He’s going to have to keep puzzling over it. Even I am not sure how to best approach me right now because I have no idea what exactly I’m feeling.
Annoyance, definitely. My leash just got a lot tighter. Anger—and incredulity—that the Bargainer actually forced me to move in with him for the foreseeable future. Depending on how slowly he makes me pay off my debt, I could potentially live under his roof for the rest of my life.
I ignore the spark excitement that comes with that thought; my heart is obviously an idiot.
Beneath all these frustrated emotions, there’s relief. Relief that I didn’t have to cave to my ego and stay inside a house that felt unsafe, or swallow my pride and beg this man to let me stay with him again so soon after I left.
“I have no regrets, you know,” he says behind me, his even voice carrying across the yard.
Ignoring him, I head up his stone steps and into his palatial house.
“Breakfast and coffee,” I say. “I can’t be civil with you until I have some breakfast and coffee.”
I feel a hand on my back as the Bargainer materializes next to me. “Then let’s get the lady what she wants. I have just the thing for you …”
Douglas mutha-freaking Café. That’s what he was hinting at earlier.
“It’s been … years,” I say, looking around the familiar café. The place looks unchanged, from the polished wood tables to the framed photos of the harbor, to the glass case filled with pastries.
When Des led me to his portal room, I was more than a little reluctant to venture down one of his ley lines again. But when we stepped off the line and onto the Isle of Man, my opinion did a one-eighty.
Outside the café, the sky is dark. It might be afternoon in Southern California, but it’s already evening here on the British Isles.
Des leans back in his seat, stirring his coffee idly. Something a lot like nostalgia tightens my throat. Des used to take me here whenever he got bored of sitting around my dorm room.
His gaze follows mine to each detail of the café. “Did you miss this place?” he asks.
“Not as much as the company,” I admit.
He looks almost pained at that.
“Why did you leave, Des?” I whisper. We’re going to have to go over all of this at some point if we’re living under the same roof.
His expression turns grim. “That is a conversation for another time.”
I almost groan in frustration. “It’s been so long, what does it matter?”
I’m such a goddamn liar. It still matters. Desmond Flynn is a wound that’s never healed.
“It matters,” is all he says, echoing my thoughts.
Beautiful, frustrating man. He’s eyeing me like a cornered animal would. That’s never a good position to put a supernatural in, especially a fae king.
I know all this, and yet I still can’t let the subject go.
“Tell me,” I insist.
He rubs his eyes, hissing out a breath. “It’s not in my nature to tell you. None of this is in my fucking nature. I will explain it all when the time’s right.”
All my hopes plummet at that. “Des, it’s been seven years. How long do I have to wait for the time to be right?”
The atmosphere at our little table darkens. “Do you even know the meaning of waiting?”
I reel back at the bite in his words.
He leans his forearms on the table, a lock of his white hair escaping the leather thong he tied it back in. “Seven years, Callie, and how many of them did you spend single?” He seems to swell with the emotion in his voice.
“What?” I reel back, eyeing him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
Is Des … jealous?
“Tell me,” he repeats, the shadows deepening in the room, “how many years of those were you single?”
I’m still staring at him, dumbfounded. Of all the millions of ways I could spend my day, I hadn’t imagined this would be one of them.
Des grabs my wrist, taking hold of a bead. “Answer me.”
The words are ripped from my throat. “None of them.”
Ugh. Fuck magic. And fae debt collectors.
“None of them,” the Bargainer repeats, angry but satisfied. He releases my wrist.
I glare. “And I expect you kept your hands to yourself as well?” I’ve heard enough stories about the King of the Night and his revolving door of women. “You asshole. You left me. You broke my heart and you left me. You don’t get to be jealous of what came after that.”
He leans forward, his face menacing. “I didn’t leave you, Callie.”
Now I’m pissed. “You fled my room that night after the dance. Tell me how that’s not leaving.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Then enlighten me.”
We stare each other down. Shadows are collecting around us as Des’s emotions get the better of him. The other patrons don’t notice it, thanks to the dim lighting and the night sky outside, but I do.
Just seeing him this worked should be satisfying, but under my anger I’m baffled by it. He left all those years ago, and now he’s insisting he didn’t. And it’s been so long that I’m wondering if I am remembering incorrectly.
But no, that particular night is burned into my brain.
