Page 71 of Sparrow

He scoops another cinnamon roll off the ground and hands me one of them, then raises his own cinnamon roll in a toast. “This is way easier. And the floor is clean.”

“It’s a floor, Mars. By definition it’s dirty.”

He makes a face, then stares me right in the eye as he takes an enormous bite of his own roll. “Tastes perfect to me.”

Oh, I could get used to this reckless version of Mars.

I make a promise to myself that I’m going to do whatever it takes to see this version more often, and then I take a bite of my own pastry. He’s right; they are delicious. Though I’m sure they’re also now covered in dirt.

And I don’t care.

“I never thought you were a romantic,” I say finally, my mouth sticky with icing. “But eating cinnamon rolls after sex is pretty next level.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not romantic.”

I give him a sticky grin. “Totally romantic.”

“I hate you,” he mutters. “

“No you don’t. You love me.”

This pulls him up and the sarcasm leaves his face. He stares at me for a long moment, and then shrugs.

“Maybe.”

Arden

It turns out the diner is exactly what I hoped it was.

The black and white floors are so shiny they’re reflective, the tables are brightly chromed, and the booths are covered in cherry red plastic. The menu is made up of hamburgers, hot dogs, and milk shakes, plus fries and turkey sandwiches, and the only thing they have for dessert is apple pie and vanilla ice cream.

I adore it and immediately decide that I’m going to make Mars and Orion bring me here once a week.

Right now, though, I’m here with Taryn and the infamous Sammy, who I’ve heard of but never met. The girl is a force to be reckoned with. She’s nearly as tiny as me but has a personality three times bigger, along with dark curly hair, a huge smile, and the most beautiful dove-gray eyes. The girl has never met a prank she didn’t like, and though I’ve heard she has a tendency to put herself in dangerous situations, I can’t imagine her ever actually wanting to end her life.

She’s enjoying it too much.

She’s also a very close replica for someone else I know.

“His she the small-town version of Stella?’ I ask Taryn on our way into the diner.

She smiles and shrugs. “Maybe that’s the kind of person we attract?”

Once we slide into the booth, though, Taryn turns serious. “Okay. We’re here. Now tell me what the fuck happened to you and how you got to Wood.”

They’re fair questions.

They’re also questions I don’t want to talk about right now, because they bring back memories I don’t like looking at, and leave other problems unsolved.

Like where our Stella is right now.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, eyeing her. “But I’m guessing it would be a long story that neither of us wants to tell now that we’re here and safe.”

She eyes me back, her lips pressed together, and I don’t really blame her. The Arden in New York would have answered her question without argument the moment she asked.

The Arden of Hawke’s Wood... isn’t that girl anymore. And Taryn doesn’t know the Arden who lives here, yet.

But when she grins, her eyes sparking with mischief, I think she can guess who this version of me is. And if I know Taryn, she’s excited about seeing me spread my wings.