Page 32 of Heimlock

“What do you think you’ll get?” I ask.

Iola scans the menu. “Hmm, I think the ‘Fish of the Day’ might be a good choice.”

Eager to be on the same page, I nod. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll order that, too.”

Beaming, she sets her menu over mine. “Thank you so much for inviting me here. I’ve always wanted to come. I thought reservations were hard to come by?”

I shrug, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel. “Lucky, I guess.” Grinning, I say, “I made reservations for next weekend. We can also go to the chimeragon festival beforehand. I heard there will be at least a thousand chimeragons. Apparently, it’s really fun.”

There’s a shift in her expression. She smiles politely, but says nothing. Her eyes dance around the small alcove as if the water contains secret patterns.

Okay, maybe she hates chimeragons?

“How was your day?”

Her focus returns to my face, expression suddenly aloof. “It wasn’t too bad. How about yours?”

Pleased that she’s asking, I regale her about some of my Dragxi fares. Fynn recently started his own company, and while I do a lot of administrative work, it can be fun to pick up fares for the stories.

As I continue talking, it’s clear something is different. Where she used to be playful on our dates, now she’s more reserved. It’s not obvious, but more of a subtle shift in energy. Iola brightens when the food shows up. She takes photos on her phone and shoots off a text.

Growing worried, my words eventually dry up. Dread clenches my gut painfully. It’s almost like I can taste the incoming rebuff.

It’s impossible to not be disappointed, already imagining going home alone tonight. When the check arrives, she squirms in her chair. After paying, I lean back in mine, crossing my arms.

“Go on. Just do it.”

Iola startles, her silver eyes widening into moons. “Do what?”

I motion toward her. “Break up with me. That’s what you’ve been delaying this whole time, right?” My gut burns with shame when she looks away. Though my instincts were right, it doesn’t take away the sting of rejection.

Sitting straighter, I ask, “Why?”

Finally, she looks up. “This got more serious than I expected.”

My ire deflates. “More serious?”

She gathers her things. “Yeah. We were supposed to just … you know … hook-up. We aren’t dating or anything, Trinte.”

It’s like a physical blow to the chest. “I-I don’t understand. When we met, you said you were looking to date.”

“Yeah, but things change.” She stands; I stay seated, trying to hide my pain from my expression. “I had a good time with you. But I think we should leave things as they are.” Iola gives me a half smile. “Thanks for dinner.”

With that, she slips out of the room. Leaving me with the bill and a widening crack in my heart.

13

The phone in my hand mocks me. Trinte’s contact information is pulled up; I need to text him. Fynn asked me to reach out so we could divvy up the tasks for the engagement session.

But after our run-in at the gym the other day, I’m hesitant. I’d prefer ‌a Dragon not to bite off my head.

Give me head, however, is a whole other story.

“Quit being a baby,” I mutter to myself. Forcing my thumbs to move, I send a text.

Kyrielle: Hey, Fynn wants us to start splitting the tasks to contact the venues, caterers, etc.

I throw the phone on the bed like it’s poisoned. Otherwise, I’ll stare at the screen until he texts back.