I swallow, throat dry. “I didn’t realize I was allowed out in the Manor this late. We sure this is a good idea?”
He raises an unamused eyebrow. “It most definitely isn’t. But I’ll make sure the house doesn’t bother us.”
“Right. The only things dangerous here are the books.”
“Did you remember to eat lunch, Ms. Frost? Your sarcasm has teeth tonight.”
“Are we going to have one of those fun little arguments again?” I run self-conscious hands over my dress, waist to my hips.
His eyes flick down for the briefest second. “Only if you ask nicely.”
The tiniest bit of tension dissipates. This feels more like familiar territory. I fall into step beside him and we head for the kitchen.
“So, a cell phone. Miss me that much?”
“Lazlo did.” His eyes stay firmly forward as we walk, elbow to elbow but never touching. The farmhouse is suspiciously calm, no mazelike hallways or missing doorways. “How is your mother?”
“Next topic, please.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “I procured a phone because I regretted how we left things before you went to visit her.”
“Well, forgiveness depends on what you made for dinner. Redemption depends on the quality of someone’s seasoning.”
“Actually, I have a small surprise.”
“Did you… order takeout?”
The surprise is waiting for us in the kitchen, dressed as a tiny maître d’. White bow tie and arm napkin included.
I stifle a pleased chortle when Lazlo bows for us.
“Lazlo made dinner tonight,” says the Warlock. “He insisted on serving us in his new restaurant, formerly known as the kitchen.”
The boy clucks, chin in the air. “Sorry, we’re full. Do you have areservation?”
“Nine o’clock,” the Warlock says. “Two people.” He adds it like an afterthought, like it’s been a minute since he’s requested dinner for an even number.
The boy consults his seating booklet (palm). That Sharpie isn’t coming off anytime soon. “Hmm. We’re very busy. Wait! I see you. Right this way.” He leads us to the kitchen table, which someone has dressed with a white linen tablecloth. A pot of fresh basil rests between two place settings, a centerpiece of herbs instead of flowers. Fitting.
But, coming from the Warlock, a bouquet of herbs seems way more intimate than flowers.
My gut squeezes.Definitelynot Just Dinner.
I take my seat across from the Warlock as Lazlo says, “The specials are a tomato and beet salad, mac and cheese, and Southern shakshuka. And that’s all we have so you better order it.”
He speeds off to the fridge.
“Ten out of ten surprise,” I say, and mean it.
The Warlock meets my gaze across the table.Ourtable. “Don’t fret, I’m in charge of anything sharp or fire related. Also, Ms. Zeen is nearby with a fire extinguisher.” His voice lowers. “But I’m supposed to deny everything if anyone asks.”
Lazlo returns with the beverage program: two frosty glass bottles of Cheerwine. But seeing my mom’s favorite drink doesn’t ruin my good mood tonight. I just think of her and smile. The Warlock gives the boy a nod of appreciation.
As serious as I can, I say, “Mr. Knight, how do the specials sound to you?”
“We came all this way, we have to try them.”
Lazlo dashes away, pleased. With the smells coming from the kitchen, my pulse is quick, giddy.
