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"Why are you trying to escape me?" Curiosity laces his words and I have to tread carefully, lest I give away all my thoughts.
"I find you… distracting."
His eyes brighten, "Is that so?"
"Don't get too excited." I backpedal. "This magical connection we share can be confusing."
I see the hope flicker in his gaze before he bobs his head. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm also confused by our connection."
"Really?"
He nods and looks like he's about to say something but changes his mind. There's a storminess in those eyes of his and I take a step toward him, ready to ask him to tell me what he was about to say, but he smiles and asks, "Are you hungry?"
He's deflecting. The spoiled princess in me wants to stomp my foot and demand he tell me what he's refusing to say, but I don't. If he wanted to tell me, he would have, so I leave the issue alone.
"Starving," I say, returning his small smile with one of my own.
"I won't pretend I know anything about cooking," he drags the towel from his shoulder and places it on the countertop, "so it looks like we'll be dining out this evening."
"Just you and me?"
"Unless you'd like to take a stab at cooking?" He gestures to the mess I've made, and I untie the flour covered apron and set it on the island.
"What did you have in mind?"
Twenty-Two
Shaye
Streetlamps light the paved sidewalks and illuminate the glass windows of shops, restaurants, and residential row houses as we walk through the city. The further down the street we trek, we pass fewer houses and soon all we hear is the boisterous laughter of smiling Tronovians snaking in and out of eateries, pubs, and hotels. With the canal disappearing behind a row of buildings, I'm reminded of how tiny I am in comparison to the two, three, and four level structures.
Atlas has been pointing places out to me as we walk – restaurants, art galleries, dressmakers, shoemakers, jewelry stores, bookstores – and we even duck inside a clockmaker's shop so I can watch in wonder as they tinker with miniscule mechanical pieces, until the clock hums back to life.
Most of our excursion to find something to eat is a quiet one, but unlike when lapses in conversation happened during events in Midori, I don't feel the need to chat. I find peace in our silence. But when my stomach growls loudly, I'm tempted to ask how much further he intends to take me before we settle on an eatery, when he suddenly stops and stares across the street.
"We're here."
When I turn to look, I notice a wooden sign with the word, Prue's, scrawled across. Nothing fancy, much like the sight I'm beholding. In the midst of beautiful rowhouses, the tavern appears to be an old-world building that was gutted and transformed into the nighttime hotspot.
Atlas holds the creaky wooden door open as we walk inside, and I'm immediately struck by how beautiful the arched cathedral ceiling is. Dangling three stories above us are four rustic chandeliers fashioned from deer antlers. The pine floors are scuffed from wear and tear and appear to be original to the structure, but it gives the space a cozy and inviting feel. As if to say, nothing here is fancy, kick up your feet and have fun.
To my right there is a glossy wooden bar that runs the length of the building with circular stools tucked underneath the counter. Behind the bar is a wall filled with glass bottles varying in design and color. On my left are tables, booths and further in the tavern are two billiard tables.
My gaze follows the wooden railing of the questionably sound staircase up to the second floor where a banister encloses the tables and booths located on that level and offers those guests some privacy.
Everyone in here seems happy; joking with their companions, dancing on the humble, scuffed up dance floor as the band plays off in a corner.
I've never been in a place like this before and I am eager to have the full bar experience.
The moment one of the waitresses sees Atlas, she drops off some drinks at a nearby table and quickly comes to greet us. "The usual table?"
But before Atlas can say yes or no, I point at the bar and blurt, "Can we sit there?" The woman glances up at Atlas, looking for permission. I forget sometimes that he's royalty here and would probably prefer not to be seen in public with me. I backpedal and say, "Or we can sit – "
"The bar will be fine, Tessa," he says to her, but his eyes are glued to mine.
"Certainly! Take whatever seat suits you." And with that, the perky blonde disappears into the sea of laughing faces.
"I'm sorry," I stammer. "If you would rather sit somewhere more private, so people don't see you with me – "
