Page 44 of Fang Fatale

"Mmm."

She stands.

"I'm sure they need rotating again."

Before I can question her suspiciously convenient memory, she disappears inside.

I turn.

Alaric Grimhaven is walking toward the bakery.

Hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

A newspaper beneath one arm.

He looks like he's spent the morning arguing with himself and lost.

Barnaby notices him too.

He lifts his head, gives one token growl...

...then decides the effort isn't worth it.

I brush flour from my jeans.

It doesn't help.

When Alaric reaches the sidewalk, he stops just short of the steps, looking oddly uncomfortable.

Like someone who's shown up for jury duty only to realize he might be in the wrong courthouse.

"Morning."

"You've started greeting people before coffee?"

"It's almost noon."

I squint at the sun.

"Time is a colonial fiction."

He blinks.

"I thought vampires slept all day."

"I'm not that kind of vampire."

"What kind are you?"

"The kind who requires strong coffee."

I hold the door open.

"Black? No sugar? Extra existential dread?"

"You know me disturbingly well already."

He leans against the counter while I pour two coffees.