“Summoning him from here is the same as from another plane.” He shrugs one shoulder. “He’s happy here.”
I chuckle into my wineglass. “And you gave me crap for letting Nick be invisible. You’re as whipped by your familiar as I am by mine.”
Thio rounds the island and places two plates on the table, one for him, one for me, before taking the seat next to me.
I lean over the plate and inhale savory heaven. “Whatisthis?”
Thio elegantly puts his napkin on his lap. Meanwhile, I’m already snatching up my fork like the uncultured mess he for whatever reason is attracted to.
“Rotini with grilled chicken and a sun-dried tomato parmesan cream sauce,” he tells me with a dismissive wave, and I pause to give him a dry look.
“Oh? Just that? Sound less impressed with yourself. Like using sun-dried tomatoes isn’t someTop Cheffancy business.”
Thio beams, cheeks pinking; I want to kiss them.
But the siren song—siren scent? Siren scent-song—of the pasta is screaming at me. I shovel in a bite.
And moan.
Gods, do I moan.
It’s tart and creamy and cheesy, savory and sweet andfuuuuuuck.
“Holy shit,” I mumble around my mouthful. “Where did you learn to—howdid you—”
His smile could power the city. “You like it?”
“You cancook.” I take another bite. “Oh my gods. If there’d been any question about whether I put out on the first date, you can assuage your worries. I will. Done and done.”
He laughs, eyes catching the chandelier light, and he looks so damn happy. Ifeelso damn happy as our gazes connect over the table. The moment stretches, warping and extending until the bulk of his apartment fades into darkness; only his face is illuminated in light we generate. Our own chiaroscuro reality.
I stab a piece of chicken, but I just push it through the sauce.
I’d wanted it to come up naturally in conversation. I’d wait, and let it happen. I’ve never told anyone else before, not since I went through it, so I expected to get derailed by resistance and want to put it off, but—
But I want to tell him. Iwanthim to know. It feels easy.
Everything with him has felt easy.
And it’s frightening, bone-rattlinglyterrifying.
Thio frowns when I don’t keep eating.
“Orok and I went to Camp Merethyl together,” I say in a rush. “So a lot of this… what I tell you, know it’s my story, but it’s his, too.”
Thio lays down his fork and puts his elbows on the table to lean toward me, immediately attentive.
I should’ve waited until after we ate.
But he takes my hand, plays with my fingers, and doesn’t say anything, letting it be fully in my court.
The only reason I don’t scratch at my forearms is because of the grip he has on my hand.
I blow out a breath, staring at the roses. Dark, rich maroon. “We started there the summer after freshman year of high school. It was a proud moment for us both—my family’s all into the military, his is all into the god Urzoth Shieldsworn. We were going to do our four summers in their training program, then graduate and go off to the Arcane Forces. Fulfill both our various family expectations.”
Thio knows all about that weight. I don’t have to explain.
My knee bounces. “We got there, and there’s a test they make you do. A placement exam. They put you in one of five levels based on your skills. It’s—”
