Page 21 of The Little Shop of Grand Curiosities

“Don’t you think magic is strange?”

“It’s not the same. Magic is magnificent.” I fiddled with the end of my braid, biting down on my lip. “I’m afraid I’m just odd.”

“Magic is magnificent because it doesn’t sit around caring if strangers think it’s odd,” Apollo argued. “You can’t wish for magic and then dread it when you finally meet it, Nepheli. You’ll go mad for contradicting yourself like that.”

“Sometimes, I think I only wish Elora was more magical so I wouldn’t stand out so much. Me and the Shop. I would be like everyone else,” I blurted out, my face flushed with embarrassment.

“You don’t want to be like everyone else,” he said, rather resolutely. “You want to be extraordinary. You’re just terrified of the journey that will get you there.”

I took on a rueful expression. “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”

A smug little smirk tugged up the corners of his mouth. “I do, in fact.”

“You know nothing about me,” I hissed.

“Let me paint you a picture and tell me if it rings any bells, yes?” he said, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if he were watching it all unfold over the wooden planks. “You’re sitting at a table. Let’s call this table life.”

“Oh there’s going to be a metaphor too,” I mocked.

He ignored me, his tone dry but relentless, “You’re sitting at this table, and there is wonderful food being served to you constantly, and everybody else around you feasts and enjoys, but not you. You wait. You save your appetite for something better, tastier. You’re starving yourself, but you don’t care. You’re ravenous, but you don’t wither. You’re too determined, perhaps even too accustomed to the waiting. But now you’re starting to realize all the flavors you’ve missed—the smells, the textures. Not every dish that was served to you was extraordinary, but now you think that maybe it was worth tasting regardless. But you’ve missed it all. You’ve wasted all this time waiting for something you’re starting to fear might not be served at all.”

Irrationally, I wanted to be furious with him. How dare he tell me in this nonchalant way of his what I wasn’t ready to hear? His portrayal of me cracked me right open and left me feeling helpless and hating myself for feeling helpless. Why couldn’t I be more like him? Hiding everything behind a wall of sarcasm and casual indifference. I bet no one could ever makehimfeel exposed and vulnerable like that.

But I could not siphon enough anger from my bones to say anything about it. I could not scoff or joke or feign offense. Because his hand had fallen in the small space between our bodies, and it was all I could think about now. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it—his little finger resting right next to mine. Electricity sparked in that microscopic distance, in the tantalizing possibility of a touch.

My hand trembled. My breath strained to reach my lungs.

“I didn’t realize I was so easy to read,” I finally muttered.

“You’re not,” he said, his voice keenly quiet. “I’m just getting better at it. I meet new people every day, after all.”

“It must be nice,” I considered. “Being able to make friends so easily.”

“I said nothing about friendship, darling,” Apollo drawled, on the verge of laughter. “But I have to be able to read people if I am to lure them into dubious inns to devour their hearts.”

Furiously, I turned to smack him on the shoulder with the back of my hand. “You’re horrible. Absolutely horrendous.”

“Look at us having an argument before bed. It’s like we’re actually married,” he retorted and shifted to his side, the bed making an alarming creaking sound at the sudden movement.

I glared at his back, resisting the urge to shove him off the bed altogether. But then I reminded myself that making an enemy out of a heartless, powerful royal was probably not the smartest idea, so I breathed through my nose, unclenched my jaw, and turned on my side too.

A few silent moments ticked away, then a quiet rasp, “Nepheli?”

I groaned. “What now?”

“I…” he hesitated, and the bed complained again as his massive body shifted. “I’m sorry. For all the trouble, I mean. I’m never certain when I’m supposed to use the heart I don’t have.” He sighed. “I know an apology doesn’t rectify the situation. But I’ll make it up to you. This much, I can promise.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, a bit startled at his confession. “I forgive you.”

He paused, just as surprised as I was. “You do?”

“What can I say? Keeping a grudge gives you wrinkles.”

He laughed under his breath. Apollo had one of those laughs that, once you learned it, you could recognize anywhere. Deep and husky, like woodsmoke fuming in the night.

Suddenly, I felt him move closer, the covers rustling, his hands slipping over me. My heart lurched into my stomach. I veered in a panic. “What are you doing?”

The outline of his figure looked daunting in the firelight as he hovered next to me, propped on his elbows.

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