Chapter Twenty-two
This is more than I bargained for…what a deal.
Ceres
The morning of my birthday begins like any other morning—except for the fact that it very, very, very much does not .
The moment my eyes open and adjust to the dimness of my bedroom with my curtains pulled in front of the sun, I locate a figure leaning against my footboard. Which is disturbing. Because I could have sworn I told him we’d be done if he watched me sleep.
My single consolation is the fact he isn’t watching me until after I sit up. Then his head turns, and his eyes illuminate the dimness. “Morning, little goddess,” he says, tone so gentle. “Happy Birthday.”
My heart shudders because I haven’t heard someone tell me that in…I don’t know. I don’t tend to tell anyone about my birthday, on account of the singing and the attention that tends to ensue. Or, somehow worse, the complete and utter disregard of the information.
Both not knowing what to do during the “Happy Birthday” song and knowing that someone knows it’s my birthday but didn’t bother to remember hurts. Personally ignoring that I have a birthday is the only real solution.
“How did you…” I begin.
A bright pink egg appears between his fingers as he kicks off my footboard and approaches my bedside. “Information like that is online. If you know how to look for it.”
And of course he knows how to look for it, but also why would he bother to look for it?
Lowering his face, he kisses my forehead and gives me the egg. “Shall we?”
“Shall we…what?” Rubbing sleep from my eye, I crack the colorful plastic gift, secure the slip of paper that falls out, and unfold it to reveal a note.
Good morning, my dearest love. Let’s have a little fun today… Your first hint is that you’ll find your next if you complete your morning routine and get dressed.
“A scavenger hunt?” I whisper.
“A town-wide scavenger hunt,” Mars concurs.
My stomach dips. “Town-wide?”
He kisses my forehead again. “I’ll touch-her-and-die anyone just for talking to you. Don’t worry.”
Still worried, but now also mildly intrigued by the possibility, I fortify myself.
Swallowing hard, I slip from beneath the covers and watch Mars’s face heat before he tugs his attention off my shorts and camisole. He coughs. “Anyway, I’ll let you get dressed in peace.”
“You aren’t going to watch?” I protest.
Already heading toward the hall, Mars releases a string of hollow laughs, then closes the door on my smile.
Looking down, I reread my first hint and find my second nestled against my toothbrush in the bathroom. It leads me to the kitchen, where Mars is preparing a breakfast that is absolutely not on my modest month-long meal plan.
“I don’t normally eat breakfast,” I say, scanning the kitchen for a bright plastic egg.
“Pity,” Mars says, showing me a blue egg betwixt his fore and middle fingers. Sly, he glances back at me and smirks. “Only good girls who eat breakfast get their next hint.”
How. Dare. He.
I drop myself down into a chair at my kitchen table and cross my arms.
“The real birthday gift,” he begins as he sets a plate of avocado toast and scrambled eggs before me, “is the coercion along the way.”
“Implying there will be more coercion?”
“Oh, all day.”
I pick up my fork and try not to look positively chipper at the idea.
“Why doesn’t Hannah like you?” I ask, slipping my next hint— locate a treat from somewhere Salty & Sweet —into my egg-collection bag. “Doesn’t her boss, Brandi, work on your brother all the time and know that the big, bad Rogues aren’t all that bad and only half of them are big?”
Jove has two full sleeves of tattoos, and Hannah is the most upbeat assistant I’ve ever tried desperately not to meet.
Both her and her boss are extroverted hazards in this town.
But today she’s about-faced in light of Mars’s presence twice.
Both times, she was walking toward us on the sidewalk in Downtown Bandera…
and now she is walking away from us, on the other side of the road.
“How do you know about Jove’s tattoos?” Mars asks, perfectly secure, of course. And definitely not scowling at me because I implied he was small. Again.
“I live next to you both. I go outside a lot. He doesn’t always wear long sleeves. What do you mean how do I know about Jove’s tattoos ?”
“Please tell me it’s because you’re observant, and not because you have a thing for tattoos or were checking out his arms.”
I stare at the bundle of anxiety walking beside me while he focuses all his attention on the deck of cards in his hands. Then I say, “Please tell me why Hannah hates you.”
“Everyone hates me. What else is new?”
“I’m not accepting that answer.”
Deflating, Mars stuffs his deck back in his pocket and cuts his fingers through his hair.
“Jove’s…easy,” he says. “Don’t be a jerk, and you’re safe.
Some people get that. I’m more of a wild card.
