Page 102 of Inked in Bloom
“It is.” I laugh, and his worry recedes. He pulls out a chair for me. My butt’s in the seat in an instant. “I never thought I’d have it again. Guess you were watching me pretty closely, huh?”
I grab the glass of water set on the table and take a sip.
“I’m sorry. But in my defense, I was a captive audience.” His cheeks flare with pink and his expression becomes sheepish.
I choke on my water mid-gulp. “At least that better explains my nightstand contents spread out like a solstice buffet.”
We both laugh, but I don’t miss the sudden sugary scent wafting in the air or the vibrant lavender flashing across his stare.Interesting.Blowing out a breath, and in desperate need of a change of subject, I purse my lips and scan over the other tables, scoping out what looks good before picking up the menu. Everything sounds amazing.
He leans over like he’s trying to see my menu even though he has his own in front of him. “What are you thinking of ordering?”
After waffling between drunken noodles and shrimp curry, I decide to get both. Briar gets pineapple fried rice, pad see ew with beef, and an order of lettuce wraps for us to split. The food arrives in minutes, along with iced thai tea that refills itself when you reach the bottom. It’s magic—literally.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Briar asks, his dinner clutched in his chopsticks. A few noodles plop onto his plate.
“I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen you eat bok choy and hay.” It’s strange to think of him curled in my lap nibblinggreens when he’s a head taller than me, shoving pad see ew in his mouth across the table. Even if I’d imagined my Sir Thumps-A-Lot as a man—or immortal, in Briar’s case—he’s nothing I could have conjured.
“One of the perks of not having to go into the mortal realm for months, enjoying all the various foods Florezca and my kitchen have to offer.”
“You cook?”
“I’m not going to take that look of shock on your face personally.” He rests his chopsticks in his bowl, giving me his full attention. “Next time, you’ll come over and I’ll make us dinner.”
“Already planning for next time?”
“Well, I doubt you’ll finish all your research in one night.” He picks up the chopsticks and continues to eat.
“Speaking of…” I think about where we are. “Isn’t Novel Nibbles right around the corner if we follow the hedges to the entrance to The Warren?”
“It is.”
“Can we stop there on the way back?” I take a sip of my tea before picking up another lettuce wrap from the small plate between us. “I want to see if they have any books or historical accounts on the ceremony.”
“Of course. We’ll stop by for a bit.” He nudges for me to take the last lettuce wrap, and I happily oblige. “They have their open mic night tonight, though, so it’ll probably get crowded after nine.”
“I’m sure we’ll be done before then.”
He nods in agreement, and we spend the next hour talking. He asks about what school and life is like in the mortal world. I make him tell me all about growing up in Florezca. When he talks about his family, the love he has for themradiates from him, as warm as the food filling our bellies. It’s clear he’d do anything for them.
He’d do anything for you, too.
And though I know with unequivocal certainty that the voice in my head is telling the truth, I don’t allow the thought to linger for long.
It’s just dinner and research, I remind myself. But I can’t help wondering how many repetitions it’ll take for me to actually believe it.
43
MONROE
Despite the many times I’ve come to Novel Nibbles after classes, this is the first time I’ve more than peeked inside its bookstore. Scalloped shelving flanks either side with a series of stacks filling row after row from the middle of the shop to the back. A few cushioned circular seats are set around where harbingers are curled up, skimming prospective purchases and quietly reading.
Briar and I are at one of its few round tables near the center of the room, a tower of seven books piled between us. He pushes up the bridge of his glasses, picking a text off the top and leaning back into his chair.
While he flips through the pages ofFlorezca: Past & Present, I reach for the copy ofHomegrown Traditionsthat one of the bookshop workers said included how Bloom traditions have changed over the decades.
“So, it sounds like each mated pair or group starts the ceremony with vows, their official intentions to accept the bond. Then there’s the public claiming itself,” I say after scanning through the text for about fifteen minutes. “Followed by the bacchanal.”
“That’s what I’m gathering as well,” Briar muses, setting down the book and picking up another from the stack.
