Chapter 18
eighteen
. . .
The bakery smelled like cinnamon and sugar and coffee and the warm yeastiness of bread just pulled from the oven. Phoebe sat in the corner booth with her hands wrapped around a mug she wasn't drinking and watched the morning happen around her.
Kaelor moved between the ovens and the counter with that careful grace of his, flour on his forearms, the warmth rolling off him in waves that fogged the windows.
Ember was calling out an order to a Cinnamite regular with a smudge of chocolate on her cheek.
A Zingiberite customer at the counter told a joke Phoebe couldn't quite hear.
Ember's delighted snort came back over the espresso machine, the clink of cups, and the creak of the oven door.
The soft, constant hum of this place that was alive and warm and vibrant washed over her.
Kaelor slid a plate of pastries in front of her.
The ones with the spiced cinnamon-sugar crust. The ones she'd eaten her first morning here, when she was fresh off the transport and terrified and performing confidence so hard her jaw ached, and Kaelor had set this exact plate in front of her without being asked, and the taste of warm sugar on her tongue had been the first thing that cracked the performance.
"You should eat something before you make any more terrible decisions."
Phoebe almost smiled.
She picked up a pastry and took a bite she didn't taste.
Ember wiped her hands on her apron, came around the counter, and sat across from her in the booth.
"I remember what it felt like to have the exit in my hand.
" Ember's voice was quiet. Steady. "The validation.
The proof that I was worth something outside of this place.
It tasted like freedom right until I realized I was running from the first place that had ever felt like mine. "
Phoebe's fingers tightened on the mug.
"I'm not going to say stay." Ember leaned forward, elbows on the table, her dark eyes direct and warm, and uncompromising. "I'm going to say, make sure you're leaving for the right reasons. And not because staying scares you more."
Phoebe opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Ember reached across the table and took her hand. Just held it. Warm and flour-dusted, and uncomplicated.
Phoebe held on.
Her apartment was nearly empty.
Phoebe folded a sequined performance dress into tissue paper and placed it in the travel case on her bed.
She'd performed her remaining shows for the last week on pure technical precision.
She'd been onstage since she was five years old, and could deliver a flawless set in her sleep, in a coma, from the bottom of the ocean.
The audiences loved it. Standing ovations every night.
The alien harmonic hum swelling beneath her final notes.
Beings pressing forward to the stage with their faces lit up and their hands reaching.
They couldn't tell the difference between her performance voice and her real one.
She used to be grateful for that. Now she hated that they couldn’t tell the difference.
The books went into the case next. Then the small things she'd accumulated without meaning to.
A festival program from opening night, its cover bent from being shoved into her coat pocket while Thorne walked beside her in the dark.
A peppermint tea sachet she'd taken from the all-night stall because it smelled like him, tucked into the inner pocket of her coat like a teenager hiding a love note.
She wasn't going to think about that.
The cashmere sweater. The wine-dark one she'd worn the morning he'd brought her coffee barefoot in his hallway, his hair mussed from the couch, his eyes still soft from sleep. She held it for a second longer than she needed to. Folded it. Put it in the case.
Her quarters looked like what they were. A temporary space being vacated by a temporary person.
The dream she'd organized her whole life around was finally in her hands, and it tasted like ash.
She closed the case.
She stood in the center of it and looked at what was left. Suitcases lined up by the door. Walls bare. The vanity cleared of everything except her hairbrush, sitting in the exact spot where Thorne's frost had crawled across the glass in protective fury.
She picked up the hairbrush. Put it in the case. Closed the clasp.
Through the window, the Eternal Pine pulsed slow and gold against the darkening sky.
The three moons had risen over the market lane, hanging at different heights like three eyes watching, and the vanilla snow caught their light.
Evergleam in the blue hour. The most beautiful thing she'd ever seen from a window, and she was going to be on the other side of it in eighteen hours.
A knock came at the door.
Ember, probably. Coming to check on her one more time. Or bringing more pastries she didn't ask for.
Ember had been in and out with trays all afternoon, and after the third visit, Phoebe had gotten tired of unlocking it and just left it unlocked.
"Door's still open," she called. "Come on in."
The door opened. Closed.
Footsteps on the floor that were not Ember's quick, light tread. Heavier. Unhurried.
Phoebe turned.
Gavin Hale stood in her doorway with a duffel bag over his shoulder. His face wore the same warm, certain smile he'd worn on the bench in the festival square when he'd held her hand and told her he was her Truest Listener.
Her blood went cold.
It started at her hairline and crept down her spine like fingers trailing down her back, turning her hands clammy and her stomach to ice water, and her thoughts to a single bright, sharp point of no.
"Hello, Phoebe. I heard you're coming home." His voice was gentle. He set his bag down by the door as if he were settling in. "I've been making arrangements for us."
Phoebe pushed past the racing pulse in her throat that threatened to steal her voice and forced herself to remain as casual as possible while she said, “Hello, Mr. Hale. It’s nice to see you.”
His smile broadened with delight.
“Gavin, please. We’re too close for the formality of last names. Besides, now that you’re going home, we can finally start building our relationship together.”
“Oh? I’d… I’d like that.” She pushed the words out and hoped he didn’t notice the waver in her voice as he stepped closer.
“I thought you would. I have passage booked for both of us. I’ve been thinking about you since the first time I saw you sing back on Earth.
Ever since the festival began, I knew no one else would ever understand you like I do.
And now that you’re returning home, we can start fresh.
Earth is big enough for both of us, and we’ll be away from that security officer who’d kept us apart.
He never understood what you really needed.
” His hand raised to push back a piece of hair behind her ear, and Phoebe held still while her whole body wanted to flinch away.
“But I do. I know what you need, Phoebe. I’m your truest listener. ”
“That’s right, you are.” Her mind was racing with what to do. Will he get violent if I don’t do what he asks? Just play along until you can get help.
Help.
She still had Thorne’s emergency comm unit, though she hadn’t thought about it in days.
“It looks like you’re ready to go,” she said, nodding at his duffel bag. “I’ll just get my coat.”
She stepped toward the coat rack.
“Here, let me,” the journalist said, pulling her bright red wool coat from the hanger. He held it open for her and waited for her to place her arms in.
She took a deep breath and turned her back to him, placing her arms through the holes. He pulled the coat up and over her shoulders, tugging it snugly around her and then brushing his hands down her arms.
“Finally together,” he said, helping her pull her hair free from the coat’s collar.
Phoebe repressed a shudder and took a step away from his embrace. She fixed a smile on her face before she turned around.
“We can send for your belongings to be delivered later. A star like you shouldn’t have to do her own packing.”
“Of course. You’re… you’re right.”
Phoebe's hand found the security comm in her coat pocket. The weight of it against her fingers helped ground her and gave her courage she sorely needed.
She pressed the button.