Page 16

Chapter Thirteen

I insist that we're not changing our plans simply because I didn't have an allergy attack, and go home to shower.

I stink of my fear-sweat, stale-coffee, and whatever lunch I spilled.

And I need to wash the creepy-crawly sensation of not being sick off my skin, and get the taste of chocolate out of my mouth.

I couldn't kiss Dav if it tasted like yuckiness. And I absolutely plan on kissing Dav tonight. Not on the hand. On the mouth.

I wanna see what that forked tongue can do.

Would it be too forward? Dav's old-fashioned, yeah, but he isn't a swooning miss in need of a fainting couch. It just seems like his manners—and his hairstyle—are stuck in the past. Working at Beanevolence may be the first time in decades he's been surrounded with common people.

"That's depressing," I tell my towel.

I don't have much in the way of fancy going-out clothes, but Dav isn’t going to take me to some black-tie extravaganza on just a few hour's notice. I hope.

Shit.

I dive for my closet.

I've got a decent pair of dress pants, which I'd bought specifically for a fundraiser I'd gone to with Rebekah. They're tighter than I remember. Too many caramel lattes.

Or chocolate ones?

By rights, I’m supposed to be curled up on the floor beside my toilet, clutching my ribs and fighting off a pounding migraine. As I flip through my closet, looking for the black dress shirt that goes with these pants, I set my phone to speaker and call Mum.

"Hullo, mo leanbh ," she answers. Her voice makes all the tension tucked up behind my lungs melt away.

It makes me feel like I'm right back to being a kid next to her on the sofa for story time.

I used to play around with having an accent like hers as a kid, to confuse my teachers, and I still put it on for funsies at the bar.

I wonder if Dav would laugh at me, or with me, if I tried it with him.

"Hullo, Mummers," I say, sliding on the shirt.

"That’s a pretty man in that photo," Mum says, not even bothering with the pretense of small talk.

"That he is."

Deodorant , I remember as I'm doing up the last button so I have to unbutton the whole shirt again.

"Is he your pretty man?"

"Maybe. Depending on how tonight goes."

"Och, Colin, I don't want to hear about that."

"Dinner, Mum," I laugh.

"That's alright, then. Wear that nice cologne your brother got you for Christmas."

"Good idea." I spin around on the spot, trying to remember where I put it. Ah-ha, sock drawer.

"And brush your hair, for goodness sake."

Right. This is why I don't tell Mum about these things. My family is bossy.

She's not wrong though, so I comb it back off my face, and put in the nice frizz-killing hair oil.

"Hold on, I'll send you a photo to prove I have. There, sent."

Mum tsks. "You didn't shave? What about beard burn?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear the details," I chuckle. "Besides, he's a dragon. He's probably got a tough hide."

Mum goes so quiet so quickly, it's like an explosion.

"Mum?"

"He's what?"

"A dragon," I repeat. "Minor one, not involved in politics. Just a nice guy." I feel bad for underselling Dav, but his dirty laundry isn't mine to air.

Especially if there's no guarantee that this is a forever thing.

I don't know if I want it to be a forever thing.

(I think maybe I do know.)

The Rules , I remind myself. Don't get ahead of it.

"Colin," Mum starts, and then stops. "I don't know…"

"You didn't freak when I came out." I sit down on the bed, socks hanging from my fingers. "But you're freaking now?"

This hurts in a way I didn't expect.

"I know you like your Harlequins, but those are just books."

"And this is my life. I like Dav, and he likes me. I don't care that he's not homo sapiens ."

Mum is quiet for another chasm of eternity.

"It's just a date," I say softly.

"His life is just so different from yours," Mum says, tentative.

"It's really not."

I put my socks on and a sourness curls through my guts. Fuck. I shouldn't have called her. I don't want to feel small, and stupid when I see Dav again. Like I'm making a mistake.

"Okay then," Mum says finally. "Just be careful."

"I have two condoms in my wallet, and I've already checked the expiry dates," I joke, desperate for a return to levity, even as I'm speaking through a clenched jaw.

"Colin!" Mum laughs, scandalized.

"What? You work in healthcare. Don't act like you don't know what men my age get up to."

"I don't want to think about it!"

"Fine, fine. Oh, actually, there was something I wanted to ask. Mum, you're a nurse."

"I'm aware," she says, and there's the nice light banter back. Whew.

"Can food allergies … vanish?"

Mum makes a thoughtful noise. "People can grow out of food allergies. But yours have only gotten worse. Why?"

"I had a chocolate latte today by mistake."

"And you're going on a date? I'm sure he'll understand if you cancel—"

"No, that’s what I mean. I feel fine."

