Chapter 8
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Tea and giraffes.
Zakery
“I’ve always wanted to come in here, but I looked the menu up online, and I know I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from ordering dessert, and by the time you’ve ordered a tea, a meal, and a dessert—well—” Maelin giggles, enraptured by the tiny silver prongs in the ornate sugar bowl. She keeps picking up the raw brown crystals and making them clink together while we wait for our waitress to get our orders. “It all added up to about fifty dollars with a tip, and that’s how much I make in a week doing laundry.”
Doing laundry.
When she’s skilled enough to have made her entire outfit and the accompanying lace parasol that protects her from the sun by hand, she merely does laundry .
That is a heinous crime against creativity if ever I have seen one.
My precious muse is blisteringly white today, from her attire to her accessories. As beautiful, delicate, and lovely as fresh snow in winter.
Per my request, we’ve been seated away from the windows, in a quaint back room of Brew Tea, the cozy tea house Crisis recommended when I snuck up on her to ask about first date locations, and if she would maybe be willing to put together one of her glorious murderboards for me and my revenge schemes, should it be necessary.
Brew Tea, she said. And yes, absolutely, just email her details for the murderboard the instant necessity arises.
I am very excited to get a sister soon.
“Everything here is so pretty,” Maelin says, shifting her attention to her teacup—a stunning, wide-rimmed bit of porcelain adorned in pink flowers. It matches her saucer and fits flawlessly atop the circular indentation.
I have yet to turn my teacup over as I am itching to get my LeoPad Draw out of my bag and begin sketching these moments. She is so… enchanting .
Whimsical.
Out of place in even this illustrious setting filled with elegance, grace, and beauty.
She puts the entire universe to shame, of that I am certain.
“Have you come here before?” she asks me.
I maintain my smile. “No.” I don’t go out much, if I can help it. It’s less exhausting to stay home where I’m allowed to pout whenever the urge consumes me. Which is often. “Crisis recommended it.”
“Crisis. That’s…Viktor’s fiancée, right?”
“That’s correct.” Ever since she and Viktor got engaged, she’s been around at awkward times, but given her unique gravity and Maelin’s tendency to go flying over her own feet, I’m grateful she’s not been entirely present this past week. One day, inevitably, they will collide.
I just hope they both survive the encounter.
“Right. Yes,” Maelin says. “You’ve mentioned her before. Sorry. It takes me a minute to remember names and people and how they fit together. Things I can’t see in front of me feel like shadows sometimes. Vague ideas. Distant memories that are more familiar sensations than actual recollections.” She wets her soft red lips, pulling the fuller bottom one between her teeth as she lets her gaze wander in the room. “Am I…talking too much? Harry used to say I never shut up. I’m recognizing that was a red flag now, but I do ramble when I’m nervous.”
Harry said what to my goddess? Hm. I think I need a body bag for Harry. “Rambling is adorable and endearing. Anyone who would deter you from it is a fool. I like listening to your thoughts. I wish you’d talk more, then whenever you drift off into your head, I could follow you there into worlds unknown.”
Heat flares in her cheeks, drawing inspiration shades from her perfect, perfect apple-red mouth. Pale lashes fluttering like tiny white butterflies, she whispers, “You…are very good with words.”
“Yes, well.” I draw a finger around the base of my overturned cup. “It comes with the territory of being a writer, I suppose.”
“Do you like being a writer and making comics?”
“It’s a far better alternative than my parents’ initial plans for me. They wanted me presenting at galleries, doing shows, becoming a traditional master of the arts . Thankfully, with Viktor’s help, we were able to convince them that there was a higher demand and larger audience for graphic novels. I could be known in small, elite circles—which, given our social placement, I would already be known in—or I could expand my reach to the general public.” My eyes close, but I manage to keep all bite from my tone given the stray customers around. “My parents were very much obsessed with the idea of stardom. Elite members of society rarely worship and scream in the presence of their equals, but the peasants certainly take appropriately to their betters. And they enjoyed that.”
Maelin watches me, glass eyes indecipherable. At last, she asks, “Am…I a peasant?”