I don’t usually retaliate or attempt to impose karma on people.
Jove’ll hear about crimes against me, and Jove’ll take care of it.
Instead, I pick projects, which means I’m less predictable and my methods aren’t as traceable, or stoppable, which helps with my success, but not my popularity. ”
“Projects…like what?”
“Projects like choosing to set a courthouse on fire in order to steal information for a foster kid who wanted to know about their parents, then getting caught again later so I’d be sent to juvie for a hot second in order to make connections with the local, up-and-coming ne’er-do-wells.
Now I possess a web in adulthood of contacts on the darker side of the street, just in case I ever need them.
And I do. Sometimes.” His fist grips his hair, and he mumbles, “I learned young that it’s good to be prepared for any eventuality, so it’s rare I ever take steps forward without first analyzing the absolute best course of action in order to heighten chances of success. ”
Mouth agape, I stare. “You…are joking, aren’t you?”
“Not even a little bit. But that’s what I mean.
My plots aren’t as linear as you did a bad thing, so now you need new tires .
They’re very much decided on a whim, when some kid’s crying and keeps running from their foster parents even though their real parents are a thousand times worse.
Sometimes you just need to see it with your own eyes when you’re old enough to understand.
That kid’s happily adopted now, by the way.
” He won’t look at me. “I…keep track of my projects like that. To make sure I didn’t set the world on fire only to leave it burning. ”
I have never met kindness or intellect like Mars’s outside of stories.
Adjusting the bag of eggs over my shoulder, I lift my attention to the town around me.
I’ve been wandering all over this morning, unafraid.
Even though I’m acting like an idiot toddler and pulling colored eggs out of half a dozen potted orchids Mars set up all over the place a month before anyone else is doing Easter egg hunts.
It has been quiet in my chest.
Calm.
Because Mars is here.
Mars is here, and he’s making the world safe with his presence. He’s scattering this town with childlike wonder and my favorite flowers.
Mouth dry as Sweet & Salty, a local bakery I’ve never been to, comes into view, I say, “Am…I a project?”
His head lifts, eyes wide on me. “You?”
“Because of that whole…terrified to leave my house thing. You woke up one morning and said, Ah yes, today I’ll try my hand at curing agoraphobia .”
His jaw locks, and he catches my arm, stopping me in front of a candy store.
“I woke up one morning and said, Stop being a —” He swears.
“— wuss, Mars. Walk into that woman’s house and tell her you love her.
And then, as you know, I was still a—” He repeats the swear.
“—wuss anyway. You’re not a project. You’re the woman I’m going to marry.
And as the woman I’m going to marry, you deserve everything.
Including the luxury of never, ever, needing to be afraid.
” He squeezes my hand. “I don’t care if your agoraphobia gets ‘cured’ or not, Ceres.
I care to become a person you are unsettled to live without.
I want to create such a level of peace for you that you can’t even bear to be without me in your own home.
That is what I’m after. Nothing more. Nothing less. ”
“Nothing more?” I ask.
“Is there something more than your full physical and emotional dependency on me? If so, my apologies. I misspoke. I want that, too.”
Leaning in, I kiss his cheek, then we continue the rest of the way to Sweet & Salty, hand-in-hand.
The second the bell on the door chimes, the calm moment between us shatters.
“I ordered a blueberry scone!” an old man roars at the woman behind the counter, whose nametag seems to say Vivian.
“And I’ve told you,” Vivian remarks, “we are out of blueberry scones for today, Mr. Ferris.”
“It’s one in the afternoon. You have hours before you close. You should do your job and make another batch ,” Mr. Ferris growls. “I’ll put this whole place under with one scathing review. I have a reputation in this town. People listen to the Ferrises.”
Vivian’s eyes roll toward the ceiling. “We can’t make another batch this late in the day. We bake in the morning, and when we sell out, we sell out. You should have come earlier.”
The man sputters, slamming his hand on the counter as I slip from Mars’s side. “I couldn’t help but overhear that there was a blueberry scone shortage today?”
Vivian’s eyes cut to me, then behind me, and widen when they land on me again.
“Stay out of this!” Mr. Ferris snaps.
I smile. “I’d be happy to make some blueberry scones this afternoon and share them with you.”
Mr. Ferris sneers. “I don’t need your patronizing, lady. This woman will do her job, or I’ll destroy her business.”
I droop. “But…if you do that, there’s no chance of blueberry scones any day.”