Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” Dev said. “Yeah, totally. Just tell me what it is.”
The answer came from all corners of the kitchen: “You don’t—”
“—don’t help the—”
“—the butler—”
“—ever.”
They all said it at once. And for a moment, Dev lifted a brow like surely this was a joke and the pause that followed was for the punchline.
“Never ever,” Lyric said. “It’ll make him cry and you won’t get over that. Trust us. That’s a nightmare you do not want to volunteer for.”
There was all kinds of muttering agreement, with everybody shaking their heads ruefully as personal memories of the one mistake made clearly haunted the assembled.
“Wow,” Dev murmured as he lifted his lager in salute. “Well, even though it feels rude as hell, I will not help the butler.”
The clapping and approvals burst out, and Dev shrugged, all when-in-Rome. As conversation re-bubbled and Lyric set about finishing her layers, her mate fell into talk with Qhuinn and Xcor, the three males becoming instantly animated as they discussed who was making it into the Super Bowl. Then there was Blay, who was chatting with Layla, the Chosen nodding and gesturing with her elegant hands, and finally, Lyric’s grandfather, sitting on his stool with a banked half smile, like he was getting a break from his mourning.
It was all so beautifully… normal. So perfectly ordinary. So sublimely non-dramatic. Which didn’t mean there weren’t stressors. For sure, the war and the plot against the King loomed as always in the background, and then there was whatever crap her twin was getting himself into. But this right here, all of them together in the house, a lasagna about to go in the oven, people talking and laughing? This was what she had always remembered and loved about this home, this family… this Sunday night Last Meal—
And that was when Lyric saw her granmahmen.
Over by the hearth, in the glow of the warm fire, the female was standing off to the side, wearing one of her handmade flowered dresses, her short hair tucked behind her ears, her carriage straight and proper, as it had always been.
Instantly, tears sprung to Lyric’s eyes, but she got with the program, tilting the now-heavy lasagna-filled pan in that direction so her namesake could inspect it. In response, the elder Lyric beamed and gave a round of silent clapping. Then her granmahmen nodded at Dev and smiled in a knowing way.
“You were right about him,” Lyric whispered.
“Right about what?” Dev said.
Jerking to attention, she lowered the pan back down onto the counter and glanced at Dev. When she looked to the hearth once again, the apparition was gone. Ah… but the presence remained. Her granmahmen was all over this house and always would be, for however long the rest of them were here.
And knowing the female, she might well haunt whoever moved in later, may that be many, many, many years in the future.
Dev frowned. “Lyric? Are you okay?”
“I love you,” she managed to choke out.
Emotion bloomed on his face and especially in his eyes… a reflection of what he felt in his heart, down to his soul. “And I love you. Always.”
As Lyric took a long, deep, easy breath, she smiled up at her mate and plunged her fingertips into the tub of parmesan.
Making it snow over the top of the lasagna she’d made for the very first time, she said, “Everything turned out all right. In the end… everything’s worked out, just as it should.”