Page 157 of May: Bloom & Bane

I look over, and she’s right. A giant red bloom has draped itself over the stovetop, looking very satisfied with its new home.

“I’m sorry, Eden. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Sage.” Her eyes sparkle with mirth. “This is the sweetest, most ridiculous thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It’s a disaster,” I mumble.

She reaches over and takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine.

“I like the flowers.” She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes tightly. “You aren’t a disaster, Sage. You’re just… unique. And I think unique is exactly what I need.”

What a sweet little creature, Ashán whispers.

“Maybe we should eat outside? Before the wisteria decides the table is next,” she giggles.

I glance around the kitchen, and I can’t help but smile.

“Outside is perfect, Saevúra.”

I gather two plates of honey-drenched pancakes, perfectly runny eggs, and a carafe of orange juice. The morning sun is just beginning to crest over the tree line, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.

Eden settles onto the top step, her oversized shirt riding up slightly as she tucks her legs beneath her.

I sit next to her and hand over the fullerplate.

“Thank you.” She takes a bite of pancake, honey drips down her chin, and Ashán’s hand darts out to catch it. Her eyes meet mine as his finger slips inside our mouth.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs.

“I’m memorizing.”

“Memorizing what?”

“This.” I gesture around us. “You. The way the light catches in your hair. The sound you make when you taste something sweet. All of it.”

A small crease forms between her brows. “Why?”

“Because moments like this don’t last forever, Eden, and I want to remember every single one of them.”

She leans against my shoulder, and we sit in comfortable silence as she eats. I don’t touch my food, too busy watching the way her throat moves when she swallows, and the way her fingers delicately hold each piece of fruit before she brings it to her lips.

“Why aren’t you eating, Vaelí?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I haven’t seen you eat much at all lately.”

Careful, Ashán warns. She’s starting to worry.

I pick up my fork and cut a small piece of pancake.

“I’m just a little tired. My rut takes a lot out of me, I’ll get my appetite back soon.”

“Mm.”

I lift the piece to my mouth and chew. The pancakes taste like honey and cardboard. Everything has tasted off since my migraine—everything but her.

Do you think we could survive off her alone? Ashán chides, but I can feel the small worried hum underneath.