Page 53 of The Last Lost Girl

The floral notes are so pungent, I expect to feel like I’ve eaten a flower. But when the liquid meets my tongue, the flavor is delicate and sweet with traces of oak, so beautifully and carefully made, I fully understand why Hook groaned at the taste.

I close my eyes and try to sort out the flavors and scents, the sweet dryness of it. When I open them again, Hook is focused on me. “What?” I ask.

He shakes his head and looks away.

I offer him another sip and he takes it, then another.

“I’d like a slice of apple,” he tells me, jutting his chin toward the fruit.

“We both know you can feed yourself,” I reply with a self-deprecating laugh.

He gives a feline grin. “I’d rather you feed me.”

I assume he’s joking, but he doesn’t flinch. My eyebrows pop. “Are you serious?”

A nod. He leans in. “The wine isn’t the only signal we’ve given the town, Precious.”

“The town? I thought you said we’d signaled the people in this room.”

He grins. “Word will quickly spread. By morning, everyone will know of our visit to The Ropes.”

“It’s a restaurant.”

He grins. “A restaurant at which you’ve bound me, and I’ve allowed it. What do you think that will imply?”

Never Sea, swallow me.

His gleaming grin widens. “We might as well give them more to talk about.”

I take another sip of wine and try not to ask the universe if things could get worse or whether I could make things more awkward tonight, because the answer is undoubtedly yes. Instead, I take up a sliver of apple and pause with it in front of his lips.

Before Hook can take a bite, Paris slides into the seat across from his captain and beside me. He leans in close, likely because he thinks it’ll bother Hook. It won’t.

“Did you lose your date?” I ask playfully.

With his index finger, he draws an infinity on the back of my hand. “Mais, non. She is waiting impatiently for my return.”

I look in the direction of their table and see her watching Paris intently. He winks at her over his shoulder and her face alights.

“What do you want, Paris?” Hook says, irritation lacing his tone.

In his accent, Paris says, “We are finished with our meal, and I wanted to make sure that you were able to make it back to the ship.”

“What do you mean?” the captain asks, sitting up and looking like he’s ready to skewer the Frenchman.

“You’ve both had fairy wine,” he says with a quirked brow as if we’re both morons. “And you’ve barely touched your food. That is a dangerous combination, mes amis. Is Smee coming to meet you?”

“Yes,” Hook says, but my brows meet. He never told me that.

Hook’s hand squeezes my thigh beneath the table. I straighten at the touch.

“Is this true, Ava?” Paris asks.

“Yep,” I instantly chirp, desperately wishing I was a better liar. “I’m surprised he’s not already here.”

Paris looks unconvinced, but in the end, the pull he feels to his… friend overwhelms him, and he returns to their table only to lead her out of the establishment, still wearing the ropes he expertly wove around her.

nineteen

---