Total pages in book: 254
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
And after a few breaths, he shifted a little, and I took it as my sign to lift my head. “Better?” he asked. He hadn’t scooted back, and his nose was right there, inches from mine.
He was gorgeous with those cheekbones and square jaw.
“Much better. Thank you,” I told him, giving him a real smile. I felt much better.
Henri looked at me for a second longer, like he was making sure he believed me, then he tipped his chin after a moment. “You hungry?”
“I’m always hungry.”
The muscles around his mouth didn’t move, but his eyes crinkled a little. “Let’s grab a bite then.”
I nodded, patted my cheeks one more time, and got out. He was already waiting for me behind the truck, that stern, no-nonsense expression over his features. He was a real-life action hero standing there.
And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a string of beads.
It was my bracelet.
Without doing more than briefly meeting my eyes, he closed the distance between us, took my right wrist, and slipped my bracelet on me. His palm covered the beads and my wrist. “You don’t need to hide who you are,” he told me, his thumb touching the soft notch where my hand met my forearm, “but it’s your decision. I’ll give you Duncan’s collar later.”
My lips were formed into a little O, but I nodded, meeting his bright gaze fully.
He didn’t say anything as he looked at where his finger rested. His skin was a little creamier than mine, but very tan. When he let go a moment later, he stuffed his hand into his pocket, and we headed into the diner side by side, with him opening the door for me.
I hadn’t been paying attention when we’d parked, and I was surprised to find the inside was a real retro 50s diner. The floor was checkered, the vinyl booth seats pink, the black tabletops sparkling. There was even a jukebox. A waitress assisting a table was dressed in a cute black-and-pink skirt and button-up, short-sleeved shirt.
But it was the magic coming from every inch of the place that struck me more than the décor.
It was coming from the waitress, from behind the counter—where there were two other women in the same uniform—and beyond them, from the kitchen.
They were all magical beings of some kind.
Fingers nudged at my forearm, and Henri gestured with his head toward the corner booth. I followed him, glancing around some more, taking in the handful of tables that had people at them. I took a seat across from him, my butt squeaking on the bench.
The employees were watching us. Staring, more like it.
One of the women behind the counter broke away from whatever she was saying to the other employee—a blonde who was making a face I wouldn’t call friendly—and came over, picking up a single menu on the way. She was pretty with dark hair and big dark eyes, maybe in her early thirties.
Something about her seemed familiar.
“Hi,” she called out while she was halfway across the restaurant. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Henri and me, almost… nervously?
My phone beeped with an incoming text, and I took it out of my fanny pack.
Sienna: Miss you already.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the man across the booth muttered maybe a whole second after I’d finished reading the text.
I laughed, but I doubted either of us were surprised when it came out watery. I showed him the screen with one hand and wiped at my eyes with my other. “It’s Sienna’s fault,” I explained as the dark-haired waitress arrived at the table.
She set the menu down in front of me, leaving nothing for Henri.
“Morning, Phoebe,” he greeted her in a very polite tone, almost gentle.
She didn’t feel like a predator to me, and the more I looked at her, the more that sensation that I was missing something got stronger. For some reason, her magic felt familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I’d sensed something similar to it….
I smiled at the woman named Phoebe, confirmed by the name tag on her chest. Her round, brown eyes met mine, and I knew there was no missing how shiny mine were. “Hi,” I said, picking up the menu.
“Water for you, Henri? What would you like to drink, Nina?” she asked.
I read through the drink options, and said, “A vanilla milkshake, please.”
She knows my name? I lifted my face, trying to figure that out too. “I’ll be back with your drinks,” she told us before I had a chance to guess.
The second she turned, I peeked around the side of her to see that the other employees were still eavesdropping and watching. The way they had their hands over their mouths told me one thing—they were talking about us. Or I might be inflating my own ego, and they were just talking about Henri.