Page 34 of Of Magic and Murder

“It’s thin,” I tell him, “and it’s excellent sun protection.” I smile brightly, hoping that’s enough to cover up my sudden rush of anxiety. “Witches have a tendency to burn, you know. We don’t care for it. I promise, I’ll be fine.”

It’s not a fib. None of it, and I have to be careful because, like Max, Riordan’s wolf is a dominant alpha. One perk of that classification is that he can somehow know when someone is lying to him.

Is there another reason why I wear long sleeves and long skirts or pants that cover up most of my skin? Of course. Does Riordan need to know that?

Not even a little.

I stay quiet. His gaze drops down again, only this time he lets my outfit of choice pass. Instead, his attention is snagged on the brown bag in my right hand.

“What’s that?”

“Donuts,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t have time to make breakfast so Honey packed a couple in a bag for me.”

He sticks his thumbs in the belt loops on his slacks. “Does she do that a lot? Feed you?”

Look at that. Riordan has a bit of a teasing side. I never would’ve guessed it.

It’s a shifter thing, and something that Riordan would be more than aware of. In their culture, they use food to show how much they care for someone. It says that they love them, that they’ll provide for them, and that they’ll want for nothing if they’re around. Shifters exist on their stomachs. The funny thing, though, is that I’m not a shifter. Honey isn’t trying to proposition me by giving me donuts on the house. She’s just a sweetheart, and she can guess that I’ll be too nervous to eat while I’m around Riordan. It’s her way of saying: try.

But if Riordan is teasing me, maybe I should tease back.

“Don’t worry. Max knows all about it.”

“He does?” His eyebrows draw together. “My brother hasn’t fed you, has he?”

I shake my head, going along with his act. “Not yet. But I know you went and had dinner with him and Honey. I hope you had a great time and you did what you had to do yesterday.”

Now he’s frowning. For a second, I don’t think he heard what I said, but then he clears his throat. “It was necessary. I had a lot I needed to check out. I’ve never been away from home that long, and I’ll never leave again if I have my way. But it meant I had a lot on my plate.” He scowls at the bag. “And they weren’t donuts.”

Okay. That was weird.

Time for a subject change.

“Well, you’re here now. I guess that means you’re ready to start…” Whatever? I’m not in law enforcement. I have no idea what we’re going to do first, but before he can supply an answer, the door between the kitchen and the front of the bakery pushes open.

Gus comes scampering into the kitchen, running right over to Riordan. A moment later, the door catches before it closes and Honey pushes it out, an apologetic grimace on her face.

“Sorry about that. I tried to explain to Gus that he has to stay with me here, but he’s determined.”

Gus shakes his head, making the badge on his collar catch the fluorescent light overhead, the brightness reflecting off the old tin star.

Honey bites the corner of her mouth, hiding her smile. “I forgot. He’s Deputy Gus now. And he seems to think that means he belongs on the investigation.”

Riordan looks at the opossum.

Gus looks right back up at the wolf shifter.

Riordan turns to me. “What do you say, Pen?”

I say that, everytime he rumbles the shortened version of my name, I almost forget how to breathe for a second. “I don’t mind. If Gus wants to come, that’s okay with me.”

Riordan pats his shoulder. “Come on up, Gus. But remember: don’t shit on the silk. And try not to snag your claws in the material if you can help it. This shirt cost more than a hundred bucks.”

“And you have a closet full of them in every color,” teases Honey as Gus starts to climb Riordan’s muscular leg like he’s a tree.

“When a male finds a style he likes, there’s no reason to deviate. Just like how I prefer my silk shirts and my slacks and your mate would rather wear the same jeans three days in a row.”

“He washes them!”