Page 50 of Of Magic and Murder

“Because clothes don’t come back from a shift. You know that. Besides, nudity isn’t a big deal in shifter culture. I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

Yeah? Well, it is when you’re a witch.

“Sorry, Riordan, but I do mind. So shift again,” I tell him. “I’d rather deal with you in your fur than without any clothes on.”

Another bout of laughter, huskier this time. “That’s a shame, witch. But if that’s how you feel… I didn’t walk over to the bakery in my fur. I had clothes on. I took them off to shift. You want me to change back into them instead? That way we can talk and you won’t accidentally forget I’m not a murderer and bash me in the head with a rolling pin.”

I jerk my gaze toward the ceiling, determined not to give in to the urge and look at him again. “Where are your clothes?”

“In the pantry.”

That answer makes it harder to resist. “Why are your clothes in Honey’s pantry?”

“I always put them neatly in a bag for when I need them again. I don’t want them ruined for when I have to leave in the morning before I come and pick you up.”

Why does the way he says that make me think this isn’t the first time he’s let himself into the bakery to… to…

Come to think of it, I have no idea what he’s doing here or how he even got in!

Before I can ask, I hear bare feet padding across the kitchen. A pantry door opens. There’s the rustle of plastic, then fabric, and I stare determinedly at a one of the commercial refrigerators on Honey’s wall until Riordan tells me with an amused tone that it’s safe for me to turn around.

When I do, he’s wearing slacks. That’s all. No shirt.

That is not as helpful as he thinks it is, and because I can sense he’s trying to get a reaction out of me—or maybe trying to distract me enough that I lose all train of thought which… fair—I refuse to let him.

Perching my hands on my hips, perfectly aware that I’m wearing a loose sleep shirt and a pair of sleep shorts that his slight smirk tells me he approves of, I demand, “How did you get in here?”

“I might’ve borrowed Max’s emergency key Honey gave him so he can get into the bakery without her. It only works on the front door. I couldn’t get upstairs, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That’s the least of my worries, though it probably shouldn’t be.

Because I trusted the locks downstairs, I never locked the door that connects the upstairs apartment and the first floor. I’m only borrowing the apartment for a little longer. I didn’t want Honey to feel like she wasn’t welcome to come upstairs if she needed to, and since she respected my privacy when the bedroom door is closed, we’ve never had a problem.

Even Gus would wait patiently out in the hall for me to come out and join them downstairs if he wanted my company, though that’s more because he can’t open my door on his own than because he has any sense of personal space.

I purse my lips. “Why are you here?”

Riordan looks confused. “I told you.”

What?

“No. No. You definitely did not tell me you were planning to break into the bakery and sleep naked in Honey’s kitchen.”

“I wasn’t sleeping naked,” he argues. “I was patrolling in my fur because I’m more attuned to danger when I’m my wolf. You’re the one who looked like you were going to murder me, and since I’m doing all of this so no one murders you, I figured I should shift and speak to you instead of continuing to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me!”

He snorts. He doesn’t call me a liar, but he doesn’t have to.

I roll my eyes. “Okay. Maybe I was a little scared when I heard someone down here.”

“Well, you don’t have to be. It was just me.”

“I don’t think you understand that that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Why?” asks Riordan. “I told you I wasn’t leaving your side until the murderer was caught.”

Oh.