Shortbread and Shadows - Amy Lane Page 0,59

Bartholomew had been, he needed to trust his instincts now.

Driving into Sacramento only took about half an hour on an early Sunday morning, but Bartholomew used the time in his own head well.

He remembered what Lachlan said, about how saying the word love would steep in their souls until it was a part of them, like power and potion had steeped into their amulets.

He thought Lachlan was more than right. “Crushing” on Lachlan had only needed a little tip before it turned to love. Bartholomew had probably been in love with him from the moment Lachlan had followed him in that epic sprint from the vendor floor to the bathroom.

The look in Lachlan’s eyes before their first kiss had sealed the deal.

This thing they were doing—taking their stock to an event, trying to sell something that made them happy to create—this was going to be their life together. Whatever shape that took, that was what they would work for.

And Lachlan, who had worked so hard with them the night before, who had greeted him with clean underwear yesterday after they’d made love, not even laughing that it was a low priority item to maybe the rest of the world—Lachlan would make himself a part of Bartholomew’s world.

Bartholomew spent an entire half a minute wondering what it would be like to wake up tomorrow and go about his life without a Lachlan in it, before the pain of separation—exactly like the pain in his chest from Lachlan’s amulet being torn from his neck—made him stop.

Love, together. That quickly.

It had only taken two years.

It had only taken a minute.

It had only taken a kiss.

By the time he pulled into the parking garage, his amulet was warm against his skin. He didn’t even need to look in the rearview mirror to know it was glowing faintly on its serpentine silver chain.

The chain was impressive, he had to admit, given that he’d used Ellen’s yarn the day before. And the glowing was impressive, particularly since he’d never even tried a flame spell like Jordan.

But the most impressive thing was that Lachlan was wearing the necklace’s twin, knowing what it meant, knowing the consequences of loving Bartholomew, knowing that their lives were intertwined, possibly forever.

Lachlan had outdistanced him in traffic, and by the time Bartholomew pulled up to the same level they’d used the day before, he was already there with a big dolly so the two could port their boxes upstairs.

What followed was, oddly enough, an exercise in normalcy. They set up their stalls, Lachlan bitching good-naturedly about the quality of Bartholomew’s shelves, both of them doing the sort of mindful dance that resulted in creating their own personal merchandising world.

Bartholomew felt a little naked with barely a shelf of Jordan’s, Cully’s, and Kate’s products left. He wondered if ghost Cully would make hot pads and dish towels on Tuesdays like he always did, and the thought left him sad and anxious.

He wanted to discover what normal looked like when he and Lachlan were together. He wanted to tell Dante and Cully about all of the wonderful, terrifying things that had happened the day before.

He wanted to tell them that he’d gotten brave, and he had Lachlan to prove it.

It wasn’t until he was putting the finishing touches on the booth, putting out the laminated sign that said “Fresh!” over the cookies and small loaves of sweet bread, that he saw them, and realized it was up to him to prove that everything he’d ever said about being brave and falling in love was true.

Crows of Another Sort

LACHLAN had been happily engrossed in his own tasks—for one thing, he was looking for a wall outlet to charge his tablet so he could take credit. Then he saw Bartholomew startle, stricken, and his heart dropped to his feet.

God, he wasn’t sure he could take more magic animals, not here on the vendor floor where everything had seemed so normal, even with the extra-super-awesome dose of happy because of Tolly. Lachlan looked around anxiously, moving without thought to stand by Bartholomew, who was standing near the barrier between their booths.

“Tolly?” he asked softly.

“The fuck are they doing here?”

Lachlan looked up toward the doors, which had just been opened, and grunted in surprise. The family resemblance was painful.

The man dressed in slacks and a sweater vest was tall and gaunt, as opposed to slender, his thin face twisted into bitter lines, as opposed to watchful ones. His shoulders stooped, and his nose was long and Roman, so