Page 22 of Scars Like Wings

Movement on the other side of the counter made me lift my eyes from the buffet of my dreams. There, behind the stove, cooking up a storm still, was a nice-sized man-butt. The owner of the butt was tall and lean with olive skin. He had rich, thick hair that went past his neck. His neck, back, arms, and parts of his legs I could see were covered in patchworks of tattoos of everything, and his ears were pierced with hoops, studs, and even a crossbar with a long, delicate silver chain on one side. The Mystery Man hummed along to the music as he cooked, obviously enjoying making a feast to feed a football team twice over.

Covering my mouth with my hand, I failed to stifle my laughter enough. Mr. Cute Buns stopped his humming and sautéed even more pasta in a skillet, like a competitive television chef.

“I hope you had a nice shower, honeybun!” he exclaimed. “I also hope you meant what you said about being super hungry! I made plenty for you and your niece. By the way, do you know when she’s supposed to be home?—?”

He finally turned around to face me, and his jaw immediately dropped. The skillet almost slipped out of his hands, too.

Mr. Cute Buns was just as objectively handsome in the front as he was in the back. His chocolate boyish cut was so longthat it tickled his long eyelashes, making him blink frequently. His pale gray-green eyes were stark, stunning, and wide open in surprise. The Mystery Man was obviously naked, save for a long denim and leather apron covering his front. He was as covered in tattoos on every available surface as his back. I saw everything from a pair of axes on his neck to strange symbols I didn’t recognize.

He was young, but with supernaturals, that truly meant nothing. I could not tell what kind of supernatural he was. Sometimes, with a trained eye, you can tell, like with vampires who are scarily pretty or certain elementals who resembled their element. But this guy was a blank slate, meaning he could be anything from a witch to a rare kind of shifter or nothing at all. Although, considering the food in front of me, I’m sure he was something magical. Unfortunately, it was rude in supernatural circles to ask what people were—like asking a person of color where they were really from. No, like where theirparentswere from. This Mystery Man looked like a cool enough guy, the kind I would definitely joke around with, despite him maybe having centuries on me in age. He also looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place why or where I knew him. Currently, though, he was red as an apple.

We stared at each other for just a second longer before he cursed under his breath and started scrambling. A bright swirl of pale green sparkles and smoky tendrils took the skillet out of his hand and dumped the pasta into the last available empty plate on the counter. The same magic set the skillet on the stove and turned it off. With its tasks done, it vanished.

So, some kind of witch, then.

With his actual hand, he pulled his phone out from one of the apron’s pockets to pause the music. It was like a real-life record scratch as silence fell on us. I bit my lip to stop myself frombursting into laughter, but the chuckles trying to escape me still racked my body enough to make Din-din jump from my arms.

Mr. Cute Buns turned to face me again, wiping his hands down his apron. But, he managed a boyish smile. “H-hello there. I-I mean, g-good evening! Hi, gorgeous. Uhh, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fantastic. This hasmademy day.”

“Great! Uh, you’re Byrd, right? Eevee’s niece?”

I finally lost it. Through my laughter, I said, “Eevee? Like the Pokémon? That’s so stinkingcute.”

“I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that,” He chuckled while blushing. “He’s going to kill me now that I gave you that ammunition.”

“Trust me, he’s gonna want to killmeafter all the shit I’m about to give him,” I said as it finally clicked who he was. “Besides, he likes you too much to kill you.”

“He has talked about me with you?” His eyes twinkled.

I laughed again. Since we had moved in together when I was fifteen, Uncle Everett had become way more of my best friend than a parent—not that I could think of a time when that wasn’t the case. We gossiped, talked about our love lives, daydreamed about our futures, and binged trashy reality television for hours. There was nothing that was off-limits for us. So, of course, he had told me about Thompson several months ago when they started talking. But he had had a roster of men back then, the length of a basketball team’s starting lineup. Still, as time went on, the others couldn’t compete with Thompson, and he became the center of Everett’s dating attention. He was the only guy Everett would talk about, and when he did, there was this pull at his lips, this blush across his freckled cheeks, this way his eyes sparkled, this way his body language shifted that had never happened when he spoke about someone else before. As a hopeless romantic who read romance books and watched rom-coms like they were the air I needed to breathe,Iknew he wasfalling for him. Hell, he seemed to already be in love. Some growing part of him knew it, too. But in his typical Leo Sun way, Uncle Everett refused to admit that he could beThe One. Unlike lesbians, gays—especially old ones—moved at the speed of evolution in their relationships.

“Ah, so you must be the famous Thompson, huh? He has made me fall for you, and the pasta buffet has really cemented that we’re going to be the best of friends.”

As Thompson chuckled, I heard a door open and distinct footsteps pattering on the plank oak floors. Everett rounded the corner, drying his hair using a towel. Since I was a teen, he had gotten even more freckles all over his tanned complexion. Now he wore a sleeveless tank and a pair of sweatpants. His eagle wings were out with the feathers still wet from his shower as they peeked past his tank top. Usually, Everett hid his wings under his shirts using a glamor. But as soon as he got home, he released his wings to allow them to stretch out. Even though I was used to seeing Mr. Birdman, it was always crazy seeing his wings that could reach each end of the Great Room when stretched out.

“Teddy, babe, have you seen my phone? I didn’t realize how late it was, and Byrd is late as fuck. I’m starting to worry.”

“Aw, you do care!”

Uncle Everett moved the towel around his neck and took in my and Thompson’s current state. His face drained of color. “K-kiddo, how long have you been home for?”

“Long enough,Eevee,” I teased, winking Thompson’s way. “Work ran late, and the girls invited me to a party tonight. Of course, you would know that if you hadn’t lost yourphone.”

“Sorry! I must have lost it in the couch or something earlier while Teddy and I were…” He shrugged at a loss for words, glancing back at Thompson. Finally, he settled on one. “Busy.”

There was that word again. Looking at Thompson and his partial nudity, it all clicked at once. “Oh my gods, have y’all been fuckingall day?”

“Byrd—”

“Holy shit, y’all have! I don’t know whether to be impressed, jealous, or kinda grossed out.”

“Byrd.”

“You would never know you two got down and dirty by the look of the penthouse. What did y’all do? Missionary the whole time? Did y’all just stay in the bedroom?”

“Honey, please.” Thompson snorted despite his red face. “I have way too much magic and religious and homophobic trauma to be thatvanillaforthatlong.”