“Everything’s fine, sorry,” she said as she rinsed the soap off the last dish and set it on the rack to dry. “I was about to text you. I didn’t realize how late it was.” She turned at the pounding of his boots as he scaled the steps and strode into the office that doubled as a staff room.
Singer leapt up from where he was spread out on the floor and sought out Darien for ear-scratches. As the slayer crouched down to accommodate the pup, Loren took the opportunity to gawk at him without the risk of being caught—at the shapes of his muscles beneath the gray button-up long-sleeve and dark pants. Her body had ached with the absence of his touch ever since that night at the Devil’s Advocate—when his hands had been all over her.
The memory alone had her body heating up; had her heart skipping so loudly she knew it was only a matter of time before Darien’s keen hearing picked up on it.
And his gaze flicked to hers at that exact moment.
Speak of the devil.
“What are you thinking about?” His tone was casual, yet his stunning eyes were playful.
The oven pinged loudly. Loren spun around, grateful for the interruption, and slid her hands into the oven mitts. “I was thinking it’s time to celebrate Singer’s birthday.”
From where he was now sitting on the floor playing tug-of-war with the growling dog, a nylon tug-toy secured in Singer’s teeth, Darien glanced at the pan Loren slid onto the stove. “Is that a cupcake?”
“Apupcake,”she corrected. “It’s mostly peanut butter, applesauce, and shredded carrots. And flour, of course.” She licked peanut butter off her pinkie. “I’ll have you know it’s a big day for Singer. He turns one today.”
Darien’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Aren’t you a sweetheart.” She blushed at that as she plopped the pupcake onto a plate and fished the plain yogurt she was using in place of icing from the fridge. “You should win a gold medal for World’s Best Dog Owner.”
“That’s kind of you, but I don’t agree. Some days I feel like the worst owner ever, and I wonder if I maybe shouldn’t have even rescued Singer.”
“What makes you feel that way?” There was concern in his voice.
“Well, I don’t exactly have a steady home for him.” She spooned yogurt from the container and slathered it onto the pupcake. “Having him live at the apothecary doesn’t seem fair, especially when I can’t sleep here with him.” She sighed. “It’s been nice having him at Hell’s Gate.”
“He’s more than welcome there any time, Loren. I think Bandit’s grown quite fond of him.” Hearing Singer snarling as the game of tug-of-war continued, Darien’s Familiar released a low growl from within his shadow. Darien grinned as the snarl broke off into a pleading whimper—a request to join in on the fun. It was to his Familiar that he said, “You’ll have your turn, Bandit. This is Singer’s day.” The spirit quieted after that.
Loren stuck a birthday candle in the pupcake and set the plate on the ground before Singer, who promptly dropped the toy. Darien retrieved a lighter from his pocket and offered it to Loren. She lit the candle, and Singer sat as patiently as any well-behaved dog as she sang him a happy birthday tune. Something about what she was doing had Darien at a loss for words, and so he merely smiled at her as she sang the lyrics and blew out the single candle.
Singer devoured the pupcake in a far shorter amount of time than it had taken Loren to bake the darn thing, and when he was finished, he had the audacity to sit back on his haunches and beg for more with those huge brown eyes.
“That’s the last of it,” Loren said, showing him her empty hands. She swiped up the plate that was licked clean of all crumbs and carried it to the sink.
“Why do you have a dead plant on the windowsill?” Darien blurted.
Loren laughed. “That’s Mr. Crispy, and he’s not dead.” She turned to look at the wilted thing drooping on the sill. “Not yet anyway. He was an investment that cost Mordred and Penny quite a bit of money, but none of us could keep him alive. They thought we should just get rid of him, but I think he has some fight in him still.”
“You’re the most unselfish person I’ve ever met, Loren Calla.”
Loren merely shrugged and squeezed a stream of soap onto the dish. She opened her mouth to reply—
A loudsmashcracked through the silence. Loren jerked, splashing soapy water, and spun on a heel, Darien turning around as well where he was sitting on the floor.
Singer had knocked Mr. Crispy off the windowsill. Dirt and glass surrounded his paws. When he saw Loren take notice of the destruction, he shrank, his ears flattening to his head.
“Not Mr. Crispy!” Loren exclaimed. The tone of her voice had Singer slinking beneath the desk.
Loren dropped the dish she had just started washing into the soapy water, where it sank to the bottom. She hurried over to coax Singer out from under the desk, while Darien got to his feet and set about picking up the pieces of broken pot.
“Does this mean it’s finally time to say goodbye to Mr. Crispy?” Darien asked.
“No way,” Loren huffed. She was on her knees partway under the desk, stroking Singer’s soft head. “I’ll find him a spare pot. I’mdeterminedto bring that plant back to life. He cost Mordred and Penny way too much money to just throw away like that.”
Darien drew in a hiss through his teeth. Loren turned to see that a piece of glass had bit into his thumb. Blood dripped into the clumps of soil at the plant’s roots.
“Are you okay?”
He sucked on the wound. “Yeah, it’s already clotting.” With a grin, he showed her the wound that was already knitted together.
