Berries and Greed

“No, it’s okay.” He leaned back against the counter and finished his pizza, then gulped down some more coffee. “So where do you think you’ll go today?”

“Um… I’ll probably just wander around here. Get to know the area a bit better. Could you grab me the eggs?”

“Sure.” Greid practically tripped over in his haste to reach the fridge. I smiled up at him when he passed me the carton.

“It’ll be nice just wandering around,” I said as I cracked a ridiculous number of eggs into a bowl. I knew how much Greid could consume. “Especially as it’s a weekday, so it won’t be too busy.”

“Yeah.”

I could sense Greid’s mind churning as I whisked the eggs, so I glanced over at him. He was worrying his lower lip with his sharp teeth, and I knew that meant he wanted to ask me if I needed any money so I could buy things while I was out.

He was fully aware that I’d refuse, so instead, like a little sneak, he said, “Hey, maybe you could grab us some lunch while you’re out. Unless, um, you plan on being out all day. But I’ll give you some cash for it. And, uh, if there’s any left over”—he shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant—“you can just get whatever with it. You know, if you spot anything you like.”

I shot him a look that made his face spikes twitch. Deciding to mess with him a little, I solemnly asked, “Greid, are you trying to slyly give me money?”

“What?” His ears went crazy, their frondy tips fluttering against his hair. “No. What? I just—Lunch,” he finished lamely.

He was the worst liar in the world. And I wanted to hug him so, so bad. He looked so warm and inviting in his big, soft tent onesie, clutching his coffee cup like it was some kind of shield that would hide his terrible lying skills. His hair was mussed from sleep, and one of his thick white socks was slipping down his ankle.

His ex is an idiot, I thought as I turned back to the eggs.

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Chapter Eighteen

Beryl

“I’ll have my phone with me upstairs, so call me if you need anything,” Greid said anxiously as he watched me put on my boots and coat. “Like, if you get lost and want me to come meet you. I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” I said, keeping my head bent as I laced up my boots to hide my smile. He was so sweet.

Straightening up, I buttoned my coat and gave him a big grin. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” he croaked, shifting in place. “You’ll be fine. You’re—” His ears fluttered. “You’re brave, Beryl. You can do this, no problem. Just punch anyone who looks at you funny.”

I laughed, but my throat closed up from his sweet words. He thought I was brave? I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel like I’d done a single brave thing. Even when I’d left the cult, I’d had Greid as a safety net. I hadn’t truly done it alone, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to him.

The urge to hug him was near overwhelming. We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, my hands gripping my key and phone, and his stuffed in the big front pocket of his onesie. Quashing the intense desire to stay inside and bury myself against his tall frame, maybe get under that onesie with him, I cleared my throat and turned for the door.

“See you soon,” I said cheerfully, refusing to acknowledge the nerves swirling in my belly.

Why was I nervous? I did this every morning. The only difference was that I wouldn’t go straight to the coffee shop. But I just planned on walking around, looking in shop windows. This was easy. It shouldn’t feel so scary.

My shoulders relaxed a little as I began walking my familiar route toward the main street. I’d probably only be out an hour at the most, and then I could go home and read my book or maybe keep Greid company while he worked.

The street was even quieter than it had been when I’d gone to get coffee, so I walked slowly, looking in shop windows. This time, I walked right past Deep Brew and kept going, further than I’d walked before. I passed the nail salon I’d noticed on my first day here, as well as the fancy wine shop, which I paused outside of.

Could I work at a wine shop? I had expert knowledge of how wine was made, but I hadn’t ever drunk it. I did know all about the bullshit vintners used to describe their wines. Words like “robust” and “full-bodied”. I’d helped make that stuff up for the cult’s wine.

There wasn’t a vacancy sign in the window, but I found myself reaching for the handle and stepping inside. It was cool and dim in here, the walls covered floor-to-ceiling with stocked wine racks. It even smelled like wine, and I wrinkled my nose as I looked around.

“Can I… help you?”

The snooty, unimpressed voice made my shoulders stiffen as an older demiurgus stepped out from the back office, already giving me the stink eye over his wire-framed glasses. In that moment, I knew without a doubt that I didn’t want to work here, even if they were looking for someone.

Giving him a tight smile back, I shook my head and said, “No. Thanks,” then turned for the door.