Page 63 of Night Shift

He looks exactly as he did the first night he walked into Ghoulish Grinds—dark coat, impossible eyes, expression carefully composed.

Except now I know him.

And he looks terrified.

“You’re late,” I say.

His brow furrows.

“I am precisely on time.”

“I know. I wanted to see if you’d argue.”

He closes the door behind him.

His gaze finds the coffee waiting at his table.

Then the scone.

Then me.

“You came back,” he says.

My heart squeezes.

“I told you I would.”

He crosses the café slowly, as though any sudden movement might break whatever spell has allowed him to find me here.

“I was not certain you would still want me.”

“I know.”

“I behaved very badly.”

“That is an impressive understatement.”

“I endangered the natural order.”

“You also nearly drowned Petra.”

“She cannot drown.”

“Erebus.”

“I know. Not helpful.”

I smile.

He stops in front of me.

His hands remain at his sides.

He doesn't reach.

Doesn't assume.

Doesn't take.