Page 31 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

ARYA

I t was Angie’s idea to go to Melrose.

“You need to see something pretty,” she’d said, shoving a ridiculous floppy hat onto my head that made me resemble a noblewoman who’d lost a war with a sun parasol. “You’ve been cooped up too long.”

“I was not cooped up,” I replied with a sniff. “I was refining my art.”

“You painted a very dramatic portrait of Monica burning in a volcano.”

“Exactly.”

So now, we were walking along Melrose Avenue as the sun gleamed off shop windows and graffiti murals like the walls were made of polished jewels.

I wore sunglasses the size of a hawk's wingspan and sipped something called an iced matcha latte, which tasted like grass but Angie swore was “refreshing.”

I was still not convinced.

“You know,” she said, gently nudging me with her shoulder as we passed a mural of two cartoon frogs riding a cloud, “you look way less murder-y these days.”

“Murder-y?”

“It’s a compliment. You had this... assassin vibe going on for a while. Now it's more like ‘powerful heiress with mysterious secrets.’”

“I am a powerful heiress with mysterious secrets.”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

It was odd. Being around Angie didn’t feel quite so... foreign anymore. I knew how to read the menu at a coffee shop now. I understood that TikTok was not, in fact, a device for measuring time. And I no longer screamed when the dryer buzzed.

Progress.

We turned the corner and spotted a gelato shop with a neon pink sign that read “Lick Me Twice.”

I stopped. “That is vulgar.”

“It’s dessert,” Angie replied with a grin. “And amazing. Come on.”

The instant we strode inside, the smell of sugar and cold fruit hit my nose in a blast of glory. I pressed my palms to the glass counter and marveled at the rows of colors.

“What is that one?”

“Lavender honey. And that’s pistachio. And over there is something called ‘Birthday Cake Confetti Chaos.’”

I narrowed my eyes. “I do not trust it. It looks... artificially joyful.”

“Then try this one,” she said, pointing to a rich swirl of espresso and cream.

A few minutes later, we sat on a curb beneath a mural of a woman with roses for hair, eating our gelato from tiny biodegradable cups. Mine was divine. I would never admit that to Angie, though.

“You have something,” she said, leaning closer.

“What?”

She reached forward, her thumb brushing just under my lip.

My breath caught. Just slightly. Just enough.

Her fingers lingered for the briefest of seconds before she pulled back, her expression unreadable.

“Ice cream,” she said.

I swallowed. “Oh.”

We looked away at the same time, both pretending to be fascinated by a pigeon dragging a stolen straw down the street.

“So,” Angie casually said, “thinking of painting again?”

“I might. Though I prefer oils. Your acrylics are barbaric.”

She chuckled. “And yet you slay every look with that eyeliner.”

“That is precision warfare.”

There was a strange energy there. Not the awkward tension of strangers, but something more curious. Something humming just beneath the surface. I caught her stealing a glance at me and this time when our eyes met, she didn’t immediately look away. She smiled.

I turned back to my gelato and said, very casually, “You're not entirely insufferable.”

“Wow.” She laughed and nudged her shoulder against mine again. “High praise. I think I'm blushing.”

“You should be. Compliments from me are rare and valuable. Like dragon teeth.”

She grinned. “You compare everything to dragons.”

“That's because dragons are better than most people. Present company excluded.”

Angie was quiet for a moment, then said, “You're different lately.”

I blinked. “Different how?”

“I don't know... softer. Or maybe just more real. Less armor.”

That made me bristle slightly, even if it wasn't untrue. I scooped another bite of gelato. “Armor is necessary.”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice gentler now. “But it's okay to take it off every once in a while.”

I didn't reply. I didn’t know how.

She leaned in again, her shoulder warm against mine. We sat like that for a while, neither of us speaking. But something passed between us. Something wordless, strange, and not unwelcome.

That was the moment he showed up.

“Cat?”

We both turned.

I recognized him instantly, though I wished I hadn't.

Fernando .

Still as tall, smug, and insufferably symmetrical as the last time I’d seen him standing in Cat’s apartment. His hair was artfully tousled in a way that screamed effort, and he wore a leather jacket despite the eighty-degree weather.

“Oh, stars preserve me,” I muttered.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He stepped forward with a hopeful smile. “You haven’t returned any of my messages. I just... I miss you. I made a mistake.”

Angie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed gag.

“You cheated on me,” I said flatly, narrowing my eyes. “With someone named Candy.” For this, I had to pretend to be Cat. And honestly, who named their child Candy?

He had the audacity to look bashful. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Her name was Candy, ” I repeated, my voice sharp. “That alone is an unforgivable sin.”

He had the audacity to look hurt. “Look, I panicked! Things were moving fast between us and I got scared.”

I returned my full attention to my gelato. “I would rather eat spoiled shellfish than entertain your excuses.”

“You don’t have to forgive me right away,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “Just let me take you out. One dinner. One chance.”

“You had your chance,” I said coldly. “And you used it to roll about with a woman who spells her name with a heart instead of an A.”

Fernando looked toward Angie, perhaps hoping for support.

Angie just popped another spoonful of gelato into her mouth and muttered, “Yikes.”

“Please, Cat.” His voice dropped into what I assumed was his idea of a sexy tone. “You and I had something real. Don’t throw that away because of one little mistake.”

I slowly rose to my feet, smoothing down my skirt with calculated grace.

“Fernando,” I said. “You are a man who thinks cologne can replace character. You are a jester in a leather jacket. A walking disappointment wrapped in store-brand charisma. And if you do not leave this instant, I shall publicly declare you impotent and poorly read.”

He blinked. “What?”

I glared. “You heard me.”

He turned, muttering something about me being crazy under his breath as he stormed away.

“I can’t imagine even Cat would have told him off that creatively…” Angie whispered with amusement.

I turned back to her with a huff. “How dare he ruin the flavor of my gelato!”

“Honestly, it just made mine taste better.”

We sat again. The tension from earlier still lingered, but now it had frayed edges.

“You handled that well,” she said.

“I should have thrown my spoon at him.”

“Next time.”

We smiled. And this time, it didn’t feel strange at all.