His breath catches, barely there. I kiss him before I can overthink it. Slow this time. No floury chaos around us, no cherries on our fingers, no teasing tug on my apron. Just me pressing him gently back against the edge of the sink and kissing him until some of the tension eases from his shoulders.
Wren melts into it with a quiet sigh, one hand sliding up to cup the side of my neck. The kiss stays soft. Tender. I take my time with it because I want him calm, not worked up. Want him to feel cared for instead of consumed. When I pull back, his eyesstay closed for a second longer. He smiles, sleepy and beautiful and just a little wrecked.
I have no self control where Wren is concerned and kiss him again. Shorter this time. A soft brush of lips that leaves him smiling when I pull back.
Then I force myself to step away before I forget we’re in a bakery and Wick could come barreling through the door at any second.
“We still have to finish cleaning,” I say.
Wren sighs dramatically.
I bark out a laugh before I can help it. “Come on, there’s not much left to do.”
The last of the cleanup goes faster, thank goodness. I set my rag down and walk toward Wren, slow enough to make him watch every step.
I kiss his forehead because if I kiss his mouth again, we’re never getting the bakery open on time. He sighs against me. He’s more tired than he’s letting on and I hate it.
I leave him to grab him a clean apron. “Go work the front. I’ll finish the last bit back here.”
Wren takes the apron but doesn’t tie it on right away. “Talon?—”
“No arguing.”
His mouth twitches. “Bossy.”
“Wren.”
He softens. “You don’t have to take care of everything for me.”
“Maybe not.” I step in close enough to fix the apron around his neck myself, fingers brushing his collarbone as I settle the strap. “But I can take care of a few things.”
He watches my hands as I tie the apron at his waist. When I’m done, he catches my wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it.
The gesture is so gentle it nearly undoes me.
“Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll go work the front.”
“Good.” I lean in and steal one last kiss. It’s sweet and enough to make his eyes flutter shut.
“Go charm the customers,” I murmur. He’s already charmed me.
Wren smiles against my mouth. “Only because you asked nicely.”
Then he slips out of the kitchen, apron strings swaying at his back. The bell over the bakery door jingles a second later as he heads to the register.
I stand there in the suddenly quiet kitchen. He’s still so tired, but he’s pushing through. His voice drifts back to me. He sounds cheerful. Charming. Awake enough. But I know the reason for the dark shadows under his eyes.
21
WREN
It doesn’t matter when I go to bed. It doesn’t matter if Talon curls around me with his arm heavy over my waist and his breath warm against the back of my neck. It doesn’t matter if I fall asleep in my own room, in his bed, on top of the blankets, under them, with the lamp on, with the lamp off, with the window cracked to let in cool night air or shut tight against the dark. The dreams come anyway. Every single time.
Sometimes I don’t even have to be fully asleep. Sometimes all it takes is one long blink, one moment where my eyes close for half a second too long, and he’s there waiting for me.
Lord fucking Yelling.
His voice curls through my skull like smoke. His hand wraps around my wrist as if he owns me. His smile is the same one as always, strategically sweet. In the dreams, I’m back in gilded rooms with locked doors and silk curtains and nowhere to run. In the dreams, he always finds me. In the dreams, I can scream and scream and not a single sound comes out. I haven’t slept properly in over a week. Maybe two.
