Page 288 of May: Bloom & Bane

“Saevúra.” Sage cups my face between his palms, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “She’s knitted Vaelína more than thirty outfits. There is a candle on nearly every surface of our home, made specifically for you. I think it’s safe to say she likes you.”

“But that’s only because of what Damien, Lucifer, and Jack have told her.” I chew on my bottom lip. “I’m different in person.”

His smile softens. “You’re better in person.”

Damien scratches the back of his neck. “Just… give her a second.”

“A second?”

“She’s been excited about meeting you for months,” Damien admits.

Jack snorts. “So excited that she’s changed outfits four times.”

Lucifer sighs. “Five.”

“Leaving the house is… hard for her.” Damien’s expression softens. “The fact that she’s asking you to come over…” he glances at their front door. “... means you already matter.”

“Oh, I wonder if that’s what I was picking up. I have been terribly anxious the whole way here.”

“That would definitely be our Birdie.” Jack smirks.

“She’s been rehearsing what to say since last night,” Lucifer says.

Damien lets out a quiet breath. “I’m going to check on her. Sometimes she gets right to the door… and then forgets how to open it.”

Jack chuckles. “She remembers eventually.”

Damien steps toward the front door, favoring his bad leg. I hate the way he tries to hide how much it hurts.

Sage watches him go. “I’ve asked Therael if he knows of any healing salves for his leg.”

I squeeze his hand, a wave of gratitude washing over my nerves.

The front door clicks. It swings open a few inches… then stops. From inside the house, Damien’s deep, patient voice drifts through the opening. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Just pull the handle. I’m right behind you.”

A tiny, frustrated huff slips through the crack. The door finally swings open.

Standing in the entryway, looking incredibly small beside Damien, is the cutest woman I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that says let’s ghoul this, complete with a little ghost that looks riddled with anxiety. Her pants are long with black-and-white stripes, and on her feet are the coziest-looking peach socks.

Her hair matches her pants—literally. One half is black as night, the other as white as Ashán’s bones. Her cheeks are flushed bright pink, and she’s clutching what appears to be every dessert in existence against her chest. Her wide blue eyes skip past Sage and Ashán, landing on me…

… then dropping immediately to the heavy swell of my belly.

“I… made you brownies… but then I thought, what if you don’t like brownies? What if you prefer lemon bars? But then I thought… what if lemons are too tart and you’re nauseous? So I made pecan cookies, but then I thought, what if she has a nut allergy? So I also made a strawberry shortcake.”

Damien’s large hand cups the back of her neck, and relief spreads across her face immediately. She leans into his touch, her shoulders dropping several inches.

“I love brownies.” I smile.

Winnie visibly brightens.

“And lemon bars.”

Her eyes get bigger.

“I really like pecan cookies.”

By now, Winnie’s lips are slightly ajar.