Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(84)
“You look stunning, as always,” I say as we part and take our seats across from each other.
“So do you,” she says, though I see a flicker of worry as her brows knit together. A server interrupts her thoughts and Lark orders a latte, and I use that brief moment to try to put on a more convincing mask. It doesn’t work, of course. Because Lark is like a fucking laser beam that cuts right through bullshit. “Everything okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”
I wave her off, but it only deepens the concern in her eyes. “I’m just …”
Lark’s head tilts.
“I’m not … things aren’t …”
Lark’s hand darts out and encircles my wrist. The sudden kindness has tears threatening to well in my eyes. “Rose …?”
“I’m going to join Silveria again.” I force a smile, trying my best to infuse it with brightness. “I just need to hit the road again, I think.”
Her head tilts in the opposite direction, just like her dog, Bentley, whenever I ask him if he wants bacon. “But I thought you were liking it here …? Did Rowan not talk to you about working at 3 in Coach? I know he was going to. If it’s work-related, I can just—”
“It’s not work-related,” I say. “I left the keys on the island in the apartment. Thank you so much for letting me use the place and I’m sorry for not clearing it out like I should’ve.”
“Is this about Fionn?” she asks. I bite down on my lip to keep it from quivering. Lark squeezes my wrist and I shrug, shifting my gaze to the far end of the café. She sighs a long, sympathetic breath of frustration. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “But thank you. Maybe another day.” I lay my hand over hers and this time, when I meet her eyes, my smile is a little less forced. “I want to hear all about you. I want to hear about married life to that adorable asshat Lachlan.”
For a long moment, Lark says nothing. I know what she’s thinking. She wants so badly to offer support, but she doesn’t want to force it on me. And I love her for that.
With a final squeeze of my wrist, Lark lets go and sits back to regard me as the server brings the latte to the table. When he leaves, she refocuses her attention on me.
“He’s good. Really good. Things are …”
“Good?”
She grins. “They’re great, actually. He’s kind of amazing. It might be a while before my parents and sister warm up to him completely, but my auntie Ethel adores him. Even Bentley seems to like him.”
“They do share a similar level of grump.”
Lark lets out a breath of a laugh. “They do. Bonded by asshattery.”
“You’re all crafty and stuff,” I say. “You should make an Etsy shop. Sell fancy handmade hats. Call it the Asshattery. ‘Hats for asses.’”
“Oh my God. That’s an amazing idea.” Lark’s eyes are so bright that sparks could tumble from them and I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s absolutely buzzing. “Lachlan might not love the idea,” she says, a sudden frown flashing across her face to be swept away again just a blink later, “but you’ve totally got my creative juices flowing.”
I snort. “I know about your juices.” I toast her with my coffee cup, waggling my brows as I lower my voice to a whisper and say, “Your murder juices.”
“What?” she hisses as she leans across the table, gripping its edge, her eyes darting around us before landing on me and narrowing. “How did you know about that? Did Lachlan tell you? I’m going to stab that Budget Batman in his neoprene balls.”
“I … don’t know about the neoprene balls part,” I say, my face scrunching before I shake it off. “But it was a lucky guess. A stab in the dark, if you will.”
Lark’s mouth drops open, her cheeks flushed. “How? How the fuck did you know that?”
I hold up a hand and tick fingers off as I list my points. “Best friends with Sloane, who killed that jerkoff who kicked her in the face. You’re buddies with Rowan, her equally murdery husband. Lachlan gives off hot tatted assassin vibes. You like crafts, I assume that probably has something to do with it. Simple deduction.” Lark’s mouth is still hanging ajar when I reach across the table and pat her arm. “Don’t worry. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty cool with it. Which might be part of my … current problems.”
My gaze drops to my half-full cup, but I still feel the weight of Lark’s attention on my face. “Oh. Ohhh.” Lark sits back in her chair, her body relaxing in my peripheral vision. “And Fionn is not so cool with it.”
“Yeah,” I say, turning my spoon over on the saucer, watching my warped reflection on the silver surface. “Being on the road … being the way I am … It’s hard to find someone. Even harder when you’re not afraid of the dark. I thought maybe I did find someone, this time.”
When I meet her eyes, the smile we share is bittersweet. “You did. You’ve got me, always. You’ve got Sloane. We’re not afraid of the dark. And we’re not going anywhere.”
This moment is the first one where I’ve felt any real relief since everything spiraled out of control last night. I know with the way Lark looks not just at me, but right into me, that she means it.