"Maybe it wasn't real chocolate?"

"You know Hadi would never stock crap."

"I don't… I don't know what to say, then. Maybe you were lucky this time."

"Maybe? I dunno."

"Has anything else changed? Are you on any new meds?"

"Dr. Chen hasn't changed anything," I confirm.

"Keep a list of what's different for the next week," Mum says. "I'm glad you're fine."

"Me too."

"And, Colin?"

"Yeah?"

She hesitates, and then says, carefully: "Have a good time tonight."

Thank god.

Affection, warm and bright, bursts through me. "I will. Bye." I hang up and go digging through the dirty laundry at the bottom of my closet for a decent pair of shoes.

When I resurface, I take in the state of my room.

Yeah, no.

There’s nothing cool or sexy about this. Quick as I can, I jam all of my dirty clothes into my hamper, shove what other crap I can under the bed, and change the sheets.

Hopeful?

Yes.

Likely to happen?

No.

Will I be filled with regret if it does happen, and I end up fucking Dav on stale bedding?

Yup.

I have literally just enough time to dash into the kitchen and shove all the dirty stuff from the sink into the oven before the doorbell rings.

I take a quick look at myself in the bathroom mirror on the way to the door— red-faced from rushing, but otherwise, as good as it's gonna get.

I snag some Chapstick from the dish of keys-and-coins detritus as I'm unlocking the door and shove it in my pocket, all the same. Just in case.

Dav is standing on the front step, hands in his own pockets, relaxed and happy. It's a damn good look on him.

He's also wearing a different suit. Did he go home, too?

This one is a slate gray, with a bold blue check.

The buttons are silver instead of the usual gold, and a quick glance at his wrist confirms his watch and cufflinks are as well.

This time he's wearing the matching jacket, and oh my god, his shoulders look squeezable. The blue of the check is matched perfectly by his shirt, and he’s wearing a pocket square printed with bunnies inside wine glasses.

I can't help my smitten grin, and he follows my eyeline and huffs out a chuckle. "Gift from Onatah. She thinks I take myself too seriously."

"You do. Is she also the gifter of the socks?"

"Absolutely."

"Do I need to put on something fancier?" I ask, gesturing him inside as I head back to my bedroom. Thank god I tidied up. "I, uh, I have a jacket?"

I pull a plain terracotta sports coat out of the dry cleaner bag, and yank it on. Rebekah had picked this out, too. I don't have a whimsical pocket square, but there's a pile of enamel pins in a rice bowl on my dresser, and I fish out the squirrel driving a blue car.

Blue, to match Dav.

I'm such a sap.

Dav’s lingering in the doorway, taking in my space ( really glad I tidied). I spread my arms, give him some sparkle fingers, say "tah-dah!"

His pupils get fatter and slightly more oblong.

Boy likes what he sees.

Nice.

"Will I do?"

"Yes," he croaks. This isn't a dragon-noise. It's just plain old choking on his words. "You look very well."

"You get more British sounding when you're nervous."

He harrumphs, and steps into the room. Dav leans forward, slowly, giving me the chance to pull away. I don’t. He lays his cheek against mine for a soft, gentle greeting kiss.

He smells like burnt sugar.

"Hi," I say softly, kissing his cheek back. His skin is soft, not like scales at all. Maybe I should have shaved.

"Hello." His hands settle on my elbows.

I want to unbutton his blazer and grab his ass with both hands.

I don't, because I'm not feral.

"Dinner?" I remind him, because if he keeps sweeping his thumbs along the inside of my arms, I'm gonna back him up until he tips over onto my freshly-made bed and get him messy.

"Right." Before he can retreat, I hook our pinkie fingers together. Dav glances at our hands, startled, then back up to my face. Confidence slides into his posture. "It's a short walk."

He doesn't let go of my pinkie, not even when I need to pause to lock up, not until we're seated side by side at the table, the tips of our shoes brushing in the shadows where no one else can see.

Our waiter at Twenty Wine Bar turns out to be one of Beanevolence’s regulars.

So when she recommends the gnocchi and some perfectly crisp Pinot Grigio, I trust her.

I wrote my thesis on sustainable winemaking, and Dav has a vineyard, so when he asks if I'd like to hear about his own Pinot crop, I say yes. I spend dinner watching Dav come alive with pride about his vines, and his people. It’s pretty fucking charming.

"Of course, the wine from my land is only for my table," he says. "Or my staff. I give them cases for the holidays."

"'For your table'." I put finger quotes around it. "Hoity-toity winemaker and his private reserve."

Dav’s ears go delicately pink. "I'm only a winemaker because there's little else to do, and the crop is ideal for what arable land I have to call my own."