Page 12 of A Dream of Stars and Curses

I gulp again at the sincerity in his voice.

‘I’m not scared of you.’

Something about the words sounds too revealing, like I’ve said more than I meant to, but they’ve rushed out of my mouth before I can stop myself. I just need him to know. He possibly should scare me, what with the whole apex predator thing, but he doesn’t. I know he’d never hurt me on purpose, and given how long he’s been around, I imagine his self-control is more than good enough that he won’t hurt me by accident, either.

Leverett pauses. Slowly, he looks back at me with an expression I can’t read. ‘Thank you.’

How am I supposed to understand that?

He moves towards the back, and I follow him. Into the storage room. Up the stairs.

Into his flat.

I know nothing will happen, but that doesn’t help my nerves. On the plus side, if I can get through this without making a complete idiot of myself, it’s proof that I can be friends with him. So this is a good test.

Though when we enter his flat and he nods to the sofa, telling me to get comfortable, it feels more like a final exam that I haven’t studied for.

I sit on the sofa, same as the last times I was here. I’ve been here often enough that it’s starting to feel like my seat—the sofa is mine, the armchair is his.

‘What tea are you making me today?’ I ask, desperate for something other than my thoughts to fill the silence.

I want to join him in his kitchenette and offer my help, but that’s too cramped. I can’t be that close to him. Nowhere there’s a risk we might accidentally touch, gods forbid. I dread to think how I’d react.

‘I have refined the cinnamon recipe you liked,’ he says. ‘I thought I’d make you a cup of that.’

I smile my thanks. Leverett makes delicious tea.

‘Sounds great.’

While he’s busy in the kitchen, I take a few deep breaths and hope he doesn’t notice. I try to come up with a good excuse in case he does and asks. I’m not used to stairs? He knows my bedroom is on the first floor—he bloody carried me there, and I bloody missed it—so he won’t believe that. I’m excited for the tea? No one gets that excited about a hot drink. Although, his blends really are divine. Maybe that would be a good reason. Or maybe I can blame it on the coming heatwave. It’s somewhat muggy outside and he knows I don’t cope well in heatwaves because we met during one, so that could be believable.

He hands me a cup before I can decide. It’s similar to the one I broke, which reminds me: I must thank Bonnie for repairing it. I found it good as new on the counter this morning.

I wasn’t prepared for him to sit next to me. He’s on the other side of the sofa, yes, but that’s still next to me. Not in his armchair. I suddenly don’t know how to position myself. Everything I do feels clumsy, like I’ve forgotten how to sit.

‘You’ll have to let me know how it is,’ he says with a nod to the tea. ‘If the blend is right, I can give you a bag to take home.’

I inhale and let the cinnamon’s warmth relax me. It’s still too hot to sip, but the smell alone is beautiful: a little spicy and a little sweet. But there’s something else in there, too.

‘It smells wonderful,’ I say. ‘What’s that beside the cinnamon?’

He chuckles. ‘Good sense of smell! Apple, and a touch of vanilla.’

I would happily drown in it. I don’t care if I burn my lips; I take a sip.

It’s every bit as sweet and spicy as it sounds.

I sigh and have another drink. ‘That would be lovely around Christmas, or just going into autumn.’

It tastes too warming for the coming heatwave, but I don’t care. I’ll drink this every day of the year.

‘Would you like to wait to take some home until the weather cools?’

I huff. ‘No.’

He chuckles again. It’s become my favourite sound without me even noticing.

‘I’ll prepare a bag before you go.’

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