I wait for him to explain himself, but as usual, it doesn’t come. I push away my drink and the last of my croissant, losing my appetite.
Annoyance, definitely. My leash just got a lot tighter. Anger—and incredulity—that the Bargainer actually forced me to move in with him for the foreseeable future. Depending on how slowly he makes me pay off my debt, I could potentially live under his roof for the rest of my life.
I ignore the spark excitement that comes with that thought; my heart is obviously an idiot.
Beneath all these frustrated emotions, there’s relief. Relief that I didn’t have to cave to my ego and stay inside a house that felt unsafe, or swallow my pride and beg this man to let me stay with him again so soon after I left.
“I have no regrets, you know,” he says behind me, his even voice carrying across the yard.
Ignoring him, I head up his stone steps and into his palatial house.
“Breakfast and coffee,” I say. “I can’t be civil with you until I have some breakfast and coffee.”
I feel a hand on my back as the Bargainer materializes next to me. “Then let’s get the lady what she wants. I have just the thing for you …”
Douglas mutha-freaking Café. That’s what he was hinting at earlier.
“It’s been … years,” I say, looking around the familiar café. The place looks unchanged, from the polished wood tables to the framed photos of the harbor, to the glass case filled with pastries.
When Des led me to his portal room, I was more than a little reluctant to venture down one of his ley lines again. But when we stepped off the line and onto the Isle of Man, my opinion did a one-eighty.
Outside the café, the sky is dark. It might be afternoon in Southern California, but it’s already evening here on the British Isles.
Des leans back in his seat, stirring his coffee idly. Something a lot like nostalgia tightens my throat. Des used to take me here whenever he got bored of sitting around my dorm room.
His gaze follows mine to each detail of the café. “Did you miss this place?” he asks.
“Not as much as the company,” I admit.
He looks almost pained at that.
“Why did you leave, Des?” I whisper. We’re going to have to go over all of this at some point if we’re living under the same roof.
His expression turns grim. “That is a conversation for another time.”
I almost groan in frustration. “It’s been so long, what does it matter?”
I’m such a goddamn liar. It still matters. Desmond Flynn is a wound that’s never healed.
“It matters,” is all he says, echoing my thoughts.
Beautiful, frustrating man. He’s eyeing me like a cornered animal would. That’s never a good position to put a supernatural in, especially a fae king.
I know all this, and yet I still can’t let the subject go.
“Tell me,” I insist.
He rubs his eyes, hissing out a breath. “It’s not in my nature to tell you. None of this is in my fucking nature. I will explain it all when the time’s right.”
All my hopes plummet at that. “Des, it’s been seven years. How long do I have to wait for the time to be right?”
The atmosphere at our little table darkens. “Do you even know the meaning of waiting?”
I reel back at the bite in his words.
He leans his forearms on the table, a lock of his white hair escaping the leather thong he tied it back in. “Seven years, Callie, and how many of them did you spend single?” He seems to swell with the emotion in his voice.
“What?” I reel back, eyeing him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
Is Des … jealous?
“Tell me,” he repeats, the shadows deepening in the room, “how many years of those were you single?”
I’m still staring at him, dumbfounded. Of all the millions of ways I could spend my day, I hadn’t imagined this would be one of them.
Des grabs my wrist, taking hold of a bead. “Answer me.”
The words are ripped from my throat. “None of them.”
Ugh. Fuck magic. And fae debt collectors.
“None of them,” the Bargainer repeats, angry but satisfied. He releases my wrist.
I glare. “And I expect you kept your hands to yourself as well?” I’ve heard enough stories about the King of the Night and his revolving door of women. “You asshole. You left me. You broke my heart and you left me. You don’t get to be jealous of what came after that.”
He leans forward, his face menacing. “I didn’t leave you, Callie.”
Now I’m pissed. “You fled my room that night after the dance. Tell me how that’s not leaving.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Then enlighten me.”
We stare each other down. Shadows are collecting around us as Des’s emotions get the better of him. The other patrons don’t notice it, thanks to the dim lighting and the night sky outside, but I do.
Just seeing him this worked should be satisfying, but under my anger I’m baffled by it. He left all those years ago, and now he’s insisting he didn’t. And it’s been so long that I’m wondering if I am remembering incorrectly.
But no, that particular night is burned into my brain.
I wait for him to explain himself, but as usual, it doesn’t come. I push away my drink and the last of my croissant, losing my appetite.
