“Somehow I always forget how evil you can be,” Gramlithyn offered conversationally as he glanced at the menu.
“Evil? Me?”
“Yes. I wonder if your parents know how often you convinced me to break rules.”
“My parents think I’m a wholesome treasure and are happy to have me in their lives.”
“Despite how often you snuck beer the second they left the house,” Gramlithyn muttered.
The restaurant was packed with elves, and the staff hurried around taking orders. Gramlithyn imagined it was a normal lunch rush. Their server popped out of nowhere with water, and they gave him their order.
Gramlithyn was surprised that Pyxlevir had gone with a carrot-heavy selection. The elf had avoided them for weeks.
“Carrots, huh?” Gramlithyn asked.
Pyxlevir raised a dark brow. “Is that a problem?”
“They were your favorite growing up, but I haven’t seen you eat one since I got back.”
“We decided on honesty the other night, right?”
“Yes,” Gramlithyn said. “Trust takes time to build, but whatever you tell me stays right here between us. I’m going to be as fucking brave as possible and let you know what I’m thinking or feeling.”
“I believe you. So, here goes. The whole carrot thing is related to this thing between us.”
Given how crowded the restaurant was, Gramlithyn wasn’t surprised that Pyxlevir hadn’t mentioned mates, but he was confused.
“Okay, how?”
“Scent,” Pyxlevir responded.
Gramlithyn sat there stupidly as their server rushed over with their vegetables and set them down. Once he was gone, Gramlithyn picked up his fork and speared a cucumber.
“Scent?”
“Yeah. You smell like carrots.”
His brow furrowed, Gramlithyn wondered why he’d be carrot-scented to Pyxlevir. A heartbeat later his zebra snorted, and a tiny waft of carrots hit his own nose thanks to Pyxlevir’s close presence.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gramlithyn said loud enough that a nearby patron scowled at him. Unlike Pyxlevir, who’d been raised as much by centaurs and other races as by elves, the other people enjoying their food were products of thousands of years of tradition and didn’t use or appreciate curse words. Gramlithyn mouthed asorryat the irritated elves and focused on a shocked Pyxlevir. “I do not smell like carrots to you.”
“I think I know what you smell like,” Pyxlevir argued. “Why is that controversial?”
Gramlithyn leaned in. “Because your scent is carrots.”
Realization dawned in Pyxlevir’s eyes, and they filled with humor. He tucked his lips in, then chuckled. “We both smell like my favorite food. That’s weird. I didn’t want to eat them because I was mad at you. But I couldn’t explain that to my family, so I’ve had to choke them down against my will for six years. Now I’m reclaiming the past and eating them again without wanting to gag. So, thanks for that.”
“The strangest thing is that carrots don’t have that strong a scent,” Gramlithyn mused.
“It’s stronger if it’s surrounding a person.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Are you excited about working at Elven D’Vaire?” Pyxlevir asked. “Or is it just a paycheck?”
“Right now, it’s a paycheck. I don’t know what I want. Eventually, I’ll figure it out, but I have other things on my mind right now. So does my zebra.”
“When do you start?”
