Chapter 12
Gavrel
Istood in front of my closet holding two shirts that looked nearly identical, trying to decide which one would make me look less desperate. My tail kept doing ridiculous happy swishes across the floor, knocking into furniture.
This was absurd. I’d negotiated art deals with collectors who could buy and sell entire cities. I’d given presentations to gallery boards without breaking a sweat. But choosing what to wear for dinner with Sammy had me second-guessing everything.
My wings spread, catching the late afternoon light from the window. I forced them closed against my back.
The blue shirt. Definitely the blue one. Or maybe the gray would be better since it matched my skin tone and—
I was overthinking this.
I settled on the blue, paired it with dark pants that weren’t too fancy, that didn’t make me look like I was trying too hard. In the bathroom mirror, I attempted to tame my hair, which had other ideas about cooperation.
My reflection showed a gargoyle who looked far too pleased with himself. My tail swished again, this time knocking over the waste basket.
I was taking my mate to dinner. Finally. Just the two of us, no crisis management or child care or botanical garden business. Sammy and me, sharing a meal, talking and being together.
The restaurant had taken two hours of research to choose.
It needed to be somewhere good enough to impress a trained chef but not so fancy she’d feel uncomfortable.
Farm-to-table, locally sourced, and with a creative menu.
The reviews mentioned excellent wine pairings, which helped since my years in France had given me opinions about that.
I checked my watch. Six-forty-five. Laney would arrive any minute.
Downstairs, I found Corey building a Lego castle on the living room coffee table. He looked up when I entered.
“You look all dressed up,” he said. “Are you nervous? Your tail is doing the swishy thing.”
I glanced behind me. My tail had wrapped itself around a table leg. “Perhaps a little nervous.”
“Why? It’s just Mom.”
Just Mom, as if she was simple or ordinary.
The doorbell rang before I could formulate a response.
Laney stood on the porch with a bag over one shoulder. Her dark hair had been pulled back in a messy bun, and she had that particular energy of new mothers everywhere, simultaneously exhausted and radiating purpose.
“Hi,” she said, stepping inside. “Sorry I’m early. Mai decided napping was optional today and poor Dorvak wasn’t sure what to do.”
Corey abandoned his Legos and leaped to his feet, peering around. “Did you bring the baby?”
“No, she’s at home with her daddy, but I have pictures!” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through to some images, showing them off while we admired their amazing child.
“Does she do anything yet?” Corey asked. “Like, can she sit up or roll over? When will she be walking? We can run through the garden paths. And what’s her favorite food?”
“Corey, give Laney space to breathe,” I said.
Laney laughed. “It’s fine. I’ll be happy to tell you all about her tonight.”
“She’s really small,” Corey said, frowning at the pictures. “How old is she?”
“Six weeks.”
“Wow. I was that small once, right? Mom says I was tiny.”
“All babies start that way.” Laney settled onto the couch. “It’s nature’s way of making sure we can actually give birth without dying.”
Corey’s eyes went wide. “That’s so sick. I mean, not the dying part, but the biology part. Do different species have different size babies? Like, are orc babies bigger than human ones?”
“Dorvak was apparently huge,” Laney said. “His poor mother.”
“What about gargoyle babies?” Corey turned to me. “Are they born with wings? Do they hatch from eggs? That would make sense since you turn to stone sometimes and all that.”
“We don’t hatch,” I said. “We’re born live, like humans. The wings are small at first.”
“But do they work right away? Or do you have to learn to fly like birds? Whoa, do you just jump off a roof and hope they work?”
“Corey,” Sammy’s voice came from the stairs she was descending. “Maybe let Laney settle.”
I turned toward the stairs and my wings spread wide.
Sammy stood on the landing, wearing a dress.
Green, the color of new leaves, fitted at the waist and flowing to just below her knees.
She’d done something different with her hair, pulled it back but leaving pieces framing her face.
And she was wearing makeup, subtle but definitely there, making her eyes look enormous.
My tail did an enthusiastic swish that nearly knocked over a floor lamp.
Corey giggled. “Gavrel’s tail really likes your dress, Mom.”
Heat crawled up my neck. Sammy’s cheeks went pink, but she smiled.
“You look beautiful,” I said, then worried it sounded too formal. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but tonight you look—”
“Stop talking,” she said, but her smile widened. “You look nice too.”
Corey made a face. “You’re talking like people in movies, the ones where everybody dresses up and talks fancy at dinner.”
