Then, suddenly, the movement intensified. It wasn’t wind. It was fluttering.
All at once, all the winged creatures drifted up into the air. Bright, colorful wings danced, then shifted around until they formed a perfect rainbow above their float.
The crowd erupted in cheers at the sight of the fluttering rainbow.
The show wasn’t over yet, though. They transitioned from a rainbow to flowers, and finally, the date.
Then they drifted back down to their flowers, and the float chugged on down the road to the sound of loud clapping and cheering.
“I thought you would like this,” Finn said. His lips were close enough to her ear for his breath to warm the shell of it.
“So much,” she agreed, not having it in her to lie.
“Mr. Westrock,” someone called, making him turn the two of them as a unit toward the sound of the voice.
His arm drifted down to a more neutral position low on her hips as he pulled her in at his side.
“Marsha Grand,” the speaker said. She was statuesque, with a distinct gray tone to her skin, two large horns erupting from her forehead, and massive wings she had pulled in close at her back.
This, Iris was reasonably sure, was a gargoyle.
“Miss Grand,” Finn said, reaching out to give her a firm but friendly handshake that Iris was sure he’d practiced a thousand times before implementing. “Spokeswoman for the Gargoyle Rights Council.”
“You remembered,” Marsha said. Her head tipped to the side as she shot Finn a charmed smile.
“How could I forget?” Finn asked. He was practically oozing charisma—thick, heady, and completely off-putting to anyone who knew how fake it was.
Iris just barely managed to keep her lip from curling.
“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Grand.”
“Marsha, please,” the gargoyle said. She was all smiles, having gone from collected—if not a bit cool—to on the verge of giggling schoolgirl in close proximity to Finn.
Iris watched as the woman’s gaze triangulated from Finn’s eyes, down his body, then up again.
Heat flared behind Iris’s ribs—sharp and fast, like a jab from a trident’s tines.
What was that?
A random case of indigestion?
“Marsha,” Finn repeated, pearly whites all on display. He was in full-on eye-crinkle territory while looking at this woman.
As her stomach twisted, she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t indigestion. Oh, no. It was something far more unwelcome.
Not jealousy, exactly. Just some sort of mild disgust at witnessing someone mentally unbuckle a man’s belt while his arm was clearly wrapped around someone else.
Not that shecared. Truly.
But it was weird to watch a public display of desperation like that.
And so what if she noticed that Marsha’s perfume had the same chemical profile as the bathroom cleaner they used at the local coffee shop she frequented? That didn’t mean anything. It was just an observation.
The woman tossed her head back and laughed at something Finn said.
Iris’s eye twitched—literally. A full-on involuntary tic.
Finn leaned into the sound, bending toward the woman, his smile threatening to crack his stupidly handsome face.
