Silver Dragon (Silver Shifters 1)

Did serial killers make sure there was a safety backup, and treat you with fresh scones? she thought as she held up her own bag.

Mikhail laughed. “Which ones did you choose?”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” she said, that brief flurry of worry vanishing. “So I got four different ones.”

“I did the same!” Mikhail replied.

She had to laugh. Was that why Linette was giving her that significant grin? Her crush must have been really obvious to the book group. Well, Bird was not the least bit sorry, right now, when he was smiling at her that way.

He opened his bag, the heavenly scent of fresh pastry wafting out. “Shall we combine our haul and have a feast as we walk? I can share out the tea.”

Mikhail reached into his gear bag and pulled out one of Linette’s paper sacks, along with a thermos. He had also brought two porcelain cups, into which he poured a delicately tinted tea that filled the air with a fresh scent.

Bird sniffed, and exclaimed with growing pleasure, “That smells like Dragon Well tea!”

“Longjing, is what we call it. My hotel room offers a microwave, which boils water well. Do you know this tea?”

“It’s one of my favorites,” she said, taking the cup he handed her. Their fingers touched briefly, and once again those sparkly butterflies shot straight to her core.

His smile flashed. “You are fond of tea?”

“It’s my one indulgence, good tea. Dragon Well—I never knew how to pronounce its name in Chinese.”

“Long. Jing,” he said slowly, emphasizing the tone, and she repeated it exactly.

“Long Jing. Long Jing,” she repeated with the correct tone.

Both of them had bought blueberry scones and Linette’s famous cinnamon rolls, which made them laugh. They talked easily about pastry favorites as he broke a lemon bar in half, sharing it with her, and she split the cheese Danish that she’d brought.

They walked side by side, munching still-warm pastries and sipping the fresh, astringent tea, which balanced perfectly with the sweetness of the food. His bringing tea and pastry was such a thoughtful gesture her throat tightened. She wasn’t used to that kind of consideration, ever. Food and caretaking had been her jobs during her marriage.

It occurred to her that she was absurdly, even dangerously happy. Dangerous only because those sensible, adult what ifs insisted on reminding her how horrible she would feel when this job finished, and he went back to whatever he did.

So enjoy it while you can, silly, she admonished her adult self.

She told him her favorite green teas, then asked for his.

“My family is involved in the business of exporting teas. I grew up drinking a variety of them.” He told her the names in Chinese. How beautiful they sounded when spoken in their proper accent! Then he gave her a glance of concern. “I trust your daughter did not have an emergency? Please feel free to tell me that it’s none of my business.”

“No, no. That is, I don’t really know Bec that well.” She stopped herself there, and finished a last bite of scone. The buttery goodness filled her mouth with warmth.

Rip the band aid off, she thought recklessly. The sooner she made a mistake the better, if he was going to vanish soon anyway. “Bec only came back into my life recently.”

“Was that separation something you wanted?” Mikhail asked gently.

“No.” It came out in a rush of breath. “No. It wasn’t. Not to get into a dreary story, but I lost custody in my divorce.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Mikhail said gravely, his eyes suddenly a thunderstorm gray, the pupils reflecting the sun rising behind them.

He looked angry—even a little frightening—but she was not frightened, she realized, as the force of his gaze shot into the distance. There was an inexplicable but deep conviction that he was not angry with her. She stared at those mesmerizing eyes, the bag of pastry forgotten in her hand until he said, “I am not very conversant with the laws in this country, but are parents not permitted visitation rights?”

“I was given two Saturdays a month, and Christmas and birthdays every other year. But somehow I was always too late, or came on the wrong day, or I’d forgotten that we’d changed the schedule weeks ago. I . . . well, I was so depressed that I went on medication, and in those days what they gave you didn’t do much but mask the pain a little. I got so confused, and I did everything wrong and I couldn’t seem to stop it...” Bird broke off. “But it wasn’t really me. Have you ever heard the word ‘gaslighting?’”

“I know the term.” His voice was soft, low, husky, almost a growl. “It is when some cruel person deliberately makes you believe that everything is your fault or your mistake or your false belief, until you think you are going mad.”

Bird nodded, trying not to choke up. She hadn’t even told him the worst part, but he already sounded like he understood. “My ex-husband didn’t want me in my children’s lives. So he gaslighted me into thinking that I had forgotten the date, or had arrived at the wrong time, or there was some crucial school event scheduled, and I didn’t want be selfish and force them to miss it, did I? Always reminding me that I had failed so badly as a wife and a mother that the children didn’t want or need me. After two years of that, I only managed to see them twice, and both times they arrived having been told that my insistence on seeing them had robbed them of a trip to Disneyland or Knotts Berry Farm. Finally, I gave up. I thought I was only hurting them to keep trying.”

She added hastily, “I don’t want you to think he’s a monster. He made sure they went to the best schools, had the best lessons, and so forth. And though his parents never cared for me, they did seem to care about the children. They took them on expensive vacations that I could never have given them.”