Laney stood, her grin knowing. “Alright you two, get out of here. Corey and I have important business discussing baby development and probably building something elaborate with Legos.”
“We could construct a birthing center,” Corey said. “With different rooms for different species—”
“Corey, please don’t traumatize Laney,” Sammy said with a soft laugh.
“It’s fine.” Laney waved us toward the door. “Go. Have fun. Let yourself have nice things, Sammy.”
Sammy’s expression flickered with something I couldn’t read. Laney caught it too and strode closer to take and squeeze her hand.
“You deserve this,” Laney said in a low voice. “Stop overthinking it.”
Sammy nodded, swallowing hard.
I offered her my arm. She took it, her fingers curling around my elbow.
At the door, Laney called out, “Treat her right, gargoyle, or you’ll answer to my orc husband.”
“Duly noted,” I said.
Outside, Sammy let out a shaky breath. “I can’t remember the last time I left Corey with someone who wasn’t a paid babysitter and that was rare.”
“He’ll be fine. Laney seems very capable.”
“I know. It’s just weird.” She looked up at me. “Good weird.”
I positioned myself for the bridal carry, and she stepped into my arms without hesitation. Progress. Last time she’d been nervous.
“Ready for gargoyle airlines?” I asked.
“Do I get peanuts on this flight?”
“I could throw nut mix at you mid-air if you’d like.”
She laughed, the sound sending heat through my chest. I launched upward, and her arms tightened around my neck.
But this time, instead of a touch of fear, I felt her excitement.
“Show off a little,” she said near my ear. “I know you’ve been holding back.”
My wings spread wider. “Hold on.”
I banked sharply, spiraling upward before leveling out. Sammy shrieked, then laughed, the sound pure joy. I did it again, adding a roll that made her bury her face against my shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but she was grinning when she looked up.
“You said to show off.”
“I take it back. Fly normal.”
I evened out, though I couldn’t resist a few gentle swoops. The town spread below us, lights beginning to appear as dusk settled in. Sammy pointed at landmarks, the farmer’s market, Dorvak’s bakery, and the school.
“Corey’s classroom is that one,” she said. “Third window from the left.”
“Did you know gargoyles have excellent night vision?” I said. “We can see details humans miss in low light.”
“Is that why you’re always squinting during the day?”
“I don’t squint.”
“You squint. I’ve seen you.”
“That’s concentration, not squinting.”
“Sure it is.”
Chatting with her like this felt easy, natural, and I couldn’t be happier than I was right now.
We landed in the restaurant’s parking lot with what I hoped was an impressive flourish. Sammy’s hair had come partially loose from whatever she’d done with it, pieces flying in every direction.
“Smooth landing,” she said.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“On what, exactly?”
“Large rocks. Very aerodynamic.”
She swatted my arm, laughing. I set her down carefully, reluctant to let go and she quickly smoothed her hair.
Inside, the restaurant was exactly what I’d hoped for. Warm lighting, exposed brick walls, mismatched but comfortable furniture. The smell of garlic and fresh bread hit immediately.
The troll hostess led us to a corner table with a view of the kitchen through a large window. Sammy’s attention went there immediately, watching the line cooks move through their choreographed chaos.
“This is perfect,” she said, settling into her chair.
I’d chosen correctly, then. Relief and pleasure mingled in my chest.
She opened the menu, her expression shifting into professional interest. Her eyes tracked down the offerings, and I noted the exact moment she spotted something that intrigued her.
“Oh, they’re doing a deconstructed cassoulet,” she said. “That’s ambitious for a small kitchen.”
“Good ambitious or bad ambitious?”
“Depends on the execution.” She kept reading. “The duck confit sounds interesting. And they’re using local mushrooms for the risotto.”
Our server appeared, a young human with bright purple hair. Sammy immediately launched into questions about preparation methods and ingredient sourcing. The server held their own, clearly knowledgeable.
We ordered half the menu. Sammy wanted to try everything, and I wanted to watch her taste it all.
The wine list offered a decent selection of French options. I chose a Burgundy that would pair well with the duck.
“Fancy,” Sammy said when the server left.
“I lived in France for years. I have opinions about wine.”
“Of course you do.” But she was smiling.
The first course arrived, a beet salad with goat cheese and pistachios. Sammy studied it like an exam, then took a careful bite.
“The reduction is too sweet,” she said. “They should’ve balanced it with more acid.”
“But still good?”
“Still good. Just could be better.” She pushed the plate toward me. “Try it.”