Yes, perfect. Establish a timeline. He dared to glance up, meeting her stare as he handed her a cup.
“I believe it was your last day of work at the Gazette,” he replied. “When I won the columnist position.”
“Ah, so it was.” She sounded like the old Iris. The one who got under his skin with her perfect articles.
But he noticed how she rubbed the palm of her hand. How she studied the tea tray, a wrinkle in her brow, like she suddenly didn’t know where to look. The blush was fading from her face as if she were speaking with a ghost.
“I must say you look well,” he said. And then, because he was an utter fool for her, he bumped her foot beneath the table.
That brought her gaze back to him. Keen and full of light, warm as embers. “Are you implying that I looked ill before?”
He almost smiled, and he was pleased to see the color return to her skin. It could have been a bloom of indignation, or desire. They had played this game well at the Gazette, although if Roman could go back …
No. He shut the thought down. He wouldn’t change a thing. Because if he could, would the two of them still be here, bound together by vow and trial and love that had crept up on him like ivy on stone?
“You look just as I remember you,” he said.
Iris must have understood the hidden meaning. Her expression softened, just a fraction.
He wasn’t acting this way—like they had stepped back in time—because his memories had faltered again. All those pieces were still there, aligned and restitched back together. He was acting reserved for another reason entirely, one he hoped to explain to her later, when it was safe.
“You said you have a message for me?” Iris reached for the pitcher of milk just as he reached for the honey dish.
Their knuckles brushed.
Roman almost froze again, his heart beating like wings against his ribs.
“Ah, I forgot,” Iris continued seamlessly with a wave of her hand. “You only take honey in your tea, like all the poets did. The office was always running low because of you.”
Roman was thankful for the lighthearted distraction. “And you like a little tea with your milk.”
“Oh, come now,” Iris said as she, indeed, poured far too much milk into her cup. “It makes it more substantial.”
That sobered Roman. He remembered those office days, how he had never seen Iris eat or take a proper lunch break. He hadn’t realized she had been keeping herself satiated as best as she could with tea until she was gone. It still made him feel like his lungs were full of water when he thought about it.
“Here,” he said in a gruff voice, to hide how it wanted to shake at that memory. “I ordered some refreshments. Help yourself.”
“I will, actually, take one of these sandwiches.” Iris reached for a triangle-cut cucumber sandwich but then covered her mouth. “Oh, gods!”
“What?” Roman was tense as he leaned forward, preparing to flee. Had she seen Val? Was this all about to crumble?
Iris sighed. “I forgot my purse at the Tribune! I left in such a hurry after you called, I—”
“Don’t worry, this is on me,” Roman gently interrupted. “I drew you away from work. The least I can do is feed you.”
Iris quirked her lips to the side. Roman made himself look down into his tea, feeling an ache in his stomach. In his chest. In his bones.
He waited until Iris had eaten two sandwiches and a scone before he spoke.
“I was sent here to meet with you, by a specific request.”
Iris frowned. “Whose?”
Roman could feel Dacre’s name sitting on his tongue like a shard of glass. He didn’t think it wise to utter it aloud, especially to Iris, who he knew wouldn’t be able to hide how she felt about the god. Especially after everything Dacre had done. To her brother. To the land. To Avalon Bluff. To the army and innocent civilians. To both of them and the future they longed for.
Roman hesitated. This was the part he was most anxious about, but he reached into his coat pocket with confident ease, finding Dacre’s letter as well as the one he had written that morning. He grabbed them both, keeping the elegant blue envelope on the top, his scrawled note concealed below.
“To read in private,” he said, extending them to Iris.
Her frown only deepened when she saw her name, written in penmanship she didn’t recognize. But she took the envelope and felt the folded paper hiding beneath. She kept the two together, gazing down at the blue one before tucking them away in her own coat pocket.
If Val was watching, he would never know two messages had been slipped to her.