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And here he was, spending them with her.
“Wouldn’t you rather—”
“I’m where I should be,” he said. “Let’s just say a cursed son is hardly the sort my father wants at his side.”
Fia’s heart thumped sorely at the thought of him so… adrift, like he’d washed ashore beside her, nothing and no one anchoring him home. “Were you… ever close to your father?”
“Never.” He let out a dreary laugh. “So I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?”
Fia plucked at her skirt. “I don’t know how anyone gets used to that.”
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and the rain fell harder, slanting sideways in the suddenly fierce wind so that the umbrella became all but useless, thrashing above them.
Penbrook gave Fia one last long look, his features softened by the rain—or just maybe, her words—before he said, “I think we’d better make a dash for it.”
He disillusioned the umbrella and grabbed Fia’s unsettled hand, hauling her up from the bench to her exhaled “Oh,” and together they slipped their way past all those silent gravestones and out of the cemetery.
Leaving death where it belonged.
All the carriages they passed on the streets already held passengers, so they continued their quick retreat on foot, Penbrook a few paces ahead, his long legs unhindered, unlike how Fia’s were by her skirt, so he was all but pulling her along—and stealing glances back at her over his shoulder. When they finally turned onto Carrow Lane, they were drenched.
And laughing.
Because that was how things went, the world flipping on a coin—the upside-down tumble of missing her mother and the sudden righting of her balance. It was the feel of the rain on her face, the bracing cold that centered her in the present, and Penbrook beside her, cursing the ruin of his suit with a grin that betrayed more delight than displeasure. As if they were small again and had rushed purposely into the downpour, eager to stomp through the puddles.
Their eyes met again, crinkled at the corners with laughter, and Fia would have gladly frolicked in the rain—with him—as long as it lasted.
At the delicate sound of a throat clearing, Fia and Penbrook startled, looking quickly away from each other and toward the shop. A slender figure stood in front of Sable Spells, caught in the shadows of the awning. Fia and Penbrook came up short. Their hands parted too, and she couldn’t tell who had been the one to draw away first.
“There you are,” an amused voice said. “And here I thought I might be stood up again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Fia ducked under the awning.
“You’re not the one who needs to apologize.”
When Fia had closed the shop for the day and canceled Penbrook’s appointments, she’d entirely forgotten about Andromeda Dahl and the favor Fia owed her, but here she stood, dry as could be in a cranberry dress and ocean-blue coat, long hair done up in a simple loose knot. It had to be much later than noon by now, which meant she must have been waiting all this time. Fia shouldn’t have stayed away from the shop for so long.
“I figured you’d have to return eventually, and I really wanted to catch up with…” Her eyes flicked to the side for the first time, narrowing. “Penbrook.”
Ridiculously, he remained in the pouring rain, face dark as he pushed a wet lock of hair from his forehead. “Andromeda.”
Fia looked from one to the other, not sure what was between them—some history, she assumed—and feeling an unwanted twinge in her belly. Brushing it aside, she brightly said, “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”
No one spoke as she unlocked the door, but the air snapped at her back, full of tension, and she wished she could see the way Penbrook and Andromeda were looking at each other now in silent conversation. As she brought them into her own space, it felt like she was the one who didn’t belong. Of course, that set her rambling as they all shed their coats.
“Why don’t we go back to the parlor and light a fire. So we can get warm and dry. You two can… catch up.” Another pang caught Fia in the chest. “I’ll make tea. Do you want tea?”
“I’d love tea,” Andromeda said agreeably, absently brushing her hand over the bottles of Dahl’s Love Drops as she passed them. “Can I help?”
“That’s all right. I’ll only be a moment. Unless”—Fia swallowed—“you want to talk privately?”
“No,” Andromeda said at the same time Penbrook said, “Yes.”
Again, Fia looked back and forth between them, her gaze lingering on Penbrook as water dripped from the end of his nose.
Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. I never do.”
When he didn’t argue, they pushed through the shop’s rear door into Fia’s apartment, and Andromeda wandered casually into the parlor, cooing when she spotted Finnick curled up in the marigold chair, both of them seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness thrumming around them.
