spills a vintage song from the folksy rock band Louise Attaque.
Nolwenn, who’s bustling by with a heavy clay pot, nods to the upstairs area. “Saved you the corner table beside the stairs.”
“Thanks, Nolwenn.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t do much to smooth out the myriad of little lines crosshatching her face. She’s worried and tired. I don’t think she should be working, but the last time I mentioned her taking a break, she said that idleness is the bane of the French, and that she’ll rest when her bones are laid to rest in her family’s crypt. Makes me think that one day, we should move Matthias’s bones off Slate’s property and into that crypt.
I shake my head, dispelling thoughts of cemeteries and death. I want to celebrate life tonight.
Living.
Surviving.
I must’ve missed something, because Bastian and Alma are both laughing, their gazes going up to Slate, who isn’t laughing but who is smiling.
“Giggle away, little brother,” he says, walking up the stairs. “I have plenty of stories about you to share.”
Bastian sobers but then looks at Slate and cracks right back up. “I may giggle like a girl, but at least I don’t dress like one.”
Alma tosses her head back and spills that loud, contagious laughter of hers all through the restaurant. It’s the sort of laugh that makes everyone look and want to join in even when they have no clue what’s funny.
“A kilt isn’t a skirt,” Slate grumbles. “Besides, I’ve got damn good legs. I looked hot in a skirt.”
“We don’t doubt you looked hot,” Alma purrs, elbowing me before sliding onto the wooden banquette along the wall.
Slate pulls off his jacket and tosses it on the bench seat beside Bastian, then surprises me by helping me out of my silver puffer. He hands it to his brother, who sets it atop the growing pile of coats.
I take the chair across from Alma, and then Slate settles in beside me, casually slinging his arm over the back of my chair.
Nervously, I sit upright, keeping my distance from his arm. “I missed the part of why you wore a kilt.”
“It was for a job.”
“What sort of job requires a kilt?” Do I even want to know?
Alma pours water from the carafe already placed on our table. “Were you an escort?”
“It wasn’t that sort of job.”
She sets the carafe down and plops both elbows on the tabletop. “What sort of job was it?”
“A profitable one,” he says cryptically.
My mind goes straight to a heist. After all, this is what Slate does.
He raises his hand to grab the attention of the temp waitress Nolwenn hired from the university. As he orders wine and an appetizer platter of cheese and cured meats, I see Alma pointing out the other diners to Bastian, feeding him names and anecdotes. Sometimes, I think Alma should be studying journalism instead of political science. She’d make a great gossip columnist.
I hear the name Liron fall from her lips and turn toward where she’s looking. Her ex is sitting at a table with some of his friends, one of whom is Paul. His face floods with heat when our gazes connect. Even his ears turn a crisper shade of red than his hair. I smile and wave. His brow pleats, as though he’s surprised I’ve acknowledged him, which is weird because I always say hi. As I spin back, I catch Slate glaring at him. I’m guessing the two have met and didn’t hit it off. I suspect Slate doesn’t hit it off with many people.
The wine comes and is poured. Alma raises her glass and toasts to new acquaintances. We all clink and drink. I start to lean back but feel Slate’s arm and all but pop back forward. I drain my wine way faster than I probably should, but my day has been rough, and my nerves are fried. Slate refills my glass before upending his own and pouring himself some more.
While Alma tells Bastian the story of the tavern, Slate holds his glass up to mine and murmurs, “Two down, two to go.”
I tip my glass against his even though his toast has just awakened snakes inside my stomach. What if I’m next?
“I’m scared,” I murmur.
His jaw becomes squarer as he leans in and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’ll be by your side the whole way through. Same way you were by mine.”
I wasn’t only by his side; I was also in front of him. I was his curse.
“How can you stand