She wore a black apron over her tank top; she had taken off her sweatshirt to leave her arms bare among the heat of the espresso machines. Her hair was wrapped up and held with black-and-white painted chopsticks. It looked like her boss had moved her off the order-taking duties at the cash register (probably because she barely spoke), and had her mostly putting drinks together. She did everything he’d seen baristas do a thousand times—measuring ground coffee, packing it into the machine, punching buttons, swirling foam in—but now every move plucked a chord deep inside him.
He’d ordered a latte, and left it untouched for the first fifteen minutes because Skye had made a heart on top with the foam. It struck him as a declaration, a Valentine of sorts, and he didn’t want to destroy it.
He couldn’t love her yet. It wasn’t possible. But, God, it was starting to feel that way. He started drinking the latte, his lips dragging the heart all out of shape, just to prove he wasn’t being over-sentimental, and because anyway it would be a waste to let it get cold.
A while ago a woman in her twenties had come in and talked to Skye for ten minutes. (Skye only nodded or echoed a word here and there; the woman did most of the talking.) Someone else behind the counter called, “Hi, Jamie!”, and Grady recognized her as Skye’s friend from some of the photos on her phone. Jamie wore a puffy red winter coat and a green hat, and had rosy plump cheeks. Skye hadn’t mentioned her much lately. From the regretful twist to Jamie’s lips when she gave Skye a goodbye hug, Grady got the impression Jamie didn’t see her often anymore and didn’t know what to do with Skye when she did see her, and was sad about it.
He ought to ask Skye about Jamie, and about other people in her life who cared about her. It was completely the kind of thing he would ask her about, if he were behaving normally himself. But that was just the thing. He wasn’t. Though he recognized it as unhealthy and felt unnerved by it, he knew he’d choose the path of keeping Skye all to himself.
She seemed to glow in his vision like a spotlight had picked her out. The rest of the cafe, the rest of the world, fell into shadow. She kept looking at him too, between orders, when she had a moment, and he would have sworn she was promising Soon. Soon they’d steal another hour alone like this afternoon in the woods. Soon they’d do more than that. Soon he’d understand what had silenced her and erased her smiles, and how to fix it.
Soon they’d never have to be apart, could be together in the woods forever, dropping society’s rules and adopting new ones.
That thought was crazy. It was unlike him. It was frightening.
But it all came wrapped up with Skye, and somehow he knew he had signed onto it the minute he started kissing her in the forest without so much as a “What’s your name?”
A text buzzed in from Kit. Livy’s heading home. Come back whenever you like.
Cool, see you in a bit, Grady answered.
He finished the latte and brought the foam-stained mug back to the counter. Skye wandered up on the other side.
“Livy’s on her way home,” Grady said.
Skye nodded. She’d probably gotten a text from her sister saying as much, and it was likely Livy would stop here first to see her.
“I should go. Just wanted to say goodnight properly.”
Skye hadn’t told Livy about this relationship yet. Grady didn’t like the whiff of secrecy, but he agreed telling Livy or Kit would raise more questions than he currently felt like answering.
Skye glanced behind her, ascertaining her two coworkers had their backs turned. Then she leaned across the counter to meet Grady in a kiss. It lingered a few seconds, coffee-flavored and steamy, enough to amp up his already-sky-high hormones. “Goodnight,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“JESUS, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?” LIVY TOUCHED THE BRUISES AND SCRATCHES ON KIT’S FACE.
He stepped back to let her into the cabin. “Oh, yeah. I was fixing someone’s flat alongside the road, and slipped into the ditch. Which of course was full of blackberries.”
It wasn’t even the first time he had gotten into a fight with the goblins and had to lie to people about the bruises. It had happened two or three times before, in the earliest years of his liaison position. He’d behaved since then, up until snapping last night. He didn’t entirely regret lashing out at them. They needed to know when they’d crossed a line. Nonetheless, he hated lying every bit as much as he hated stealing.
Livy seemed to buy his excuse. She winced in sympathy. “Ouch. I know the evil ways of blackberry vines. Or holly—God, that stuff’s sharp. And don’t get me started on nettles and poison oak.”
He sank onto a barstool and drew her close, hands around her hips. “That’s what you got yourself into, choosing the Forest Service.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She spread her hands along his shoulders. The soapy smell of her perfume calmed and aroused him, simultaneously. “At least I got to save a frog today.”
“Just today? Just one frog? Shoot, I was under the impression you were out there saving frogs by the hundreds every day.”
She laughed. “I am, of course, but usually I don’t see them. Today I was working with the volunteers, clearing roads and trails after the windstorms we’ve been having. And we moved a log, and this college girl looked down and said, all sad, ‘Oh, a dead frog.’ So I came and checked it out, and told her, no, he’s probably alive, just hibernating. Gave her the whole spiel: how they can look dead during winter; in fact, they can even freeze. Like, ice can form in their blood, but then in spring they thaw right out and come back to life.”
“They can freeze? Really? I never knew that.”
“Yep. They’re pretty amazing, frogs. So we made him a new bed of dead leaves in the log, and tucked him in. With any luck he’ll be hopping around and eating bugs again in spring.”
He curled his fingers under the warm hem of her sweatshirt. “Olivia Darwen, preserver of life and happiness.” In the past week they’d shared their full names. She’d seemed intrigued when he told her his first name was merely “Kit” on the birth certificate, and wasn’t short for anything.
Her smile faded, and she threaded her fingers through the ends of his hair. “Well. Some varieties of life and happiness, anyway.”
Kit spread his hands, holding her steadier. “How’s Skye?”
She shrugged, keeping her gaze on his collar. “I still think it’s good for her to have Grady around. They seem to be friends now.”
“I kind of get the impression he’s smitten. Don’t worry, though; I’m sure he’ll be honorable about it.”
“Oh, she can handle herself there. And he doesn’t seem the aggressive type. I’m not worried. Just…”
“What?”
She finally stopped fiddling with his hair, and met his eyes again, for a second. “She still isn’t herself. I don’t know how they’re getting along, since she’s talking even less than ever.”
He slid his arms further around her back, holding her in a loose hug. “These things take time. You’re doing what you can. Grady’s helping too, maybe, or at least he’s probably not doing any actual damage.”
She touched her nose to his. “Let’s hope not.”
“If he does, let me know, and I’ll do something appropriately evil to him.”
“Like what? Hide the oregano?”
“Worse. Make him cook with margarine instead of butter.”
She laughed, and wrapped her arms around him.