“Yes, you do. You met him the same day you met me.” Reid yanks my bag from my shoulder and starts digging through it.
“What are you doing?” This is beyond acceptable. I reach for my bag, and Reid shoves it into my arms as he pulls out my sketchbook and starts flipping through it.
“Stop that!”
He does, holding it up to me. A page full of sketches—drawings I did when I was bored. All of the same face.
“Him.” He forces the book into my hands. “That’s him. Caeo. Your boyfriend.”
I take the book, running my fingers along the drawings. They’re surprisingly detailed compared to most of my work. A fire blooms in my chest as my eyes linger on the lines of his face. I swallow down the drought forming in my mouth.
“This is nobody. A face I drew when I was bored. He’s not a real person.”
“Caeo is real. I’ve known him my whole life, and that was his house. He’s your boyfriend, and for some reason we haven’t figured out yet, you don’t remember each other.”
My eyes locked on the drawings, I try to form some words in response, but nothing comes out. It doesn’t seem like Reid’s playing a prank on me, his frustration palpable. But the things he’s saying make little sense.
Heat blossoms within me as I take in the face. He looks like someone I could imagine being with, with his messy hair and warm smile. I flip through the pages. He appears multiple times, in varying levels of detail. There’s even a drawing of a single eye I know is his.
I glance back at Reid. He’s eyeing me expectantly, but I haven’t a clue why.
He sighs. “I need a drink.”
I slide my sketchbook back into my bag and hurry after him as he marches further into Haven.
Reid’s seething aura keeps us walking in silence, interrupted only by the sounds of our feet kicking gravel. The air turns chillier as the sun sets, and soon after the road transitions to cobblestone, I spot the ridiculous sign for The Buttoned-Up Duck: a mallard wearing nothing but a high, frilly collar around its long neck.
“I’m surprised Alexis didn’t join us,” I say.
“I hadn’t planned on coming here. I was gonna drop you off and meet her after.”
“Drop me off where?”
“Arandur’s flaming oven.” Reid halts a few steps away from the tavern’s entrance and faces me. “You lost the entire conversation?”
“What conversation?”
He clenches his fists, then bursts into a stream of expletives while kicking the wall of the building.
Has he lost it?
I’m about to ask what’s wrong when the door to The Duck swings open. Two men stride out, cutting their conversation short when they notice Reid brutalizing the wooden siding.
“Reid?” the blond one asks.
His face is handsome, with a mischievous glint in his golden—yes, golden—eyes. He’s tied his hair in a knot behind his head, and rather than a traditional collared shirt, a burgundy scarf wraps loosely around his neck.
There’s something familiar about him. I’m certain I’ve seen him around the tavern before.
His friend is new. Taller than the rest of us, wrapped up in a dark gray coat that hides most of his clothes. His hood’s up, shrouding his face in shadow, but dark, chin-length hair frames his sharp jaw and high cheekbones.
A powerful magnetism emanates from both of them, pulling my gaze despite the heat creeping up my neck, flushing my face. I can’t look away.
Reid glances at the speaker. “Oh, fuck everything.” He slumps with his back against the building, scowling at the sky as if asking why it hates him.
“Hello, Emmrich.” His voice rings with feigned politeness. “Nice to see you.”
This is Emmrich?Interesting.
