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She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again. “And end up with Orin dragging us both through the mud by our ears?”
“Worth it.”
“Maybe for you.”
“Nah,” I say, brushing her pinky with mine under the table. “Only if you’re with me.”
And I mean it. Gods, I mean it more than I want to admit.
Silas slams down another tankard in front of Luna like he’s just discovered the secret to happiness and it comes infermented form. “For you, my lady,” he announces with a ridiculous bow, the kind that sends his already-mussed hair into a frenzied halo around his head.
She side-eyes him, but it’s with that soft curve at her lips—the one that means she’s pretending not to enjoy herself. And then she drinks. Not just a polite sip, but a real, full pull from the mug, and I blink.
“Well, shit,” I murmur. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“I’m full of surprises,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like a goddamn goddess of war and chaos.
Silas beams at me like a proud parent. “Our baby’s growing up.”
“Call me your baby again and I’ll set your ass on fire,” she says, deadly sweet.
Silas clutches his chest and stumbles back, mock-wounded. “Luna, I thought what we had was special.”
“What we have is a restraining order waiting to happen,” she fires back, and I fucking choke on my ale.
This. This is what I live for. Chaos and flirting and Luna loose-limbed from drink, letting the weight of the world fall off her shoulders for a goddamn second.
She turns to me, cheeks pink from the ale, eyes brighter than I’ve seen in days. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, pretending innocence. It doesn’t fit me well, but I wear it just to see how fast she’ll tear it off.
“Like I’m about to start dancing on this table.”
“Because you are,” I say. “And I want front row seats.”
Silas raises his hand. “I’ll bring the confetti.”
“I swear to the old gods, I will kill you both,” she mutters, but she’s smiling, full and real, and I feel something shift in my ribs. Like my soul’s trying to claw its way out just to press itself against hers.
She leans in, her voice low. “You’re lucky I like you.”
I arch a brow. “You like me?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” I say. “It’s already planning a wedding.”
Silas slaps the table. “Can I be best man? No—maid of honor. I want the dress.”
“You’d look hot in silk,” I add.
“Red or black?” Silas bats his lashes at Luna.
She eyes us both like she’s questioning every life decision that brought her to this exact moment. “Neither. You’re getting burlap and shame.”
“Damn,” I whisper, impressed. “She’s good.”
“She’s magnificent,” Silas says dreamily, staring at her like she just invented language.