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As Flint returns the bins to the fridge, he speaks up again. “I’ve been wanting to thank you.”
His words catch me off guard. “For what?”
He turns back to me and hesitates for a moment as he searches for the right words. “For stepping in to be sacrificed in my place when we faced the Fox God.”
I study his pinched expression as he washes his hands in the sink and dries them. “I was going to die, anyway. The demon court had put a bounty on my head. Sacrificing myself seemed like a better option than what I would have faced there.”
Flint’s gaze meets mine, and he squares his shoulders. “Maybe, but you still stepped in without hesitation. You saved my life, and I owe you for that.”
“You saved mine, too, from the demon court,” I remind him. “There is no debt owed between us.”
His expression grows even more pinched, as if his next words are harder. “I also want to apologize for how I’ve treated you since your return. I played a part in bringing the Fox God’s attention to us, and I’ve struggled to accept that responsibility. I gained Orianna from it, for which I will be forever grateful, but it cost you and the others a great deal. My actions hurt everyone, and I’m sorry for that.”
His words hang in the air, and I find myself at a loss for how to respond. Flint, who masks his pain through flippancy, is being vulnerable in front of me, a man he’s hated for centuries.
It’s a moment I never expected to witness.
I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “We’ve all made mistakes that hurt each other, but we can’t change the past. What we can do is find a new balance and a way to move forward together.”
Flint’s gaze softens, and he nods in agreement. “I want Marc and Pen to be happy. And if that means finding a way for the two of us to coexist, then I’m willing to try.”
A smile spreads over my lips. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Flint’s cheeks color slightly, and he looks away. “Well, if you’re going to be part of this household, you should know that it also means helping with chores.”
I blink at the change of topic. “Chores?”
Flint grins at the incredulity in my voice. “Yes, chores. Which includes helping with breakfast.”
I glance at the kitchen, at a loss. “Can’t we just order delivery?”
Amusement fills Flint’s eyes. “You’ve never cooked a day in your life, have you?”
“Marceau cooked,” I offer weakly.
“And how much did you pay attention?” At my blank expression, he beckons to me. “Come on. I’ll teach you how to make breakfast sandwiches, since we’ll probably need to leave as soon as Sharpe calls.”
Cautious of this new truce, I join Flint next to the counter, and we work together to prepare breakfast for the household. It’s a simple act, but it feels significant, like we’re building a bridge over the rift that divided us until this moment.
As we work side by side, I hear familiar footsteps approaching.
Marceau emerges from the hallway, dressed in dark-wash jeans and a gray T-shirt.
When he spots Flint and me in the kitchen working together, he smiles warmly. “Well, this is a sight to see.”
“Flint is teaching me to cook,” I say stiffly, disliking having to admit that I don’t know something in front of Marceau.
His gaze warms, and he walks around the bar to join us. His hand rests on my back as he reaches for my mug and takes a long sip. “Why are you drinking this when you hate coffee?”
Embarrassed at being called out, I avoid looking at either man. “I thought I’d give it another try,”
Flint, standing beside me, looks at me in surprise. “Next time, speak up. No one wants you wasting precious coffee.”
I nod, keeping my focus on the toaster as I wait for the English muffins to pop up.
“I’ll get you something else,” Flint offers. “What would you like?”
“Tea, if there’s any in the house,” I request, warmth spreading through me at this unexpected show of consideration.
