20. Talon
TALON
Mother comes and gathers the cherry tarts on time and I can’t decide if I’m happy or annoyed about it. Now we have to deal with our mess from last night.
It’s somehow worse than I remembered. There’s cherry juice dried onto one cutting board, sticky enough that I have to scrub it twice.
Flour clings to the corners of the prep table and to the seams of the floor mats.
We used nearly every bowl in the bakery, which shouldn’t have happened for one batch of tarts, but Wren kept asking questions and I kept handing him ingredients and somewhere along the way we lost all sense.
It’s the best mess I’ve ever made.
Wren is quieter than usual as we work. Not silent, exactly.
He still teases me when I splash him. Still makes a scandalized noise when I tell him he’s loading the dishwasher wrong.
Still steals a spoonful of leftover cherry filling from the bowl I set aside.
But there’s something off in the edges of him, something I don’t think I would have noticed a week ago.
He yawns for the third time while drying the muffin tins.
I look up sharply.
He immediately tries to hide it by ducking his head and reaching for another towel. “Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“You’re doing the concerned eyebrow thing.”
“The concerned eyebrow thing?”
“Yes.” He points the towel at my face. “The one where your eyebrows do that little pinch in the middle and you look like you’re about to interrogate me.”
I scowl. “I don’t have a concerned eyebrow thing.”
“You absolutely do. It’s very handsome, but also a little intimidating.”
Handsome. The word should not have the power to rattle me this much, and yet here we are.
I rinse the soap from my hands and turn to face him fully. “You’re tired.”
“I got up early.”
“You’ve been getting up early for a while and still had more energy than this.”
Wren opens his mouth, then closes it again. That’s all the answer I need.
I dry my hands on my apron and lower my voice. “You still aren’t sleeping.” His theory was wrong or I’m not strong enough to shield him from the dreams Lord Yelling sends him.
His shoulders drop just a little. He sets the towel down and leans his hip against the sink.
“Not really,” he admits. “I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. And I really thought sleeping in the same room would help. But I still dreamed of the Winter Court and Lord Yelling last night.”
“Wren.”
“I know.” He throws his head back.
I step closer without really thinking about it. My hand lands on his waist, thumb brushing over the side of his shirt. He goes still under my touch, eyes meeting mine.
“You look exhausted,” I say. “You have dark shadows under your eyes and you nearly nodded off while drying a pan.”
He won’t look at me. I don’t move my hand from his waist. I don’t want to.
“I’m sorry you’re still dealing with this.”
Wren’s gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I slide my other hand to his hip and draw him closer until there’s no space left between us. He comes willingly, hands settling against my chest like they belong there. Like he belongs there.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I say.
Wren’s lashes flutter. “I know.”
“Do you?”
He nods once.
I brush my thumb over his side again, soothing myself as much as him.
His mouth curves, but there’s sadness in it. His fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. “I’m not used to anyone noticing when I’m running myself to the ground. No one usually cares.”
My grip on his waist tightens before I can stop it. I hate that. Hate that he can say something like that and it makes me want to tear apart the world that taught him to keep going until he collapses.
“I notice,” I say.
His breath catches, barely there. I kiss him before I can overthink it.
Slow this time. No floury chaos around us, no cherries on our fingers, no teasing tug on my apron.
Just me pressing him gently back against the edge of the sink and kissing him until some of the tension eases from his shoulders.
Wren melts into it with a quiet sigh, one hand sliding up to cup the side of my neck.
The kiss stays soft. Tender. I take my time with it because I want him calm, not worked up.
Want him to feel cared for instead of consumed.
When I pull back, his eyes stay closed for a second longer.
He smiles, sleepy and beautiful and just a little wrecked.
I have no self control where Wren is concerned and kiss him again. Shorter this time. A soft brush of lips that leaves him smiling when I pull back.
Then I force myself to step away before I forget we’re in a bakery and Wick could come barreling through the door at any second.
“We still have to finish cleaning,” I say.
Wren sighs dramatically.
I bark out a laugh before I can help it. “Come on, there’s not much left to do.”
The last of the cleanup goes faster, thank goodness. I set my rag down and walk toward Wren, slow enough to make him watch every step.
I kiss his forehead because if I kiss his mouth again, we’re never getting the bakery open on time. He sighs against me. He’s more tired than he’s letting on and I hate it.
I leave him to grab him a clean apron. “Go work the front. I’ll finish the last bit back here.”
Wren takes the apron but doesn’t tie it on right away. “Talon—”
“No arguing.”
His mouth twitches. “Bossy.”
“Wren.”
He softens. “You don’t have to take care of everything for me.”
“Maybe not.” I step in close enough to fix the apron around his neck myself, fingers brushing his collarbone as I settle the strap. “But I can take care of a few things.”
He watches my hands as I tie the apron at his waist. When I’m done, he catches my wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it.
The gesture is so gentle it nearly undoes me.
“Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll go work the front.”
“Good.” I lean in and steal one last kiss. It’s sweet and enough to make his eyes flutter shut.
“Go charm the customers,” I murmur. He’s already charmed me.
Wren smiles against my mouth. “Only because you asked nicely.”
Then he slips out of the kitchen, apron strings swaying at his back. The bell over the bakery door jingles a second later as he heads to the register.
I stand there in the suddenly quiet kitchen. He’s still so tired, but he’s pushing through. His voice drifts back to me. He sounds cheerful. Charming. Awake enough. But I know the reason for the dark shadows under his eyes.