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I groaned and dropped my head to the counter. Jane chuckled and patted my back. When I looked up, she’d pulled out the little pink crystal-encrusted flask I kept for bridal emergencies and was waving it in front of my face. She flipped the cap open, and I could smell the alcohol fumes rolling over the lip.
I scowled at the little yellow crystal bee winking at me from the corner of the flask. “I don’t know if vodka is going to improve this situation.”
“Would it make you feel better if I mixed it into your coffee?” Jane asked sweetly.
Behind her, I heard Andrea whip out a little pocket digital recorder and murmur quietly, “Consider adding alcoholic coffee specials to the menu. Investigate licensing issues with the state.”
“OK, so if you won’t drink, you might as well spill,” Jolene said. “Jane’s gonna drag it out of you anyway. She has … evil ways.” She shuddered.
“Fine. I will admit it. I am spending time with a vampire. And sometimes he’s so funny and sweet … and, guh, sexy as hell. But then there are times when he just makes me so angry I could stake him out for the sun to handle. He makes all of these decisions for me, like I’m not even there!” I exclaimed in a tone that had Andrea and Jane sharing a look of amused recognition. “It’s like he thinks he can protect me from the whole world just by—what are you smiling at?”
Jane and Andrea snickered simultaneously. “OK, the mind-meld thing is becoming a little unnerving,” I complained.
Andrea gave me a smile that I hadn’t seen since my mother gave me the “birds and the bees and your changing body” lecture. “Welcome to life with a male vampire.”
“The most dangerous of all boyfriend species,” Jane intoned solemnly. “You’re being Nightengaled.”
“Most dangerous.” Jolene huffed and said something along the lines of, “Clearly, you never hung out with my pack.” Which didn’t make any sense.
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a client.”
Jolene pouted prettily. “But you are havin’ sex with him, right?”
I knocked a clay, acorn-shaped plaque from the bar, only to have Andrea pluck it from midair before it hit the ground. Vampire reflexes would be so handy to have.
I stammered, “Wh-why would you say that?”
Jane tsked. “You have that ‘I’m having the best sex of my life, but it leaves me emotionally conflicted’ look. We’re familiar with that look.”
“I lived that look for the first six weeks after Dick moved in,” Andrea said in a tone so candid that I expected to see a blush on her pale, undead cheeks.
“Until about two months before the wedding,” Jane said, raising her hand.
“Does it get any better?” I asked.
Jane grinned. “The sex?”
“No!” I exclaimed as Andrea cackled. “The emotional conflict. Pervert.”
Jane shrugged, pouring another cup of coffee for Jolene. “That depends on you and your friend. Honestly, it’s difficult having a relationship with a man who thinks he needs to leave you out of the loop to protect you and is generally unfazed by threats of murder. Trust me, I nearly lost Gabriel because of his pigheaded protectiveness. And there’s not much you can do, except refuse to put up with it. Fight back. If your friend is anything like Gabriel or Dick, he wants you to challenge him.”
“To a duel?” I asked.
“No, in the bedroom—and everywhere else. Stand up to him. Assert yourself. You’ll feel better about the relationship, and he’ll respect you more,” Andrea insisted. “One of the reasons Dick liked me was that I was the first girl to turn him down for anything since he was human.”>“I’m not one to say I told you so.” Jane sighed. “But I’ll sing it. I toooooold you soooooo!” She finished on one knee, fanning her fingers dramatically.
“The jazz hands are completely unnecessary,” I told her. “Especially since I am here as a customer. Do you have any books on plants and the supernatural?”
“First of all, jazz hands on a vampire are rare enough to be appreciated under any circumstances,” she said, popping up from her position at a speed that would have caused permanent damage in a human. “And yes, we have a whole section on gardening.” She led me to the front of the store, between an old rack of Tales from the Crypt comics and a large framed picture of Jane and Mr. Wainwright at the old counter. Jane had added several “family” photos in the last year, spread here and there throughout the shop with a careless touch, giving it a feeling of familiarity. There was a picture of Jane and her human best friend, Zeb, who also happened to be Jolene’s husband. Another showed Andrea and her husband, Dick Cheney, arguing over the espresso machine, which Andrea protected with the fierceness of an agitated mother bear. There was a group shot from Andrea’s annual “Ugly Christmas Sweater” Holiday Party. This one included Jane’s darkly handsome husband, Gabriel, who seemed less than thrilled to be sporting a sweater vest crawling with bell-wearing elves. Although she didn’t have much retail experience, Jane had an eye for setting up the sales space. Everything drew the customers in, made them feel connected and comfortable.
I felt a bit envious of their little family. They were perfectly welcoming anytime I saw them. But I didn’t have much time to spend with them. I didn’t have much time for friends. I’d never made the transition from pooling pizza and beer money with my roommates in the dorm to Girls’ Night Out and Sunday brunch. It was a sad, strange realization to know that a seventeen-year-old was your only real source of companionship.
What was I going to do when Gigi left for college? I would come home every night to an empty house. There would be no volleyball games, no last-minute rushing to buy supplies for procrastinated science-fair projects, no midnight pizza or dramatic reenactments of high-school soap operas. A bizarre hollow sensation had me gripping the nearby shelf for support.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Jane asked, nudging me gently.
I blew out a breath, nodding shakily. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
Jane grinned at me. “My kind of book shopper.”
