She said in a careful tone, “Yes, I know Gould’s.”
“When can you meet me there?”
“I can come now.”
“Good,” Roman said, but it sounded more like a sigh. Iris couldn’t tell if it was spun from relief or longing. “I’ll see you there in twenty.”
He hung up the receiver.
It was so abrupt that Iris stood for a minute more, gazing at nothing.
But her heart was like thunder in her chest as she kept the receiver by her ear. As she listened to the empty waves of static.
The realization hit her with a gasp. Roman was in Oath. She was about to drink tea with him.
Iris set the receiver down on its hook with a clatter.
She rushed to the door and left the Inkridden Tribune without a backward glance.
{33}
Milk and Honey
Roman waited at a small table in the corner of the café, coat slung over the back of his chair. He had called Iris from one of the public phones just outside the train station, unwilling to risk using the one at his parents’ house. It had taken all his wits to sneak out of the estate to begin with. He couldn’t use the front gates without detection and so he had strayed deep in the gardens, where he knew there was a break in the property fence, far from sight of the back windows.
He drummed his fingers over his thighs, his gaze remaining on the café doors, watching people come and go. None of whom were Iris, but he had wanted to be the first one here, and by the ticking of the clock on the wall … she still had eight minutes to arrive on time.
The waiter delivered a tea tray but Roman didn’t touch it. Fragrant steam danced from the pot, reminding him of those sulfur pools in the world below.
The bell chimed above the door. A young woman wearing a trench coat and a hat stepped into the café. Roman held his breath but it wasn’t Iris.
He was fairly certain Val was trailing him. Roman hadn’t caught sight of him on the brisk walk downtown, but he had felt a cold sensation creep down his neck. A prickle of warning that someone was observing him, keeping a tally of where he went and what he said.
Don’t let your guard down, he told himself for the tenth time that morning. Not even when you see her.
Two more minutes passed before he finally caught sight of Iris through the café windows.
Roman froze like he was ensorcelled. He couldn’t breathe as he watched her cross the street. Her trench coat was unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze, revealing a glimpse of her snug sweater and pleated skirt. He saw the flash of her pale knees as she hurried over the cobblestones, her hair tangling across her face as she glanced to the side, waiting for a vehicle to pass.
Make it feel like the Gazette days, Roman thought as Iris reached the door and pulled it open with an adorable scrunch of her nose. She stepped into the café, a gust billowing around her as if the very wind had brought her here, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. She paused by the counter and chewed her lip as she studied the crowd. As she looked for him.
Roman felt his pulse in his ears. Within those two beats, he tamed his longings and put a guard in place. His expression was cool, aloof. He could play this role well. It felt as familiar as an old, well-worn shirt. And yet when their gazes met over the bustle and noise, the entire world faded away.
It was only him and her.
It was only the ten steps between them, distance that felt both heady and crushing. It felt too far and dangerously close, and Roman stood, bumping the table. The cups rattled in their saucers; one of the scones toppled from the plate.
Iris smiled and began to weave her way to him.
Don’t. Roman nearly panicked, feeling his blood pound hot and fast. Don’t smile at me like that.
It made him want to collide with her, his lips on her neck, the curve of her ribs. Tasting her mouth. It made him want to draw out all those words he loved from her, but most of all the way she said his name.
By the time she reached their table, she sensed it. His cold exterior, the ice in his gaze. That cloud of reservation and politeness, building like a thunderhead.
Her smile faded but she didn’t seem defeated. No, he only saw determination flare in her eyes, and Roman felt relieved. His shoulders relaxed a fraction.
“Hello, Kitt,” Iris said in a careful tone.
“Winnow,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”
She removed her trench coat and sat. Roman lowered himself back down to his chair and reached for the pot. There was a slight tremor in his hands, as if he had drunk too much coffee on an empty stomach.
“When was the last time I saw you?” Iris said as he poured their tea.