The three of them enjoyed their tea, and for a time, everything seemed settled as they slipped into companionable silence.

Omri sighed, wondering whether Marnie would use any of the encounter as inspiration for her story. He decided to reread a few chapters, just in case he had missed something.

He had just finished examining the description of a murdered girl’s supposed crime scene, one that seemed far too clean, when he glanced up at the latest patron to enter the shop.

His spine tingled.

The hairs along his arms rose immediately.

This man was dangerous.

Dangerous.

Dangerous.

Omri instinctively sent Willow a questioning intent. Willow responded with calm reassurance, and Omri once again blamed Marnie’s story for leaving him unusually suspicious of anyone who looked remotely like a serial killer.

He studied the newcomer more closely.

There was an almost manic gleam in the man’s eyes, and his dark hair fell around his face in a disordered mass of waves. He was tall and lean, moving with the controlled, effortless agility of a dancer.

But it was his aura that had set Omri’s nerves on edge.

Acid-yellow gold spread over gunmetal, fractured by vivid streaks of arterial red.

He carried several objects that looked suspiciously like souvenirs, along with a bouquet of pink roses that Omri was finding increasingly difficult to trust.

Especially when the man spotted the three bonded at the table and broke into a sharp grin.

Only then did Omri notice the vivid pink bond mark buried within his aura.

The newcomer crossed the room and knelt beside the softer man, offering him the flowers.

“For you, Princess.”

The softer man accepted the bouquet and lifted it to his face, breathing in the scent.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.”

The newcomer flushed, his eyes filling with naked affection. He placed the rest of what he carried beneath the table, only to be caught by the hair and hauled upright by Summers.

“Thank you, Zealot prince.”

Zealot looked ecstatic.

“It was my pleasure, my king.”

Summers kissed him hard on the mouth before pulling him down to sit across his lap.

Zealot turned to Julia.

“Do we still have time, Pixie Queen?”

Julia sipped her tea and hummed thoughtfully.

“We do.”

Zealot turned to Princess.

“Princess, would you like to come and choose something from the knitwear shop across the street? The Brat Prince is having trouble deciding what to get you.”

Princess rose and placed the bouquet carefully on the table.

“I suppose I can help.”

Summers pulled a bag of what appeared to be chocolate-coated peanuts from his pocket and handed it to Zealot.

“Make sure you bring Hart straight back if anything happens,” he said, tightening his grip on the zealot’s hair.

The zealot’s cheeks flushed.

“Yes, my king.”

He stood and took Hart’s hand before leading him toward the door.

Summers watched Hart go. At the threshold, Hart glanced back and gave him a reassuring look before stepping outside.

Once they were gone, Julia lowered her voice.

“The tea seems to be working.”

Summers hummed in agreement.

“I’ll be sure to place a regular order before we return,” Julia said.

Summers raised one brow as she took another sip of her own tea.

“And for yourself as well?”

She hummed.

“Quentin was right. It is rather pleasant to drink.”

Summers appeared close to smiling.

Then he looked up.

His expression immediately tightened.

A couple had just taken a table across from them. A man in a suit was reviewing what appeared to be a legal document with the woman beside him.

Summers turned back to Julia, dragged a hand down his face, and muttered, “This place is cursed.”

Julia followed his gaze and studied the pair. Her attention settled on the man, then the document spread between them.

She raised one brow at Summers.

He gave a single confirming nod.

Julia began laughing into her cup.

Omri and the crows were already going to need weeks to unpack the gossip they had gathered that afternoon.

Apparently, the shop was not finished with them yet.

Willow walked past carrying a tray of tea. Omri caught the scent as they passed and watched curiously as they set it on the couple’s table.

He wondered why Willow had chosen a blend intended to encourage emotional honesty.

Then, after several sips, the man looked at the woman and said, “We should get divorced.”

She sighed.

“Really, Richard? You say that at least once a year. Then you apologise, tell me you were wrong, and ask to renew our vows again.”

“I mean it this time.”

She sighed again and gestured toward the document between them.

“And how are we supposed to divide the firm, hm? We’ve spent the past fifteen years building it, and now you suddenly want a divorce?”

Richard slid the document across the table.

“I’ve already planned most of it. I just need to go over the remaining details of the separation with you.”

She glanced down at the document.

“I’m not signing anything only for you to change your mind tomorrow. You do this all the time. What do you actually want? Do we need to go back to therapy? Do you want to get a pet? Take a holiday?”

Her expression tightened.

