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“I am,” Mia said with a nod. “Angelica is my mom’s cousin.” At nineteen, Mia was already second in command at AB’s, running the bakery with Angelica while also getting her degree at Golden Gate University. “And Jax?—”
“Would love two London Fogs,” they said, cutting Mia off before their cover was well and truly blown. In retrospect, they probably should have given Mia more of a heads-up than just their own friends and family request, but like all the Perris, Mia caught on fast and knew when not to ask questions.
“Comin’ right up, along with that other order,” she added with a wink. “Grab a table, and I’ll bring them out.”
Jax steered a seemingly dazed Feb toward an out-of-the-way booth in the far corner. Once they were seated, Jax waved a hand in front of her face and teased, “You still in there?”
Feb blinked. “Yeah, sorry.” She gave a sharp shake of her head, as if she were clearing away the lingering surprise. “I knew you were a local from when we talked before, but I didn’t expect to walk in here and have the staff know you by name. Was Mia the one who bribed you with the mistletoe cannoli?”
“Her uncle.”
“It’s all starting to come together.”
Before Feb could catch on to Jax’s surprise, they swerved a different direction, asking, “So, why the freak-out? I know what you said outside”—they flitted their fingers toward the window—“but you know you’re damn good and you usually don’t give a fuck what others think, especially the critics.”
She gathered her hair into a fresh knot, more of the Feb that Jax knew coming back online. “I want everyone to think that because that’s the vibe I want for UTT. We do things our way, period. But I’m a perfectionist like any other chef at this level, and I want everyone’s sacrifices to be worth it.” She propped her elbows on the table and scrubbed her hands over her face, fingers sneaking under her glasses to rub her eyes. “And if I fail, on Valentine’s Day of all days, it’ll be like every other...” She lowered her arms, folded them on the table, and buried her head in them. “Ugh, I don’t want to be this person still.”
Her words were muffled but loud enough for Jax to hear. Chuckling, they gently tugged an arm free so they could see the side of Feb’s face. “Every other what?”
Feb angled her chin, giving Jax a better view of her miserable expression. “I never got a rose.”
“For?”
She laid her head on her folded arms, and the sadness that floated over her delicate features caused a pinch in Jax’s chest. “Valentine’s Day,” she said. “In middle and high school, student groups would sell roses and deliver them in class. I never got one.”
Ah. Jax remembered that practice and regarded it as hurtful and obnoxious as Feb did. For them, Valentine’s Day had also brought more nagging from their parents to put on makeup and dress more like a girl so they could land a boy, neither of which interested Jax. Granted, they’d grown up to wear dresses on occasion, even makeup sometimes, but on their own terms. Jax was fairly certain their parents would’ve never approved of the sparkling mini they’d worn to the annual Madigan-Talley New Year’s party or the smoky eye they regularly wore for their bar shifts at UTT.
The bar.
Jax had the perfect antidote to both their woes. A drink they’d learned from a certain cowboy hacker from Texas who, like Jax, was part of the extended Madigan clan.
“I know what my drink is going to be for Valentine’s Day.”
Feb lifted her torso and sat back against the booth, interest sparking again in her blue eyes. “What’s that?”
“A Blue Rose.”
“Don’t make it blue because I told you a pity-me story.”
With their hand near Feb’s on the table, Jax tangled their fingers like they’d wanted to for months, the fit better and more natural than they could’ve imagined. “It’s blue because of your eyes. And because you’re making it a special night for everyone there. I can make sure they each get a rose too.”
“Dylan,” Feb gasped softly, her fingers tightening with purpose around Jax’s. Then tugging, using Jax’s hand in hers to pull them half across the table, surprising Jax with chapped lips skating lightly over theirs, the tip of her tongue flicking the seam of their lips, seeking entrance.
Someone cleared her throat beside the table. “I’m guessing you don’t need these now,” Mia said. “I’ll just keep them.”
Jax was torn—part their lips and deepen the kiss with Feb or claim the gift Mia had for Feb? The latter won, barely. They drew back, smiling, first for Feb, then for Mia, as they snatched the pastry box from her hands as politely as possible. “Oh no, those are mine.”
“Good thing I know the recipe.” Mia’s eyes flickered down to their joined hands, then, with a knowing smirk that reminded Jax all too much of her stepmom, turned on her heel back toward the kitchen.
Jax laughed, louder still at Feb’s dramatic “What’s in the box?”
They pushed it across the table. “For you.”
She peeked under the lid and her eyes grew round as saucers, her smile stretching across her face. “Mistletoe cannoli? How?”
They shrugged. “Doesn’t matter how. Just that it made you smile.”
Feb’s fingers clenched around theirs again. “Will you go out with me on Tuesday after we survive the Valentine’s Day service?”
