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“I can’t say I have.”
“They’re really good.” He seemed to be speaking louder than he needed to, and when Darien added, “They’re made of crushed ice,” Loren saw a shadow on top of the fridge move, saw Itzel sit up, her neon pink eyes peering from the darkness like two rosy fireflies.
“Ooh, ice! That sounds yummy,” Loren said, playing along. “What flavor did you get?”
Itzel crept closer to the edge of the fridge, the bright, swirly flames on her head flickering. The tiny Hob reminded Loren of a cupcake with a body.
“Cherry and blue raspberry,” Darien said, licking the spoon. Everything this man did was insanely attractive. Was it weird of her to be jealous of a plastic spoon? “I could eat ten of these—”
Itzel appeared beside him on the couch in a puff of sparkling smoke.
Darien wasn’t even fazed by her sudden appearance, though Loren spotted humor pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You ever tried this before?” Darien asked the Hob, waving the spoon in front of her.
She reached for the cup with a tiny hand and missed.
“I’ll share it with you,” Darien began, “but you need to promise me something in return.”
Itzel glared up at Darien, impatient and suspicious.
Loren pressed her lips together to fight a smile.
Darien said, “You need to be quieter at night. Every night, not just when Pax is here.”
Itzel’s grabby hands strained to reach the cup—
Darien moved it out of her reach. “Uh-uh,” he said, dark hair gleaming as he shook his head. “You don’t get any of this unless you agree.”
Itzel folded her arms, plopped down on the cushion, and scowled.
“You can still watch TV, but you need to keep the volume low. And no pots and pans orchestra on Tuesdays. Deal?”
She glowered at a corner of the room, the pink flames on her head burning hot.
Darien taunted her by lifting the spoon to his mouth, moving it as if it were an airplane. “Mmmm, so good—”
Itzel relented and smacked the couch cushions, bleating noises floating from the mouth she opened in a wide O.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” Darien prompted.
Itzel nodded with enthusiasm, the motion sending pink sparks flying.
“Here.” He passed the snow cone to her.
Itzel took it, dumping some on the couch with a splat, the cup too big and heavy for her. She made an attempt to pick up the melting ice, pinching it with her fingers and licking them clean.
Loren couldn’t help but smile. When Darien noticed, his eyes locking with hers, she dropped her attention to her open book.
“What are you reading?” His deep voice made her shiver.
“A book,” she said, still fighting a smile.
The sound of wet crunching filled the room.
“I can see that.” Darien was fighting a smile, too; she could hear it in that voice of his that kept making her shiver. “What’s it about?”
“Just a romance.”
“Let’s see the cover.”
