Page 56 of Grin and Bear It

“We’ll need a cover,” she said, studying the layout with forced concentration.

“I thought we’d pose as a couple.” His tone remained professional, but something in his eyes made her breath catch. “A wealthy collector and his companion looking for rare acquisitions.”

Before she could respond, another knock sounded. Thora opened the door to find Bryn holding a garment bag, her face bright with excitement.

“Sorry to interrupt your strategy session,” Bryn announced, sweeping in with infectious enthusiasm, “but I come bearing disguises! Artair texted that you’re hitting the Shadow Bazaar tonight, and you absolutely cannot go looking like a bounty hunter.”

“I can disguise myself,” Thora protested.

Bryn unzipped the bag, revealing a deep burgundy evening gown. “Not like this, you can’t.”

Artair cleared his throat. “I should go prepare myself. Meet you here at seven?”

Thora nodded, suddenly self-conscious with both Maxen siblings in her tiny space.

“Perfect.” He collected the maps, leaving the pastries behind. “Enjoy breakfast. Honey rolls from Honeycrisp Bakery.”

After he left, Bryn plopped onto the couch. “So. You and my brother.”

“There is nome and your brother.” Thora bit into a honey roll to avoid further comment, then nearly moaned at the flavor. Butter, honey, and cinnamon exploded across her taste buds.

“He special-ordered those, you know,” Bryn said with a knowing smile. “The baker doesn’t make honey rolls except on Sundays, but Artair insisted.”

A strange warmth spread through Thora’s chest that had nothing to do with the food. “He’s just being nice.”

“Artair doesn’t ‘just’ do anything,” Bryn said, studying Thora’s face. “Trust me. When was the last time anyone special-ordered pastries for you?”

“Never,” Thora admitted, surprising herself with her candor. Something about Bryn’s open face invited confidence. “I’ve never had this before. Any of it.”

“Any of what?”

“People who remember how I take my coffee. Who bring me breakfast.” She gestured at the apartment. “Who try to make things homey.”

“No one?”

Thora shook her head, looking away. “I grew up in an orphanage in Silver Ridge. No family, no roots, no history. They found me as a baby, no note, no pictures, nothing. Just a blanket with ‘Thora’ embroidered on it.” She traced a pattern on the table. “I never stayed anywhere long after I aged out. Never saw the point.”

Bryn reached across, squeezing her hand. “And now?”

“Now, I’m...” Thora searched for words. “Confused. Your brother makes me feel things I don’t understand. It scares me.”

“Good scared or bad scared?”

The question made her pause. “Both, I think. My sabertooth wants to stay close to him. My human side remembers that getting attached means getting hurt.”

“What if it doesn’t, this time?” Bryn’s eyes, so similar to Artair’s, held no judgment. “What if staying leads to something wonderful?”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with wonderful,” Thora admitted, the truth surprising her as it emerged.

“Maybe start by wearing this dress tonight.” Bryn smiled, lifting the garment. “And see where it leads.”

FIFTY-ONE

Bryn’s dress fit like it had been made for her. The burgundy silk draped over Thora’s curves, the color deep against her olive skin. The slit up one leg allowed for movement, and to Thora’s approval, hidden pockets had been sewn in—large enough for a small knife and lockpicks.

“Practical and stunning,” she murmured, appreciating Bryn’s thoughtfulness.

“Artair’s jaw is going to hit the floor,” Bryn declared, handing her a pair of heels.

---