Page 48

“Again,” Rowan said, “a waitress.”

“So you’re saying there’s nobody in there.” Milo pointed to the door.

“Just me,” Rowan said.

“Prove it!”

Rowan scowled, taking a breath before stepping away and opening the door wider, letting Milo storm inside.

He threw his jacket next to the hook by the door, toed off his shoes and kicked them in two different directions, then slung his tote bag over a bar stool before stomping into the living room.

An empty living room. Dimly lit. Warm. With plants arranged in a neat circle around a comfy armchair with an open book on it.

He paused.

“What the…”

“Nobody’s here,” Rowan said tensely. “You can go now.”

“Oh no.” Milo shook his head. “No, no, no. Whatever ritual I just interrupted will have to be explained to me in great detail, because what the fuck?”

“It’s nothing.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair and looked away.

“It sure don’t look like nothing to me,” Milo said. “It looks like your plants grew consciousness and arranged a group meeting with you.”

“It’s not a group meeting.”

“I see you’re not refuting the consciousness part.” Milo eyed the plants as if one of them would jump him and strangle him with vines.

“They’re plants, Milo,” Rowan said.

“I am aware. But plants, generally speaking, don’t form unions so what is this?”

“It’s nothing!” Rowan’s ears grew red and the scales on his arms extended farther, covering more of his skin than they had before.

“Are you being held hostage by foliage?” Milo asked.

“No,” Rowan mumbled, shuffling his feet. Bare feet. Fuck, he looked so cuddly.

“Come oooon,” Milo said. “You know you want to tell me!”

“You’ll laugh at me,” Rowan said and Milo felt something melt inside him.

“No,” he said, voice quieter. “I won’t.”

Rowan stared at him for a moment before he walked over and sat in the armchair, picking the discarded book up. He ran his fingers over the spine and looked around at the plants before sighing and leaning his head back against the chair. He looked at Milo through half-open eyes.

“They’re my hoard,” he said finally. “My plants are my hoard. They grow better and healthier when you talk to them. There’s research on it. I don’t spend a lot of time at home and I don’t really have the time to speak to each one individually to make them thrive, so I…”

He held the book up in the air to wave it around, and Milo sank down onto the sofa, realization hitting him like a brick.

“You read to them,” he said.

Rowan nodded. “A few times a week. They seem to like it.”

“You collect plants,” Milo said. “And you read to them.”

“Yes.” His voice was soft.