lead him around the corner of the building and up the stairs to my room above the coffee shop. Eli follows, looking over his shoulder twice with every step as if the street lamps might come to life. I reach for the strap of my backpack to fling it around to the front and dig out my key. But my pack was left in the forest months ago… when a sack went over my head.