I turn my cup over. “Naturally. That’s why I keep calling you princess .” And angel and goddess . What a silly angel, princess, goddess thing to say. How humble. How pure.
Her shining character precedes her continually.
Bless.
Our waitress reaches our table with a tea warmer and a lighter. “Your tea will be right out, Mr. Bachelor. Have you decided what you’d like to order for your meal?”
“My future sister says the grilled cheese is a special treat. I think I’ll have that on sunflower bread, with a side of mashed potatoes, gravy on the side. Oh. Hold the tomato. I can’t stand tomatoes. Or onions. I don’t know if there are onions, but if there are any onions in my meal, I will have to send it back.” I shift my attention to my companion. “Have you made your decision yet, baby?”
Maelin’s eyes widen on her menu, flick up to me, then back down. “U-um. Yes,” she squeaks. “I’ll have the same. But with a side of…” Her eyes work, dashing. “…soup? What’s the soup today?”
“Minestrone.”
Her sweet nose scrunches. She pours her attention back into the menu. “Um.”
She’s so cute. Her little um s have me metaphorically on my knees for her. Whoever heard of a goddess with poor public-speaking skills? Overturning expectations at every juncture. Relatable queen.
She fixes her perfect eyes on our waitress. “Is it possible to get a smaller portion of the vegetable quiche as a side?”
“Absolutely, miss. We’ll do anything for a special guest of Mr. Bachelor’s. Did you also not want the tomato on your sandwich?”
“Yes, that’s right. I also don’t like tomatoes. Thank you so much.”
I can’t stop warmth from overtaking my smile. “We’ll have the whole quiche. I don’t want you to split an order on my account. I’ll finish whatever she doesn’t want, assuming there aren’t any onions in it. I almost asked about it, so I’m a big fan of the excuse to try some, too.”
“Perfect. I don’t think there’s onions in the vegetarian quiche today, but I will make sure of that.” Our waitress beams. “I’ll get this put in and be right back with your tea.”
Once she’s left, Maelin frees a breath. “Sorry…”
“For what?”
“Taking so long. I should have said I wasn’t ready yet, but I panicked.”
“It’s no trouble.” Planting my elbows on the table, I thread my fingers together and rest my chin in the cradle. “You’re with a Bachelor, princess. Do try to practice more entitlement. I could shut this place down on a whim, demand they remodel from English to Asian tea, or change anything I wish on the menu. While you’re with me, you own the very ground you walk on. Act like it.”
She blinks. Her mind drifts. I watch a thousand thoughts go spilling through her eyes, then she blinks again, and says, “Giraffes.”
“Giraffes?”
Combing her fingers through her side part, she begins fiddling with the tips of her hair. “Their necks are so long, but they’re still too short to reach the ground. Did you know that?”
How…amusing. “No, I can’t say that I did.”
“It’s because their legs are longer than their necks. If you look at a picture, you can see it. It’s incredible. When you think about a giraffe, you only remember the long neck, not the long legs, or at least when I think about a giraffe, that’s all I remember.” She reels herself back in. “Oh…right. You’re missing context. You said to act more entitled, which made me think of sticking my nose in the air, and that made me think how I probably couldn’t get it high enough, unless I was a giraffe, and…” She begins to melt in front of me. “…are you sure you want to hear all this nonsense? Isn’t it better if I keep this stuff to myself?”
I grin, nestling in. “Not. At. All. Talk more, princess. I love watching the way your lips move.”
More red in her cheeks.
Love that for me.
She whispers, “For someone who’s never been in a relationship before, you are…very good with flirting. And you said baby earlier so easily. I think I’d die if I tried to call you baby .”
“In all honesty, I’d prefer you call me something else. I was only trying baby on for size since it’s such a common endearment. Did not fit. Princess is far better, though maybe something more explicitly romantic would suit our means more? Darling, perhaps? Dear? My heart? ”
“Those are…” she breathes, “…very nice, yes.”
“What did idiot call you?”
Her gaze averts. “Mae. Babe. Chatterbox…”
I think I hate him. What an odd sensation. I had thought I’d reserved that odd, tight emotion quite strictly for my parents alone. Either way, I wonder if Viktor would clear me on the purchase of that body bag…or, no, maybe I shouldn’t tell him about it. I’ll just use the money in my personal account. One-time purchases are easier to get past my brother. “My family doesn’t believe in shortening names.”
