Page 16 of Palingenesis

Call it an overactive imagination or too many years reading thrillers and fantasies, but I’d like to keep myself out of the plot of the next one.

My nightmares are already bad enough.

“So, you’re not from here?” I ask aloud, distracting us both, and Avery shakes his head. The move swishes his hair back and forth over his forehead, the light curls parting just enough to show off a faint yellow kiss print on his skin. It makes me snort. “You know you have icing on your forehead?”

He smacks his lips and groans at the sky. “My husband thinks he’s funny.”

The smile on his face when he drops his gaze back to mine makes my stomach twist and my heart thump.

“Husband?”

“Yeah. To answer your first question, I moved here four years ago. Been married for three of them. Before that I was in Arizona with my dads and before that, we were in Ohio.”

“Oh.” My face heats and I nod, though I can feel the weight of his stare on the side of my head.

“You’re not a homophobe are you?”

“What? Gods, no.” My snicker comes out thick. “I’m queer. My partner is—p-partner is male.”

“Ah, boy troubles.” I catch his knowing nod in my periphery before his words sink in.

My gaze snaps to his and I blink rapidly. “Um…”

“You totally don’t have to talk about it,” he rushes out, hands held up in front of him.

“Are you and your husband … good?”

Yeah, that wasn’t the greatest segue into anything other than what’s waiting for me at home, but I never said I was good with words. Or people. Just books.

“He annoys me to death, but I love him dearly,” Avery answers without missing a beat. “Stupid walking green flag is the reason I’m here.” There’s something about those words that feel heavier than just location wise, but I don’t want to pry. Pretty sure my heart couldn’t take it if I did.

What would it be like to be loved so wholly? To be the reason someone stayed? Fuck, to have a reason to stay…

An ache blossoms inside my chest, and I rub at it faintly. “That’s good,” I mumble and clear my throat.

A loaded silence settles between us, and I take the time to really look at the forestry surrounding us. It just feels … heavy. The air is thick and damp, landing like a touch to the exposed skin of my face.

Like there’s someone—or something—hidden just beyond the brush, watching.

Waiting.

A chill rushes down my spine and I find myself leaning closer to Avery on instinct. He’s not big by any means. In fact, his head stops near my shoulders, but he’s familiar. He knows the area and as much as I hate to admit it, connecting with a stranger has been easier than trusting myself.

“W-we should go back in,” he murmurs lowly. “Morgan’s gotta be done torturing my cake by now.”

There’s a rush to his words that should pique my curiosity, but I’d be a liar if I wasn’t feeling a little rattled.

Maybe it’s just the new space, the town or simply remnants of what happened with Henry crawling across my skin.

But I follow Avery back into the safety of the building, my neck hairs on end, without looking back.

Chapter 9

The Legend

From afar, the shadows as my veil, I find myself enthralled by the way the baker chooses to communicate. It’s not a language I have seen before, though neither is the one that’s responding to him in kind.

The newcomer seems to understand it without hesitation.