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Summary
"You're staring at me," Alice teased over the rim of her own cup.
"I'm not."
"You are. You've been staring since we sat down. Your wings are doing that thing."
Nicole's wings, which had been slowly, unconsciously extending behind her in the particular relaxed spread that only happened when she was deeply content and not managing it, pulled in sharply.
"They are not doing a thing."
"Darling," Alice said, and the wry armour was back, the morning voice, the smile sharpening at the edges, "your wings have never told a single lie in the entire time I've known you, and they are not about to start now."