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“Friend zone,” Fred says while shaking his head. Dangerous move with a zombie considering it could pop right off. “Anyone with half a brain can see that’s exactly where you’re headed.” His head starts to fall to the side, and instinctively I reach out and set it back in place. I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like it’s doing anything for him.
“Interesting choice of words,” I reply with a hint of frustration. Fred’s lucky he’s my best friend. Anyone else would get a real piece of my mind if they spoke to me that way.
Actually, he’d probably like that.
“I’m just saying!” Fred throws his arms in the air with enough momentum to send the left one flying right into my chest. “You're bending over backwards for this woman who obviously doesn’t like being here,” he continues, like nothing happened. I pop his arm back into his socket and take a step back.
“You’ve barely spoken to her. What makes you think you know her better than me?”
“Listen to me,” Fred says while pointing at his ear. “You always do this. Pretty girl strolls into town, you do everything you can to charm her enough to get her into bed, but the moment there’s even a hint of attachment she flies out of here.”
“Hey, that was one time. And Alyssa made it clear she was only visiting on her way to her new coven.”
“Fine. Flies, runs, swims, whatever. They leave you heartbroken, and I’m the one who has to help you pick up the pieces,” Fred says as his nose falls off his face.
I roll my eyes before picking it up for him.
“Point being, what makes Gabriella different from all the others?” Fred asks while fixing his nose back in place. “There’s nothing wrong with being friends with her, but if you want something serious to start, you need to be more assertive. Have you tried biting her? That usually works for me.”
“No offense, Fred, but the day I start taking romantic advice from a dead guy is the day I’ve completely given up.” Still, I have to admit Fred’s words have gotten into my head. Gabriella and I are getting to be pretty good friends. There’s no denying she trusts me and relies on me more than anyone else in town. And the physical intimacy between us has been stellar.
But when it comes to emotional intimacy, I still feel like we’re talking on different sides of a cracked open door.
“You’re over the moon for her,” Fred says. “But does she feel the same way for you?”
Fred is the town idiot, literally lacking any brains, but sometimes he accidentally says exactly the right thing to get my own gears spinning. Idolike Gabriella. I like her a lot. I find myself looking forward to her calling me up, asking for help with installing a light fixture or repairing a wobbly table.
Even if the rest of the town isn’t too keen on the way she’s ‘improved’ the cafe. Even I’m not exactly thrilled with just how much pink dominates the dining room walls. It’s bright enough to burn your retinas.
Still, I’m happy to put up with it if it means spending more time with her. But would she do the same for me? I decide it’s time to find out. I wave goodbye to Fred as she shambles off to his shift. Gabriella’s place isn’t far from here, so getting this over with is a no-brainer.
Walking into Gabriella’s cafe is an assault on the senses, both good and bad. I’m immediately greeted by the warm scent of blueberry scones and fresh coffee. There’s notes of chocolate, hazelnut, cinnamon, and nutmeg too. Somewhere in there is a little vanilla, and the vaguest hint of lemon zest. I idly wonder if other folks can really take in the lovely aroma as strongly as I do. Sometimes I forget just how strong my sense of smell is compared to everyone else.
But while the place excels in delicious aromas, it loses in visual appeal. Gabriella has really done a number on this place. A shame, too. Her grandmother really had her finger on the pulse of this town. The womangotus, even if she wasn’t exactly like us. Maybe Gabriella will stick around long enough to feel the same way.
She looks up from behind the counter where she’s been wiping down menus adorned with pastel floral patterns printed on the back. “Hey,” I say with a wave. The place is empty, which isn’t unusual for this time of the day. Still, the baked goods display case and coffee pots all look full. Must be a slow day in general. I need to approach this carefully, then, if she’s not in the best mood.
“What can I do for you today?” Gabriella asks brightly.
“Just thought I’d swing by, see if there’s any new disasters you could use a hand with.”
Gabriella’s mouth quickly opens, like she has something she wants to say. But she closes it, then taps her finger on the counter a few times before shaking her head. “Nope,” she says with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “All good here.”
“Really?” I ask, not believing her or the subtle scent of old smoke I’m picking up from the kitchen. Seems something broke down earlier.
Gabriella nods again. “I’ve got it all under control.”
“Right.” I frown slightly. There goes that excuse to connect. Time to go for the big guns. “In that case, how would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Uh, an early dinner, of course.” The last time I tried to enjoy a meal after sunset, the owner got more than a little heated about a dog sitting in the dining room.
Gabriella’s eyes flicker down to her menus. Her expression is hard. “No, sorry,” she sighs. “Finances aren’t looking so great right now. I can’t really afford to eat more than my own leftover muffins.”
I cringe at the thought of living exclusively off stale pastries. Even more so that she doesn’t seem to understand what I’m implying with my invitation. “I was thinking it could be my treat, actually.”
“Oh.” Gabriella’s cheeks go red, and I take that as a sign that Fred was completely off-base. Unfortunately, she follows it up with the worst letdown possible. “I appreciate it, really, but I uh… have to... wash my laundry tonight. And my hair. And all these dishes.” She gestures at a completely empty sink. Gabriella scrunches her eyes closed and shakes her head. “I mean, I have a lot of chores to catch up on. But thank you.”
I stand there a moment, stunned at how terribly I was just turned down. A polite ‘no’ would’ve been better than that. “Okay,” I say anyway, and point at a pastry at random. “I’ll take one of those, then.”
The air lightens as Gabriella lets out a breath she seemed to be holding in unknowingly. “Great,” she says. “I found this recipe in my grandma’s collection. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to get culinary grade frog warts, though, so I used raisins instead.”
