Page 28 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
“Why not?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t you say you regretted your missed opportunity?”
Not quite, but kinda… still. “God, no!” I exclaim, hand flying to my heart, pretending I didn’t say “God” on purpose.
By now, though, he can see right through me. “Ha-ha!” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“Listen, I’m not jumping into someone else’s kitchen on a whim.”
Simon glances between us, clearly intrigued. “You a chef?”
“He could be,” Zagreus replies pointedly, ignoring my glare. “Think you can talk someone into letting him sub in for the day?”
Simon chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not my call, but I can ask Mateo. I think he’s the manager on duty today. We’re desperate enough, and like I said, I’d rather stick to the front desk.”
I groan, sinking back into my chair, alternatively glaring at the two, then myeyessettle on Zagreus. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He beams; his excitement is infectious despite my reluctance.
“I do.”
Chapter Twelve
HELL IS AROUND THE CORNER
Zagreus
Hands on my thighs, I bend forward at the waist and feign catching my breath after my daily morning run on the boardwalk. Acting human’s been a challenge, but Théo’s help is priceless.
I glance around at the passing people as I stand there, visibly breathless. Running with the ocean in plain sight is one of my favorite activities, one I will never find in the Underworld… not as good as sex, though.
If I concentrate enough, I can almost feel the spring air burning my lungs.
Such a heady sensation!
The tingling, borderline ache coursing across my heated skin. The magnificent ocean view assaulting my disbelieving eyes.
Granted, from what I recall, comparing this to sex is far-fetched. My last encounter was with Hermes—unless you count my ownhand. For us gods, time tends to lose its edges, yet I couldn’t tell you how it felt anymore.
Walking the Earth is another fantastic sensation.
Damn, I’ve missed it!
Discovering how much it has changed baffles me, and Oregon is growing on me. During my last visit, I crossed three continents, yet this trip brings me somehow closer to its people and their odd rhythms. I enjoy doing mundane things, such as my morning runs, my job at the hotel, and my breaks at Café Magnifiqueto chat with the recently hired pastry chef.
I can’t believe that Théo jumped at my suggestion and applied right off the bat. He trained with the other chef during an intensive week and now has a permanent gig. He must have really wanted to give his cooking and baking skills a professional try. Many qualities play in his favor: he’s a fast learner, a good listener, and a dedicated apprentice, and the café’s low-key nature means the stakes aren’t as high as they would have been at a restaurant. It lifts some pressure, although he never envisioned replacing a chef who gave his two-week notice shortly after Théo stepped in to give the café a hand. Since then, he’s been able to set his mind to something other than the theft of the painting, a discussion I’m postponing until I have a solid plan.
Meanwhile, Théo’s perfected Victorian gothic style—rich black, burgundy, and white fabrics—has earned him a unique status amongst the staff, though it’s ditched for his chef uniform while he’s working. We’re total opposites in appearance, but I can’t deny how striking he is. It suits his lean features, and I’ve come to realize that I lick my lips a lot when he’s around. My inner demon won’t shut up about wanting to discover if his three-piecesuit includes a corset or not. Sorry, I digress… What I meant to say is that, thanks to his rising popularity, the management suggested that he step outside of the kitchen more often to coax customers into giving his desserts a try. His latest creation is acrème renverséewith a twist, a typical French dessert to honor the hotel’s name.
My spanking new earbuds alert me to an incoming call, which wrenches me from my reverie. It also stops David Bowie’s deep voice from reminding me that Major Tom was indeed a junkie.
They’re a gift from Théo—a reminder I choose not to overthink, especially when it comes to labeling what’s between us. Wanting to punch Simon whenever he flirts with Théo shows how much my French friend means to me. But the sweet guidance he provides to help me fit in and steer clear of foolish antics is what I think says it all.
It’s been over a month since our lips met, and neither of us has taken a step forward. Why do we need a label? I enjoy what we have. Period. His being privy to my secret might heighten my attraction to him, but if eternity’s taught me anything, it’s that I shouldn’t get involved with a human again.
My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing in my small backpack, and I work to even out my breathing. Thanks to Théo’s patientZagreus 3.0lessons—as he teasingly calls them—I know exactly what to do. I double-tap my earbuds and take the call.
My chest fills with warmth and pride.
Zagreus 3.0 is a work in progress… And here I thought I’d mastered the art of passing for a human when I leave my home. Théo’s patience is a genuine blessing. Unfortunately, plenty of changes continue to confuse me.
