Page 143 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Jacques approved. And snapped pictures. And found some shimmery gloss that he applied to Akira’s lower lip.
“Where’s your usual sparkle?” he asked softly. “Are you actually intimidated by pastels?”
“I feel like a one-man boy band.”
Uncle Jackie took his hand. “Rather the goal. But I need you to relax into this role. If not for my sake, then for his.” He angled his head toward Suuzu, who was undergoing similar indignities.
Suuzu barely resembled Spokesperson Farroost anymore. The lavish headcloth might count as a disguise, and the freshly-applied shimmer of gold on his bottom lip was sort of pretty. But the concern in his best friend’s gaze snapped Akira to attention.
“Better,” murmured Uncle Jackie. “Now stop trying to decide how to act.”
“I can’t act.”
“That is painfully obvious. So how about this? You drag him about like you usually do, and we’ll improvise around you.” After a beat, he leaned close to whisper, “And avoid mirrors.”
Akira glanced around, wary of reflective surfaces. “Why?”
“Pastels.” With a teasing smile, he said, “We need more time to build up your resistance.”
“You have barely eaten anything,” murmured Suuzu. “Are you nervous?”
This was their third tiny restaurant, since Uncle Jackie showed as much dedication to culinary exploration as he did to adventurous hosiery. They’d foregone the trolly in order to nibble and sip their way along Mainsail.
“Nervous? Mmm … not about seeing Tabi-oji again. I’m more nervous that I might miss my chance to see him again.” Akira wasn’t sure how to explain. “I was so close to something really important. But he didn’t say a thing until the instant before he was gone.”
“We will find him.”
“You sound sure.”
Suuzu only smiled and looked up as Jacques—predictably—barged in. “You must try this. It’s too addicting.”
So far, at least once per shop, Uncle Jackie had found some small way to fuss over Akira. It was harmless stuff, but it was all very intentional. He seemed to understand where their comfort zones were and insisted on fiddling about the edges.
“Say aaah,” Jacques patiently ordered.
Akira obediently opened his mouth to accept a spoonful of something that was creamy, melty, and rich enough to coat his tongue. He hummed appreciatively, but he cast a sidelong look at Suuzu.
His friend only said, “He has not been eating.”
“Have another then.” Jacques made good on his threat, then looked to Suuzu. “I’ll be twice as attentive tomorrow. Bearing up all right?”
“I will … manage.”
Uncle Jackie swooped in to kiss Suuzu’s forehead. “Good lad.”
The phoenix’s lips quirked.
Akira held out some hope that everything was going to be okay.
Jacques said, “Right. So … I’m going on ahead. Magda will mind things here.”
The battler was at one of the café tables outside the door, smiling as she texted someone. She looked absorbed, but Akira knew that she was the farthest thing from inattentive.
“We’re fine.” Akira took notice of his untouched food and awkwardly added, “I’ll finish soon.”
“Take your time.” Blowing him a kiss, Uncle Jackie breezed out.
Under the table, Suuzu’s hand bumped his. Akira grabbed hold and found a crystal there. A promise of a private moment. Practically their first since yesterday’s arrival.
