Page 179 of Memories Like Fangs
“Do you even know how to make a fire, Sweetness?”
“I have Google!”
Now, it was my turn to throw my head back laughing. “What was your plan exactly,mi libélula? To wing it at a REI and Camping World the day before and hope for the best?”
Byrd pouted, sticking out her lower lip in the way sheknewmade me putty in her hands. “I figured it would be a cute date day for us.”
I laughed again, the sound bursting from me again. “I mean, you’re notwrong, but I already have most of the equipment we need at my mama’s house.”
“Okay, fine! You can handle the equipment, but how about I pick the location?”
“I can compromise on that.”
We talked for a little while longer. After I gave her a list of where I had been before and where I had always wanted to go, we traded ideas for where we might go. We both agreed on bringing Clarkson, which also meant we both agreed that we had to be near water for her to jump in. We started throwing out ideas and half-planned routes. She made me laugh when she suggested which plaids we should wear to coordinate, and I made her laugh about the weird camp meals we could try. No matter where we went, shereallywanted to stargaze. Ireallywanted to serve her food cooked over a real fire. We both made plans for quiet mornings, lazy afternoons, and nights full of laughter. Nothing was fully solid yet, but the idea of just us without stress or obligations already felt like a balm I didn’t know I needed. It felt like the first real thing I was looking forward to in a while.
Eventually, Byrd yawned mid-sentence. I suggested she get some espresso before she returned to work, so she didn’t fall asleep among the books in the Vault. She was reluctant at first, enjoying our conversation just as much as I did, but she relented when she realized her favorite coffee shop had a location near where she was in the Business District. We exchanged kisses, smiles, and goodbyes before we hung up.
Afterward, I stood in the soft stillness of the kitchen. The fridge purred, and the comforting smell of bananas, sugar, and cake wafted through the air along with the undercurrent of all the other desserts I had made already. I felt lighter, my chestand the knots in my stomach looser. The obsessive urge to keep baking and moving to avoid thinking was gone.
Now, I sang along to the music while I packaged the baked goods I had made. I knew the others would eat them, but maybe Journee would appreciate some of them to give away at the Archive? Or, Teddy could give some of them to his students?
Waiting for the banana pudding tres leches cake to cool enough for me to decorate it, I reached for the now-decorated macarons to box them up. I carefully plucked one from the parchment paper they were sitting on. The shells had set perfectly. They were smooth and glossy with that telltale foot at the base, just enough rise without spilling over. I’d outdone myself with the piping, too, despite my nerves. Delicate filigree spirals in shimmering pearly white, tiny flakes of edible gold placed strategically for elegance. The salmon pink in the filling, soft peachy orange of the shell, shimmer-dusted pearl, and spots of gold captured the light of the sky at dawn. I wasn’t lying when I said they reminded me of Byrd earlier. The warmth and softness of their palette felt like her laugh or the feel of her lips against mine.
Yet, the more I looked…
I frowned a little. No, these weren’t quite her. If I were truly making a macaron for Byrd, the shells would be a different color entirely, more blushing, pastel pink like her locs. I would do a dusting of gold and silver glitter on top with gold leaves and sugared opal pearls. The filling would have been a deep, creamy, and rich lilac. It would probably be ube-flavored with something bright like mango or apricot folded in and a hint of vanilla or white chocolate to round everything out. I would have worked in periwinkle, too, maybe as a soft dry brush on top. That would have echoed her and her dragon form together.
These… These were something else. They reminded me more of a tropical sunset?—
My heart thudded once. And,hard.
“¡Hostia puta!” I cursed, already setting the macaron back down, already moving. The idea struck me so fully, clearly, whole, and so perfectlyherthat I laughed under my breath with giddiness.
I washed my hands, dried them on a paper towel that I didn’t bother throwing away in my haste, grabbed my phone, and tapped video call on the group chat labeled:Death By Sobriety.
Cody picked up first. Because,of course, he did.
Naturally, he was shirtless, and I was grateful that he propped the phone waist-high and above. Strangely, his bare chest with its trimmed blond hair that matched what was along his jaw glistened a little with a fine sheen of sweat like he’d just come back from a run or, far more likely for him, a bout of mattress gymnastics. The piercings on his eyebrows, lip, and nipples twinkled in the lighting of whoever’s bedroom he was in, reminding me that I had gone with him and Nat to get our nipples pierced together while Cole sat it out, something we still teased him about when we could. Cody’s hair was even messier than normal. There were also a few marks on him that were red and healing.
“This had better be important, Quinny. You’re interrupting sacred, holy aftercare,” he said with mock solemnity, leaning against a pillow with an arm propped behind him like some smug, well-sexed demigod.
“You’re not sacred nor holy, andIdid all the work,” Maisie said with an unimpressed tone from somewhere offscreen.
Cody grinned wide enough to show his dazzling teeth. “You are the one who likes being on top.”
“Because it shuts you the hell up,” Deep sarcasm dripped from her husky voice. Maisie appeared in frame then. The layers of her dark brown and silver hair a tangled bird nest. She tugged on one of Cody’s sweatshirts that looked far better on her thanit ever did on him before she plopped her head on top of his abs. He tossed a gummy bear into her mouth like he was feeding grapes to royalty.
I raised my slitted eyebrow at the sight. “Didn’t youjustget back from lunch, Maze? How have you already fucked enough to where you need aftercare?”
The screen split as another window joined. Nat was reclining in a plush salon chair with her feet soaking. Her purple hair was freshly blown out and styled. A full glass of wine was tilted in one hand, and the other was mid-manicure. Her technician glanced up briefly at the phone as I finished speaking.
“I swear to gods,” Nat sighed, shifting her weight in the massage chair, “if I have to hear about Cody’s sex lifeagainthis week?—”
“Youshouldhear about it,” Cody interrupted her with a wink. “It’s winning awards.”
“First, you’re my brother, so ew. Second, oh, please. Your sexual history is a revolving door of BV, yeast infections, and new STIs yet undiscovered. No offense, Maisie.”
The nail technicians nearby exchanged glances, their heads leaning in just enough to pretend they weren’t listening when they very absolutely were. Nat didn’t seem to care, even though she was a regular at this salon.
