THE CITY FELT ALIVE that afternoon—warm, humming, and bathed in sunlight so bright it made the glass walls of the café sparkle.
Mailah had insisted on sitting by the window, where the light poured over her hair like spun gold.
Grayson, ever the creature of shadow, sat across from her with the faintest squint, his hand curled loosely around a porcelain cup that looked fragile in his grasp.
"You do realize," he murmured, "that this place smells like burned sugar and regret."
Mailah smiled, cutting into the cake between them. "You don't like the smell of people being happy?"
"I prefer coffee without the existential undertones."
She giggled, dipping her fork into the creamy layers and deliberately offering him a bite. "Then have some sweetness to balance it."
He stared at the fork, then at her. "Mailah—"
"Oh, come on," she said softly, holding it closer. "You're an incubus. You can survive a spoon of sugar."
