“Oh, don’t worry. I need to tell Dez how wonderful the pie was. I’ll get my own lunch.”

His eyes do the thing where they’re too intensely focused on mine. It’s hard to tell, as his expression doesn’t give much away, but it feels like a warning of sorts.

I ignore it, making my way to the counter again. There are only a couple of people waiting.

I tense as Keller falls into step next to me.

It’s one thing to speak to him with other people around, but when it’s just the two of us, it feels different.

Intimate?

Dangerous.

“How’s your grandma?” he asks me.

I blink. “Oh. I…” Biting my lower lip, I wonder how to voice the fact that I’ve actively avoided any calls or texts over the last thirty hours or so.

Because of him.

I clear my throat. “I haven’t had a chance to chat with her yet.”

“I’m sure she'd love to hear from you. She booked her surgery; it’s next Friday.”

So, he did keep his word.

“Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. You paid for that, with interest, if I recall.”

Great, I’m vividly remembering how. With those lips and those fingers and⁠—

Jesus, what happened to me in the course of a single weekend?

Him. Darius Keller is what happened to me. And he’s still right next to me for some reason, like there’s nothing more natural in the world.

“You will also hear from my sister, Lisa. She’s hoping to get you to babysit Octavia some evenings, so she can extend her working hours. I gave her your number.”

He had it already?

A gentleman asks.

But if asking isn't getting me what I need, I'm fine with taking.

“I’ll answer her,” I say, lamely.

By luck, we’re already at the front of the line. “That pie was out of this world,” I tell Dez, who beams at me. “But I had to share with the whole table, so I need to actually eat something. Can I have a croissant with cheese?”

“You bet. I’ll heat it up and bring it out to you in a sec. Anything else?”

I hesitate. “Markus said you wouldn’t mind if I could look at how you make them? I’ve honestly never tasted anything this good, and I like to bake. If you truly don’t mind…”

“Oh, please, come any time. It gets boring in the Wyvern House; I’m not the only girl, but let’s just say the others don’t really have time to hang out in the kitchen. I plan on trying a mille feuille tomorrow, if you’re game?”

“Please. What time?”

“It doesn’t take that long. Eight? When’s your first class?”

“Eleven. I’ll be there.” I beam.