“I had noticed that, yes.”
“Idiot was lazy as well as stupid. He scorned the ability to appreciate each of your moniker’s strong syllables. Maelin . Meaning princess. It fits you perfectly.”
“You looked up the meaning of my name?”
“I was curious since I knew your sister’s name was for a goddess of death. It suits her as well. Your parents were…meticulous.”
She chuckles, freeing the strands of her hair. “Yes…well…they’re great.”
Great parents.
I’ve never heard of such a thing.
Thankfully, both our tea and food come before I have to think too hard about it.
“I’m so sorry for the wait, Mr. Bachelor,” our waitress says as she offers to pour our first cups. “It’s super busy back there right now.”
“No worries. I realize we’ve come right at rush.” I can barely spare our frantic waitress a glance while she delivers our plates. My focus rests wholly on Maelin’s staring—entranced—at her tea.
With sudden eager realization, she locates the sugar bowl, pinches a chunk of brown crystals, and somehow manages to send the lump flying across the restaurant, where it hits a woman in the face and falls into her minestrone.
Horrified, Maelin evaporates before my very eyes, caving thoroughly in on herself. “I’msosorry. Ohmyword. I’msorry.”
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing in front of our waitress. There it is, my hit of serotonin. Bless you, Maelin. Bless you. Still unable to pry my eyes off this glorious woman, I say, “Put a fresh soup for that person on my bill, please. And, thank you, this all looks delicious.”
“Right away, sir,” she says before leaving us in peace. Or. Me in peace. Maelin appears to be left in anxiety.
“Maelin…” I soothe.
My dear sweet Maelin is hiding in her hands now. “I’m so sorry. I got too excited. I forgot to be careful. I’ve been making a point of being very, very careful in here, but I’m shocked all the teacups didn’t shatter when I walked through the door.”
Well, of course they didn’t. Inexplicable natural phenomenon is more Crisis’s MO.
“Maelin, darling, your food will get cold if you have a breakdown right now.” Picking up my fork, I stab a bite out of her quiche. “Humor some romantic drivel to take your mind off what happened.”
She peeks out between her fingers to find my fork positioned in front of her lips.
“Ahh…” I say.
Her eyes widen. “In front of all these people?”
“If romantic drivel is too drivelly for you, I can also try my hand at doing an airplane.” I pull back. “ Nrooom. Pshoo. Nroooom. ”
That gets her to giggle. “Stop it. You’re a very important person here.”
“Which means I can do whatever I want, love.”
Heat erupts in her face.
Love gets to her. Fabulous. Putting that one in my mental notes to use whenever I need some dopamine.
“Open up.” When she obliges—with a beautiful little eye roll—I say, “Oh no, we’re all gonna die. A goddess is devouring us. Ahh. Why? Why? ” She bites the morsel and covers her mouth to chew. I tut. “This is exactly what happened to five of Cronus’s kids. Poor things.”
“Do you like mythology?” she asks once she’s swallowed.
“I dabble with some of the elements in my work.” I dig out a bite of quiche for myself, examining it for onions before taking a bite. Delectable. I’ll have to come here more often. “Why?”
“You make references to the gods and goddesses often enough for me to wonder.” She glances toward the woman she assaulted with sugar, then—very carefully—secures a lump for her tea. Watching the crystals melt in the bottom of the peachy liquid, she smiles. Adding cream fills her with elation. And she sparkles as she stirs it with the delicate metal spoon shaped like a tiny blossom.
“I suppose,” I say, entranced, “one might suggest I have a thing for goddesses.”
Oblivious, Maelin lifts her teacup and beams. “My favorite myth is Hades and Persephone. Pretty basic, but I love it.”
Hades and Persephone, huh?
Yeah, I can totally add a kidnapping to my current work in progress. Just for her. That would solidify my enemies to lovers intent, too.
Lifting my own teacup, I delight myself in listening to my first date talk about pomegranates while I sip, concoct a plot, and consider that this isn’t bad at all.