Page 63 of River & Rue

Our familiar banter melts some of the tension in my chest, and I allow myself a tiny sliver of hope. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about the end-of-night incidents any more than I do.

River offers the carafe, then pulls it back when I reach for it.

“You’re risking your life right now.”

He chuckles. “It’s for noble reasons. Since you were allergic to water last night, you should hydrate first.” He nudges the water glass toward me. “You can do it. I believe in you.”

I debate arguing for two seconds, then compromise with myself by muttering, “You’re not the boss of me” before draining half the glass.

With an approving smile that should annoy me but instead makes me feel annoyingly proud of myself, he hands me the carafe and a small carton of cream. I quickly pour and mix my coffee, then take a gulp that burns my tongue.

River watches me unabashedly, amusement lingering around his mouth. The look in his eyes is more difficult to interpret, the sunlit amber soft but with a concealed edge.

I take another tongue-searing gulp.

His smile widens.

“What?” I grouse.

He lifts a finger, circling it to encompass my head. “Just admiring the new style.”

I have no clue what he’s talking about—until I touch my hair. Heat rises up my neck as I realize I forgot to check the mirror before leaving the bathroom… after repeatedly dunking my face and a good portion of my hairline in water.

Across from me, River is fighting for his life, every inch of his face showing the strain of not laughing. “I’m not saying it’s a bad look. Just… unique. Here.”

With a swipe, tap, and a flick of his wrist, I come face-to-face with his phone’s camera. I reel back in horror, my hands flying to my head.

“I look like Ginger Beetlejuice.”

He loses it. Elbows on the table, head cradled in his hands, his whole body shakes with deep, rolling laughter. The sound is so merry, I can’t help but grin as I scan the room for an errant scrunchie. Spying one on the coffee table, I dart over to grab it and quickly tie up my hair. When I sit down again, he’s wiping tears from his eyes with a contented sigh.

“Are you done?”

He nods. “Thanks for that. Truly.”

“Fuck off,” I say with a laugh. My stomach gurgles, and I quickly amend, “After you feed me.”

“Can’t promise the first, but the second I can do.”

He swivels in his chair, his height and the low counter allowing him to stay seated as he heaps fluffy eggs, bacon, and fresh berries onto two plates. Much to my chagrin, my stomach responds to the sight with a much louder, violently unattractive growl.

“Easy, tiger.”

Fighting a blush, I take a sip of coffee. “Feed me before I bite your face off.”

He hears me, glancing over his shoulder with twinkling eyes. “Empty threat. Only one of us has fangs, and it isn’t you.”

My mouth slackens mid-sip, coffee splashing against my chin and dribbling down my T-shirt.

“Dammit.”

River turns with the loaded plates, brows lifting when he sees me mopping my face with my collar.

“Problem?”

“Nope.”

Ignoring his quick grin, I snatch the plate extended toward me.