Page 39 of Infernal Affairs

"Is this...artisanal?" she asks.

"It is," I say. "I call it Toast Surprise. The surprise is that it's just toast."

She snorts and takes a bite. Honey oozes everywhere. She licks her thumb, then mine, just to watch me flinch.

"I grew up watching the movies," she says around a mouthful, "where the guy makes a big fancy breakfast—pancakes, eggs, the works—and the girl is always stunned."

"Do you want pancakes?" I ask, meaning it. I'd burn down every kitchen in town if she said yes.

She shakes her head.

"I want this—you looking at me like you still can't believe we're here together."

She's caught me.

I drop my gaze.

"I can't," I whisper, and it's the truth.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Daisy sets down the toast, brushes the crumbs from her fingers, and slips into my lap. I wrap my arms around her automatically, holding her against me and wondering if this is what humans mean when they talk about settling down. I want to ask her to move in with me—really move in—but somehow that feels more terrifying than anything we shared last night. It feels absurd to hesitate after everything we've already shared, yet asking someone to stay forever is somehow the most frightening thing of all.

Instead, I say, "The market opens at eight."

She perks up. "Oh, hell yes. Clover should be there. Or Zadok...if he's not still banned from the produce tent."

"He's banned from every tent, as far as I know. He can't control himself around food."

"We should go," she says, shifting until she's straddling me. "Pick up some real food. Show off our matching hickeys."

She leans in for a kiss, slow and unhurried. I close my eyes, taste coffee on her tongue, and forget every other ache in the world.

She disappears into her bedroom and emerges a few minutes later in a rust-colored sweater and jeans, her hair still wild, my shirt bundled beneath one arm. She drops it into my lap as she passes the mirror by the door.

She catches me staring and does a mock twirl.

"Is this demon-chic enough for public consumption?"

"Perfect," I say. "But I'm wearing yesterday's clothes. Everyone will know I spent the night."

Daisy grins.

"That's the idea."

We walk into the heart of Blackthorn Bay just as the market is waking. I'm more than a head taller than most people, and my horns don't exactly blend in, but for once I don't care about the stares or whispered folklore. Daisy loops her arm through mine, swinging a wicker basket she'd found by the door. We match stride for stride, and the conversation comes easily—even when neither of us says a word.

The scent of fresh bread, fruit, and dew-kissed grass drifts across the square. A fiddler at the edge of the main tent is sawing through a lively reel while children chase a dog armed with a tennis ball. It's the ordinary heartbeat of a town that's seen enough strange things to stop being surprised by them.

Zadok stands behind the honey stall wearing a sweater embroidered with a bumblebee and a nametag that simply reads ZADOK. He spots us immediately and raises both eyebrows so high they nearly disappear into his hairline.

"Well, well," he calls, his voice carrying across the square. "If it isn't the infernal couple in the flesh. You two look...sated."

Daisy bursts into laughter.

"Morning, Z. Have you got any lavender honey left?"

He grabs a half-pint and passes it across the counter.

"On the house, if you promise to keep him from cursing the market again. Remember last time?"