Chomp

“We have another strawberry cheesecake order—birthday style!” I chimed happily to the large kitchen.

Adrian stood by the large wooden table, covered in flour and icing sugar. He looked up from icing some lemon tarts.

“Another one?” he asked incredulously. “Is June Birthday-Month for everyone? That’s the twelfth one we’ve had this month.”

Adjusting my apron, I shrugged. “Well it makes sense, if you think about it,” I said, smirking. “Valentine’s Day was nine months ago, after all.”

A flush crept across Adrian’s face as he looked back down to the tarts. “That does make a lot of sense,” he whispered, the tips of his ears reddening. I snickered. If he didn’t have a daughter, I would have sworn he was a virgin.

I shuffled back to my spot at the register. It wasn’t the most riveting work; after what happened with the French Toast, it was a safe bet that I wasn’t going to make the desserts any time soon. But it was pretty nice of Adrian to allow me to help out at the storefront.

After all, the Organization still refused to acknowledge that I was wrongfully discharged.

Adrian was doing me a larger favour than he knew. Days without work were long and boring; I didn’t know what to do with all the extra time. The apartment had been cleaned too much—I found out that could be a thing within the first month—so much so that the sealant on our floors and counters had worn down significantly.

Darius had barely been home since the wedding—or, if you asked him, ’the night where the Organization was set back.’ My curiosity had grown significantly since he kept dodging my questions about what exactly had been stolen, but he refused to comment.

“Organization business only,” he had replied, rubbing his tired eyes. “I could get into a whole new meaning of trouble if I told you. I’m just glad you understand how important this is.”

And to a point, I supposed I did understand.

Regardless of my own personal feelings, what Darius was doing was important. The number of raids on vampire houses had increased drastically, filling the jails to the brim with the bastards. God only knows why they opted out of killing them. Countless businesses chose to install the blood testers on their doors for added safety; the last thing anyone needed was a vampire having access to a lot of people in one area.

My first week working with Adrian, I had inquired as to whether or not he wanted me to pick one up for the bakery. After all, the Organization had several that they gave away to the public for free, and it would be a good way to keep customers, and ourselves, safe.

“I think we’ll be fine,” he had answered, smiling softly. “To be honest… As long as no one gets hurt, I couldn’t care less who buys coffee or pastries.”

His answer had caught me off-guard.

After all, vampires were dangerous. Obviously, if it came down to it, I would be able to protect him and Izzie from them if anything happened. But it still made me wonder how Adrian could be so carefree—so careless—especially if he had a daughter. Izzie hadn’t been around much since I started working, or even at all, but I still felt a little responsible for the little girl.

“But what if one of them attacks?” I persisted, holding the cooling fan to some of the apple phyllo strudels. It took all the willpower I had to not grab them all and stuff them in my mouth.

Again.

Adrian dropped me a look from over the top of his glasses. “Not that that would ever happen,” he began, frowning, “But if it did, I would politely ask them to leave.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re too polite.”

“I get that a lot, actually,” he murmured, cocking an eyebrow. “Guess it’s the Canadian.”

His words gave me pause, ringing something within me, but I couldn’t explain why. Shrugging, I picked up a pastry to test its heat. “Canadian or not, I doubt a vampire would be very threatened by some sweet string-bean guy whispering, ’Umm, excuse me… I hate to bother you, but… Do you mind not eating my customers? Thank you so much!’”

“Hey—I’ll have you know, when it comes to the safety of my customers, I am not sweet,” Adrian explained, walking over to me. He plucked the strudel from my hands and placed it back down onto the wax paper. “And they’re not ready; you can’t eat them yet.”

“I wasn’t gonna!” I whined.

“Just like you ’wasn’t gonna’ last week?” he asked, smirking.

“Great grammar there, buddy. But shut up.”

“Shut up?”

“Shut up.”

When I got home, I threw my apron and clothes into the washing machine before jumping into the shower. Despite enjoying the time I spent there, the fact that flour crept its way into every crevice of my body was still a little mysterious.

Humming, I waited for the water to heat up—maybe it was a bad idea to run the washer first—before I heard a knock at the door.

I unclipped my hair, letting it fall down to my shoulders, dusting them in flour, before answering. “Mhm?”

Darius opened the door suddenly, practically bursting through the doorframe. He glanced around the bathroom frantically before settling on my face. “Who else was in here?” he asked suspiciously. His eyes darted down to my bare body before glancing back up to my eyes.

“No one…?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I mean, I was humming but I’m not showering with the neighbour or anything. She’s like eighty years old.”

Darius frowned, his eyes narrowed.

“Hey,” I said softly, pushing my naked body against his suited one, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Haven’t seen you in a while, stranger. Wanna join me? I won’t even tell the old lady down the hall.”

I winked before pressing my lips gently against his neck, pulling him closer. He kissed the top of my head.

