I bit my lip. “Kirbs, I…”
“I know you’re going through it,” they pressed, “but this is important.”
I looked up over the lip of the laptop to where Caliban leaned against the wall. He’d moved in so noiselessly I hadn’t noticed his entry. “I’ll take you,” he said.
I looked back at Kirby. Rocks in my stomach, I nodded. “Sure. I’ll meet you soon.”
I resented life for going on, but I slipped on my shoes and looked at Caliban. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said, voice wobbling as I spoke.
He tucked me into his arms, slipping his fingers into my still-damp hair as he held the back of my head to his chest. I closed my eyes and inhaled mist and fern. I knew I was safe with him. But I didn’t feel safe. Not in the human realm. Not in any realm.
“The only way to fix this is to end it,” I whispered against his shirt.
His thumb stroked against my hair. His lips brushed the crown of my head. “You shouldn’t have to do any of this,” he said.
“And yet,” I replied humorlessly.
I expected us to step through time and space, but Caliban wove his fingers through mine and guided us out the front door. He popped on a pair of sunglasses before we reached reception as we bypassed the bewildered attendee, ignoring the jaw she left on its hinges as we headed for the garage. He walked me to the passenger’s seat and held the door open for me before sliding into the driver’s seat. I didn’t question him as he brought the car to life or guided it effortlessly out of the building. He had us to the coffee shop before I had the time to fully comprehend that he was in corporeal form. He was letting people see him. And he knew where we were going without being told.
He parallel-parked my Mercedes with expert precision in a spot directly in front of the coffee shop, then hopped out and opened my door for me.
A woman on the sidewalk looked up to see him as she passed and was so transfixed that she nearly ran into the street-sweeping sign. She dodged it at the last second but continued staring as she walked away.
I’d imagined this moment a million times. I’d daydreamed about Caliban being real. I’d fantasized about us going on dates, about him taking me to dinner and movies and stepping out of my imagination and into the world. Even after I’d learned he was real, I hadn’t thought this day would come. And I certainly hadn’t foreseen it happening like this. He washere to hold me up in the wake of tragedy, knowing I could no longer stand on my own two feet.
“Are you sure it’s…wise?” I asked, nerves spiking.
“Gods are out of the closet, Love,” he said.
He looped his arm around my shoulders and pressed another kiss into my hair as he guided us in. I scanned the exposed brick and wooden tables for Kirby, but we’d beaten them here. The barista working the cash register had stopped in the middle of taking his customer’s order when we’d walked in. The customer had been annoyed until they’d looked over their shoulder to join in bewildered, frozen awe.
“Caliban…” I whispered, anxiety growing.
At the far end of the counter, a curly-haired man with a bad moustache and a stained apron shouted, “Your Majesty?”
I shifted to regard him, brows pinched as something uncomfortable scratched the back of my brain. The barista’s thick brows furrowed as he read, “Ten pumps of sugar, a pump of caramel, vanilla, and honey for Your Majesty?”
I stepped away from Caliban before I knew what I was doing. I followed the magnetic pull toward the coffee. I reached the barista and looked up at him with wide, demanding eyes. “Who ordered this?”
He gave me an annoyed look that told me he wasn’t paid enough to deal with stupid questions. “That’s the point of calling out the name, ma’am.”
I controlled the nerves and temper that battled for attention. I scanned the room once more, looking for something—or someone—impossible. “Was it a customer here? Was it a call in? Was it—”
The barista at the cash register had been eavesdropping. She spoke over us, saying, “It was an online order. Said to be ready for…nine-thirty. The order gave two names.”
“The second name?” I demanded breathlessly.
Her eyes flitted with discomfort to the other customers before looking back at me. After fighting whatever internal battle warred within her, she said simply, “Dumbass.”
I snatched the paper cup from the barista before he could say anything further. I slipped the cardboard sleeve to the side and examined the cup, disappointed to find it blank. I turned back to the man. I was unsteady on my feet as I asked, “Did it come with a receipt?”
He made an unamused noise before waddling away. A moment later, he returned with a slip of paper.
20 oz oat milk latte
Two shots of espresso
10 pumps sugar
