Page 82 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

“A few,” Ambra hedges, then shrugs, not quite embarrassed but not quite settled. “Didn’t have much time to do things like that.”

Gurlien hesitates, as if thinking through his options, and she could watch him contemplate things for a while.

“Want to go back to one?”

She takeshim to a small one in the southern side of the West Coast, where the air is far less chilled and controlled fire burns in a brazier on the patio. Twinkling lights are hung, criss crossed over the small outdoor area, and plush furniture is tucked into every corner.

It’s one that they went to all of twice, and Ambra had enjoyed the looseness that Misia felt after three glasses ofthe light wine, had enjoyed the sensation of the muscle between her shoulder blades relaxing until it no longer felt tight.

Ambra tugged Gurlien along to a two-person lounge chair in the back, with a low sitting table of wood next to it. It has a wonderful view of the entire patio, while being relatively tucked away, and a standing heater next to it casts a warm glow over it.

“Okay, alright,” Gurlien says begrudgingly, “this is far better than I thought it’d be.”

“No one bothered us here, it was great,” Ambra says, and it’s dim enough she folds up the glasses and slides them into the front pocket of the backpack.

There are a few people on the patio with them: three men with many empty wine glasses in front of them—their collars loosened and their faces open, two young women with glossy lips leaving smudges on their glasses, and a couple sitting close on a bench, their legs touching and their heads bowing together as they whisper.

It’s just warm enough that Gurlien sheds his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.

“This is why I try to stay in the northwest,” he says, before a waiter drops off the menus printed on thick, textured paper.

The waiter, dressed in a crisp black shirt, gives Ambra a warm smile. “Good to see you back,” he says, and the back of Ambra’s neck prickles at something in his tone.

She sits back, deeper into the couch, and the smile doesn’t fade as he turns his attention onto Gurlien, handing him the menu.

“We do wine by the glass and the bottle, depending on tastes,” he narrates to Gurlien, who nods, and even thoughAmbra’s the one who’s been here before, he’s far more comfortable than she is.

But still, his expression is far away and grim, even while reading the wine list.

“The body liked these two,” Ambra says, pointing at the menu. “I enjoyed these ones the most.”

They’re two different sections entirely, and the body—Misia—had been incredibly delighted that their tastes could be so far away from each other, even when they were using the same taste buds.

“Interesting ramifications,” Gurlien mutters, “so a demon has different preferences than the body they’re in. Does this extend to dead bodies?”

It’s the wrong way of looking at things. “You don’t really eat in dead bodies,” Ambra says. “You can, but everything is the same taste, like everything feels somewhat the same to the touch and everywhere is the same temperature outside.”

Gurlien pauses to consider something, before reading more of the menu. “That falls in line with what the other experts say.”

It’s enough of a tendril of a hint that Ambra sits up.

“I’m not telling you more,” he grumbles, without even glancing at her, like he knows what she was reacting to. “How are the reds here?”

Neither Ambra nor Misia had appreciated them that much. “Too bitter,” Ambra replies. “Felt like our mouth was drying out and stained the teeth.”

“Fair enough, sounds like what I like,” Gurlien says, flagging down the waiter again.

He ordered one of the cheese and bread plates—a spicy one, apparently, Ambra didn’t even know those were a thing—and they both ordered a glass, the emotional exhaustion eating away at both of their motions.

The wine comes first, and it’s one of the pale pink wines that Ambra had enjoyed before, so she settles back into the lounge chair, curling her legs underneath her.

Gurlien sips at his, then nods, as if impressed, relaxing in the chair next to her.

“I don’t think you’re a dick,” Ambra starts, and Gurlien just raises an eyebrow down at his glass. “I think the College chews people up and makes them act in ways they never would have if they had any other options.”

“Sure,” Gurlien mutters. “I could have very well done everything without attempting to manipulate them.”

She watches him from underneath her eyelashes. “True.”

---