“I can’t,” he murmured softly into my hair. Was it weird that I liked that? “We have a meeting tonight, unfortunately. Just came in here to say hello and—”

“And to see me naked, right?”

“Yes,” Darius smirked. “Of course. Also to tell you that I picked up some dinner for you. Even bought you some dessert.”

I perked up and pulled away from him slightly. “Really?”

His blue eyes twinkled devilishly. “If I remember correctly, someone really likes sweets. Though if I know you, you won’t do the adult thing and eat the pakora first.”

I shrugged. “What happens to the food when you’re not here—more specifically, what order I eat it in—is none of your business,” I announced playfully, placing my hands on my hips.

“Though I suspect real food will be a much-needed change of pace from pastries,” Darius added, looking me over.

Scoffing, I did my very best to look offended. “Are you calling me fat, sir? Why, I never!” “Not at all,” he replied stiffly, avoiding my gaze. “Just that Pastry-Boy there could learn to make actual food to give you.”

I stared at him, unsure of what he was trying to get it. “He certainly gives me more appropriate lunch items than the Organization did; they paid me, and I still had to bring my own food,” I replied slowly, cocking an eyebrow. “But what does that matter to you?”

“Nothing. Just… Please eat some dinner.”

With that, Darius turned on his heel and exited the bathroom, leaving me to stare dumbfounded after him.

I wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into him; the attitude had certainly come from his ass, and it wasn’t even well-founded. Adrian made sure I was fed, either before or after my shift—something rarely heard of for an employer.

But regardless of how Darius felt about the situation, I was glad that he dropped dinner off for me every night after our little discussion. It started with the pakoras, but he changed it up every night: fried dumplings, barbecued chicken and corn on the cob, deep-fried macaroni and cheese balls, gigantic club sandwiches. Weeks of fantastic food just showing up on my counter or in my fridge.

The only downside was the desserts that Darius chose.

Though they were good, the chocolate cake didn’t seem to be quite moist enough, the scones lacked a little bit of oomph, and the churros seemed to be missing the proper amount of cinnamon on them. For whatever reason, they never tasted the same or as good as I would have liked.

Or maybe I had just acquired a different level of taste for desserts.

“You seemed a little off today. Everything okay?”

I looked over at Adrian. He stood by the largest book shelf, his one hand filled with six volumes of what looked like an encyclopaedia, the other holding the special cleaning rags used to dust them.

His features and everything in the shop looked blurry.

Allergies?

“Y-Yeah,” I replied, nodding. “I mean, I think so. My head’s been a bit off today, but otherwise I’m okay.”

“You said that yesterday,” he pointed out, placing the books down on the shelf. They made a resounding thud that made him jump. He flinched. “Sorry.”

The sound should have made me react, but it didn’t.

It wasn’t the first time my senses had neglected to do their duty, either. On the way to work the other week, a fire truck almost hit me because I couldn’t hear the sirens when crossing the street to get to the bakery. Some days were worse than others, but it certainly felt like someone had stuffed cotton in my ears.

“I’m okay… I must be coming down with something,” I confessed, getting to my feet. The room swayed before me, catching me off-balance. Stumbling into a side table, I must have caught myself.

But then I felt the firm hand on my back, keeping me from the floor.

A blurry figure I could only take for Adrian at this point stood by my side. My vision seemed to be clouded, like I had never brushed the sleep from them that gathered there in the mornings.

I wiped at my eyes, trying to see if there was anything in them. A sticky white film had attached itself to them, and I wiped as much of it away as I could. It clung to the tips of my fingers, looking like a mixture of saliva and glue.

As soon as I did, Adrian’s concerned face swam into view. “You’re not okay,” he pointed out, eyes still focused on mine. “Let’s get you home.”

“I’m honestly fine,” I said, struggling out of his grasp and placing my feet on the ground once more. It wasn’t the best of ideas; once again, I wobbled precariously before Adrian wrapped my arm around his neck to steady me. “It’s probably just allergies. All this dust or something.”

“Still, I’d feel more comfortable if you laid down,” he answered hesitantly, shaking his head. His usually soft and gentle golden eyes were firm and unmoving on this.

I sighed. “Fine. But I’m not going home. We still have the other shelf to do. And one hour—tops.”

“Fine,” Adrian agreed, bending down slightly. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, considering I still had my arm wrapped around his neck, until his other arm gripped me by the back of the knee. He scooped me up like a child, and I felt my face flush slightly.

I felt beyond silly, albeit impressed. Who knew the skinny guy could actually lift something other than a bag of flour? “You really don’t have to do this. I can walk, you know.”

“Really? You were doing so well with standing earlier.”

“Shut up. Just be grateful you stuck your apartment above the shop. Dog knows your flimsy little arms might break carrying me up.”

“Dog knows?”

“Just keep walking, Mister!”