“Or is this another one of those crises you had when we separated before—the one you still refuse to talk about? What did you do during those eighteen months?”

Richard hesitated.

“I was working at the Birknum firm.”

“I know you were dismissed six months in for mishandling a case. What else did you do?”

He hesitated again, then let out a long breath.

“Honestly? I went to therapy.”

She frowned.

“For what?”

“Alcoholism.”

Her expression sharpened as she began recalculating everything she knew about him.

“You’ve been an alcoholic this entire time? Are those the meetings you refuse to tell me about?”

She huffed and shook her head.

“All right. So you’re a former alcoholic. So what?”

“It’s recurring,” Richard said quietly. “I’ve relapsed several times. My therapist says I need to address the underlying problem.”

He pointed toward the document.

“That’s why I need to leave.”

She stared at him.

Then her voice rose.

“I’m the reason?”

Richard immediately tried to calm her.

“No. No, you’re not. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

Suddenly, Summers began laughing into his tea.

A little too hard.

Richard looked over.

His face went pale.

Julia smiled at Summers and reached across the table to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His cheeks flushed slightly, and the tension began to leave his body.

He squeezed her hand in return and silently mouthed, I love you.

Julia’s own cheeks reddened as she smiled back.

The woman noticed where Richard was looking.

“Why can’t that be us?” she asked.

Richard answered before he could stop himself.

“Because I’m gay.”

Omri choked into his tea.

Cole looked as though he were having the time of his life.

Marnie was discreetly taking more notes, while the crows muttered among themselves overhead, utterly invested.

Summers, meanwhile, looked like a man who had just heard something he had already known.

Richard’s wife finally recovered.

She gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

“No, you’re not.”

Richard looked suddenly panicked, as though he had only just realised what he had said aloud.

“I—I…”

She fixed him with a pointed stare.

“Is this just another excuse? Tell me, Richard. Is it true?”

He looked trapped.

Summers released a deep, exhausted sigh.

“Go on, Dick. Tell her the truth for once.”

Richard went even paler.

Recognition slowly dawned across his face, and his lower lip began to tremble.

“A-Ashley?”

Summers folded his arms.

“Are you going to tell her, or should I?”

Richard appeared to stop breathing.

His wife looked between them.

So did the crows.

Omri and Cole were no better.

“Do you know this man?” she asked.

Richard swallowed.

“We… met in AA.”

She frowned.

Summers scoffed.

“And what else?”

Richard froze.

“We met in AA, and… we briefly may have lived together.”

Summers nodded slowly, then turned to Richard’s wife.

“He was my fucking boyfriend for a full year. We were planning to build a life together. Then he suddenly ghosted me.”

Richard stared down at the table.

“A month later, I saw photographs of your renewed wedding vows,” Summers continued. “Dated three days after I fucked his brains out.”

The entire shop went silent.

Summers leaned back in his chair.

“So, yes. He’s fucking gay, Chelsea. Divorce him. He isn’t worth the emotional effort.”

Chelsea had gone pale.

She turned to Richard, who was trembling visibly.

“I can explain,” he whispered. “I—”

She did not let him finish.

Without a word, she pulled the documents toward herself, took a pen from her purse, and signed them.

Then she slid the papers back across the table.

“Nice knowing you, Dick.”

Richard stared at the signature in stunned silence.

Chelsea rose and stepped over to Summers.

“Thank you for telling me.” She hesitated. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Summers gave her a short nod.

“I’m sorry too. You shouldn’t have had to put up with him for this long.”

A startled laugh escaped her.

Julia reached into her bag and handed Chelsea a business card.

“I can help you establish a new firm with a higher-value clientele,” she said. “Send me an email.”

Chelsea looked down at the card.

Her eyes widened.

“QJM Holdings? The sports and media conglomerate?”

Julia nodded.

“Yes. Please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Chelsea looked from the card to Julia.

A slow smile appeared.

“I think I will.”

She glanced between Julia and Summers.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Then she carefully tucked the card into her purse and closed it with a decisive click.

Without looking back, she walked out of the tea shop.

Richard remained slumped over the table, staring at the signed documents in shock.

Above him, the crows began to snicker.

Summers rolled his eyes and sighed.

Omri was utterly stunned.

He really wanted Marnie’s next novel now.

Summers and Julia seemed to relax again, their hands clasped above the table between the roses and half-finished cups of tea. Richard, meanwhile, occasionally flicked glances toward them as he sat slumped over the divorce papers, looking as though he were undergoing an existential crisis.