Finished, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel, comb out my hair, and return to my room to get ready for the day.
By the time I make it into the kitchen, Mom and Dad are already up, and the smell of coffee beckons me forward.
Mom looks over from the kitchen island, where she’s cutting strawberries into a glass bowl. “Good morning, Kit.”
“Hey.”
I feel them watching me as I pull a mug from the shelf and walk to the coffeemaker.
“How was your evening?” Dad asks.
Mom, Dad, and Nadine decided to eat at the cafe last night, so they weren’t home when I got back. I was in bed before they returned, mostly because I didn’t feel like talking, but also because I didn’t want them to see me check my phone every ten seconds like a crazy person.
“Ansel and Rowan were able to undo the mate bond,” I say lightly, even though I feel like I’m going to cry. “Rowan had to spend the night at the clinic, but the doctor said he’ll be all right. They’re supposed to let him leave this morning.”
“Kit,” Mom says, horrified.
I turn back to face them, feeling guilty. “He needed to expel a bunch of magic, and he just overdid it.”
They aren’t falling for my nonchalant tone, but at the heart of it, it’s the truth. It just feels worse right now because I haven’t been able to talk to Rowan, and I’m going out of my mind.
Dad gestures to the window. “Is that your rain?”
The miserable, unending drizzle taunts me.
“Probably,” I admit. “Though I think the weather is often wet this time of year, so it’s really hard to say.”
My parents exchange a look, but they don’t press for more, and for that, I’m grateful.
I sit down with my coffee and send another text to Rowan, not really expecting a reply this time.
I hope he’s okay.
I hope the pixie magic didn’t addle his brain.
I hope he still loves me.
He might.
After all, I still love him. The broken bond didn’t affect that whatsoever. I was right. I knew my heart.
Does that mean Rowan knew his heart as well? That’s something I would know if he would justcall me.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I tell my mom as I rise, preparing to head to the shop.
“You only had coffee,” she objects. “Don’t you want something to eat?”
“My stomach feels a little off this morning. I’ll grab a pastry if I get hungry before lunch.”
“Just a minute,” she commands, opening a cupboard and retrieving a glass food container. She produces a baked good from inside and shoves it into my hand. “Take that with you.”
“An oatmeal cookie?”
“It’s a breakfast bar.”
I look down at it. “It looks like a cookie.”
“It tastes like a cookie, too, but Mom will let us eat them for breakfast,” Dad says. “Just go with it.”
