#I'M PERCEIVING YOU KAZ B)))c AND I'M ROOTING FOR YOU!!

[howthesleeplesswander]

"Oh!" The observation caught her by surprise, even though it shouldn't have. Of course he hadn't seen her paintings—Kaz had only ever been inside the shop, and there was hardly space to hang them among the displays and merchandise. "It is nothing much; I am far from a professional," she confessed. "It is simply something I like to do in my free time. But it is rather helpful for situations like this, when bringing sample arrangements would be especially cumbersome."

Naturally then, thinking of the artist's renditions she'd brought as an alternative made her realize their helpfulness in this situation, as well!

She withdrew those pocket-sized paintings and carefully unfolded the stack: three in total, each bearing a watercolor version of one of the arrangement designs. Writing littered each page, from labels beside the different types of flowers, to pricing estimates at the bottom for various sizes. "They are not quite the same—I usually do not write on them, of course, and it is different on paper than on canvas—but I do have these, if you would like to see."

But just as she was about to offer them, Spring's pace faltered moments after her companion's. Shock once again painted her face. And if a bit of that pink tinge still lingered? Well, there was nothing she could do about that. "Really? Are you sure?" It was her own fault for not considering this consequence; the last thing she wanted was for her problems to become Kaz's problems, too. He may have "been in the neighborhood" this time, but every time? She couldn't see any way for that not to become burdensome.

"It is very kind of you to offer, but you do not have to do that..." Then again, if this deal did go through, she'd likely have to hire bodyguards anyway; wouldn't it be better to give that money to someone she already trusted? "Though, I would certainly pay you for the trouble!"

Her fingers toyed with the edges of the papers she held, fluttering the stack around in a dismissive gesture. "A-and besides, this is all theoretical. I do not know if Felix will even like my designs. I have only spoken to the man once; I did my best to adhere to his specifications, of course, but I cannot claim to know his tastes."

What would come as no surprise to anyone was that Kaz Brekker didn’t give a damn about flower arrangements.

He cared about the whys, perhaps. He cared about Felix’s business ventures, how he was spending his money, the extra expenses required to hire an expert who could manage the upkeep of said arrangements when they were more than just one breed—especially in a hole like Ketterdam; cold, wet, miserable. He cared about what this meant for White Rose’s finances, whether they’d recently acquired a wealthy new investor: who, what, why, when— Basically, Kaz cared about absolutely everything surrounding the flowers, but never the flowers themselves.

At least . . . that was how things typically went. But Spring had always been different for more reasons than just her clearly being a fish out of water in these crowded, dangerous streets.

As she spoke of her preparations for this meeting, he found himself temporarily lost in her voice—not so much the words it carried, but the pleasant ring of her tone, the way passion burned behind every syllable. He appreciated this about her. She adored what she’d chosen for her life, something so simple yet so important. Each time Kaz was in her presence, the atmosphere always seemed lighter, like he was breathing fresh, countryside air for the first time in years— Because she was different. She would always be different. There wasn’t a greedy bone in her body, a rare innocence still flickering in her core, and at some point since he’d met her, Kaz unconsciously decided he wanted to preserve it.

Which meant, really, he should be keeping his distance, but— He was just a man. Or the crooked, tattered remains of one. No matter what the Barrel had done to him, no matter the armor he’d built for himself through the name he carried, no matter what everyone else thought . . .

He was just . . .

“I’ve never seen your paintings.” I want to see your paintings. But he didn’t say that, of course. And he didn’t elaborate any further beyond that observation, falling silent again as he led her down the streets. He surprised himself by the route he’d chosen to take: a longer path than was necessary, a detour through the winding passages that lengthened the time to reach their destination. It was, nevertheless, time he’d take advantage of, especially when she had the audacity to think of herself as a bother.

“You won’t be of any use to Felix if you’re a trembling mess by the time you reach him,” Kaz said, having noted that her demeanor relaxed considerably since he’d joined her side—ironically. (He didn’t let himself exercise the idea that it could mean anything but the simple fact that she was in the company of a man who knew these streets better than most.) “I was in the neighborhood.” And he smirked rather wryly at that . . . something that lingered a touch longer than usual—before she admitted her likely need to keep returning.

Selfishly, the prospect almost excited him. Realistically . . .

That smile thinned to a thoughtful, stern line. His pace slowed for a moment, rhythmic clack of his cane stuttering on his latest step while he adjusted his grip. “If that ends up being the case”—Kaz shot her a meaningful look—“I’ll make sure you have nothing to worry about.” Again, he didn’t feel the need to elaborate, but his mouth had a plan of its own, and on a somewhat fumbling breath, “The Dregs can protect you.”