Page 56 of Our Radiant Embers

“That was once.”

“Pretty sure I’m the only one in this room who’s a poster boy for abstinence,” Adam said. While laced with humour, I didn’t miss the underlying note of self-deprecation.

“Debatable, based on rumours originating in this very room.” George inserted a weighted pause, then chuckled. “Although I guess it depends on your definition of abstinence.”

“And on that note,” I said loudly, “let’s change the topic.”

“But why?” George’s voice dripped with innocence.

Because I can’t think about Adam on his knees right now.

I wasn’t crazy enough to say that. Instead, I settled on the tried and true answer of desperate parents and older siblings all around the world. “Because.”

“Weak argument,” George said. “Zero out of ten.”

“Drink your coffee,” I told him.

He took a sip, swallowed, and turned to look at Adam with open respect on his face. “This is bloody amazing coffee. You’ve just become my new favourite person in this room.”

“Hey!” I said.

“Second favourite,” George amended.

“Thanks. I do try.” Adam pursed his lips. “Maybe there’s some truth to your theory about how fire magic helps with cooking—coffee counts, right?”

“Coffee definitely counts.” George took another mouthful. “Can you teach Liam, please, so he can keep the magic going when you’re not around?”

“I honestly don’t know if I can,” Adam said. “When I tried to show it to him, I believe his exact question was, ‘But why can’t I just press a button and then there’s coffee?’”

“It’s a coffee machine designed for professional baristas,” I pointed out. “Not mere mortals like me.”

“You’re an engineer,” Adam told me. “You understand how induction stoves work and design waste recycling units—but a coffee machine scares you?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to learn because he’d rather have you make him coffee?” George asked.

I frowned at him. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

“When in doubt?” He raised his cup. “The person I’m going to ask for a refill in about five minutes.”

“Sell-out.”

“A man has needs, and Adam seems particularly well-placed to satisfy them. Unless…” George’s smile was angelic. “Do you call dibs?”

“Adam is a person.” I studiously avoided looking at Adam as I said it. “You can’t call dibs on a person.”

“You can call dibs on me anytime, baby,” Adam said, and somehow, it cut through the knot of strange, heated tension that sat behind my sternum. Because…

“Baby?”

“Yeah.” Adam grimaced, eyes dancing with humour. “That sounded a lot better in my head. Like a line from a movie, you know? But turns out it was more like a line from a straight-to-TV, let’s-never-mention-this-again type of production.”

George laughed, bright and easy. It chased away the last remnants of tension, so I did too, Adam not far behind. With his eyes crinkled up at the corners, he was the prettiest guy I’d ever seen.

Still a bad idea.

* * *

Somehow, I’d invited Adam into my bedroom. But not like that.

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