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“I like you, Duke.” The way her soft voice rolled over my name—the way she sounded almost afraid to admit those words out loud—hit me square in the chest.
“I like you too. A whole lot more than I probably should.” I exhaled and dragged a hand through my hair as I leaned forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees. Beside me, Ed was curled up and sleeping. Duck was nestled beside him with his little bill resting on Ed’s front leg.
I chuckled to myself at the scene. “I should have called you this morning. That’s on me. I don’t want you to ever question how I feel about you.”
“I like sharing my day with you. I like getting a glimpse of what ‘mean old Duke Sullivan’ does in his spare time.”
“I’m not that mean.”
Sylvie laughed again, and the sound helped me relax a little. She could call me mean all she wanted if that meant she would keep on laughing.
I could tell by the timidness of her voice she was nervous. Vulnerable. “I just don’t want to lose this, you know.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured her. Truer words had never crossed my lips. Sure, any relationship starting on shaky footing was never off to a good start. Our families hated each other, and the entire town supported a feud that was built to keep us apart, but it was the truth that I would take Sylvie in any form she would have me. Maybe secret texts and whispered phone conversations were enough for her. If it meant I got to hear that laugh and learn about the mundane details of her day, then so be it.
I would learn for that to be enough.
It would have to be. I didn’t want Sylvie to feel sadness, especially where I was concerned.
I looked down at Duck and Ed and shifted gears. “Turns out Three-Legged Ed adopted this duckling. Looks like he’s sticking around.”
Sylvie clicked her tongue and cooed into the phone. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I knew you were a big softie.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m not a softie. This is all Ed’s doing.”
Sylvie laughed. “If you say so.” Something clattered behind her, and she whispered into the phone, “Shit, I have to go.”
I wanted to ask her what was wrong and make sure she was okay, but I didn’t get the chance.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night, Duke.”
The call disconnected before I had the chance to wish her a good night. I flipped my phone onto the cushion of the chair next to me and looked out onto Sullivan Farms. I had knownbetter than to get involved with a King, but no part of me felt like anything involving Sylvie was a mistake.
I had no clue how we were going to work this out, but it didn’t matter. The day was coming when I was going to claim Sylvie as mine, if she would have me. My whole life had been a series of setting my wants and needs to the side to take care of everyone else.
If I could survive a lifetime of that, I would survive this. If she didn’t want me, I would learn to patch the gaping, Sylvie-size hole in my chest for the sake of her happiness.
THIRTEEN
SYLVIE
“Hey, do you have a tampon?”Rebecca whispered over my shoulder during a lull in customers at the Sugar Bowl. “I just got a lovely surprise visit, and there’s nothing in the employee bathroom.”
I shook my head. “There should be some in there. I always restock when I get mine...” My brain paused. I had just restocked the bathroom for the female employees.Hadn’t I?It seemed like my period was the only one around here like clockwork, and it was easier to keep it stocked than to have to cover the servers’ tables when they had to run to the store mid-shift.
“It’s empty. I just looked. Can you cover me while I run across the street to the general store?”
“Of course.” My voice was hollow as I tried to think back to when I last hadmyperiod. I thought and thought but came up... blank.
What. The. Fuck.
After rushing the next customer and getting a well-deserved dirty look, I excused myself to the back kitchen. Huck was arranging his famous s’mores puff pastry mini tarts for Outtatowner’s upcoming annual Fireside Flannel Festival.
I hustled to the corner and pulled out my phone to look at the calendar app and counted. Then recounted. And counted again.
No, no, no, no, no.
When my brain couldn’t wrap itself around the simple task of counting dates, I moved to the kitchen calendar Huck had hung on the wall. I flipped forward, then back. I was still coming up with the same gut-wrenching timeline.
