She looked tempted again before her gaze darted toward the hallway. “You don’t want to share with Rhys?”
“No,” I said instantly, making her laugh.
He mocked my pajamas and is keeping secrets.
Indecision still warred on her face for a moment before she nodded. “Then both, and I’ll name my baby after you.”
“Please don’t.” I didn’t mind my name, but the damn wizard connection and the moon-equals-naked-butt humor had made for easy jokes. “Grand Jury is a much better option.”
She laughed again, harder that time. “RegularJury told you about that, huh? I’m almost tempted to commit to the bit just because it outrages him so much.”
I put one of each on cocktail napkins and pushed them over. “Do you have any names in mind?”
She shrugged as she took a bite. Her lids instantly lowered, and she made a happy little squeal.
One I echoed unconsciously as soon as I bit into the buttery, jammy cookie.
Swallowing, she answered, “Not really. She’s a, well, ashe. And I kind of want a vowel first name since my name starts with O.”
“Yes. Your name. That I totally know.”
She stopped with her own cookie nearly to her mouth. “I just launched right in without an introduction, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I’m Ophelia, but a select few are allowed to call me O.” She finally took a bite, the same look of sweet bliss on her face. “That definitely includes you.”
I put my hand to my chest. “I’m honored.”
“As you should be.”
After peeling off the pretty liner, I was about to take a bite when my unruly hair cupcake-blocked me. After my abrupt wakeup call and rushed morning routine, I’d hurriedly pulled it into my usual bun, but not the tight kind I wore for work. As a consequence, the front pieces kept sliding free. I pushed them out of the way and heard a gasp.
“Your forehead.” Ophelia sprung from the stool, and I nearly dropped my cupcake as I instinctively braced to catch her. Somehow, she didn’t weeble or even wobble. Her balance was fine, it just seemed like her belly should’ve thrown her equilibrium way off. She was my height but much thinner. She didn’t have thick thighs to help with the additional cargo.
My words were frantic. “What’re you doing?”
“Shh.”
I wasn’t used to being shushed. Actually, I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had tried it.
It threw me, and she took advantage of my momentary stupefaction by grabbing my face to tip it down.
“What’re you doing?” I repeated, though that time the question wasn’t frantic. It was garbled since she had my cheeks squished.
“Checking your forehead.”
The scrape was healing, but the splotchy, yellowing bruise was still in its ugly phase. It barely hurt anymore, though. Not unless something pushed against it.
Which was exactly what Ophelia did.
I hissed out a breath.
Maybe my affinity toward her isn’t mutual.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, even as she kept going. “I’m feeling for debris. It looks a little red. It doesn’t feel warm, so that’s good.”
I tried to gently dislodge myself, going slow and cautious like I was dealing with a wild animal.
I didn’t get far.
Her hold tightened, and her gray eyes continued studying my forehead. “Sit still.”
