Chapter 22 Maeve
MAEVE
I stepped into a small, plain space with white walls and a utilitarian steel counter. If the air hadn’t been laced with yeast and sugar, I would have thought the shop sold car parts or offered dry-cleaning services.
After the horrific night I’d had in the tunnels, the smell of freshly-baked dough was a comfort, like being in my dad’s kitchen when he cooked.
“This is a donut shop?” I looked around, searching for any sign of it other than the scent of fried dough.
Poe laughed. “Trust me.”
He rang a small bell next to a cash register on the steel counter.
A man grumbled from behind an open door that led to the back and a minute later a tattooed giant with a dark beard appeared. Ink crawled from under his T-shirt, down his arms and up his neck.
“Remy know you’re here?” he asked Poe.
“He will,” Poe said.
The bearded guy held up his fist and Poe bumped it with his own.
“You just missed the before-work crowd.” He looked at me. “Who do we have here?”
“Maeve.” I offered him my hand, but he looked at it like I was crazy. I hesitantly turned my open palm into a fist, hoping for the best, and was surprised when he grinned and bumped my fist with his own.
Ooookay, fist bump it was.
“Maeve’s a pastry chef,” Poe said.
“Oh, I don’t…” I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t work as one right now or anything.”
“Her desserts are amazing,” Poe insisted.
The bearded guy nodded. “Fancy.”
“Well, it’s what you do, right?” I asked.
“A pastry chef?” He shook his head. “I just make donuts. So, what do you like, Maeve?”
“Excuse me?”
“In your donuts? Are you a maple-bar or filled-donut kind of girl?”
It was one hundred percent because I was standing next to Poe that “filled-donut kind of girl” made me blush. I could only hope neither of the men noticed.
“Um… I’ve never had a maple bar. But I do like filled donuts.”
He pointed at me as he studied my face, like he’d just made a discovery. “I got you.” He looked at Poe. “The usual?”
Poe nodded and the guy disappeared into the back.
“Who is he?”
“Marv,” Poe said like it was obvious. “He’s one of the Barbarians.”
I wasn’t surprised by the guy’s appearance — culinary school had been filled with all kinds of people — but I definitely hadn’t expected the donut shop to be run by a biker from one of the local MCs.
I looked around the place again. “How did I not know this place was here?”
It reminded me of the commercial kitchens we’d practiced in at school. Serious cooking was serious business and the commercial kitchens were usually focused on the equipment, not the color of the walls.
In a serious kitchen, everything served a purpose. There was no room for pretty things that were there just for the sake of being pretty.
“I don’t know,” Poe said. “How often did you come to Southside before?”
I knew what he meant by “before.”
Before the Hunt. Before the Butchers.
It seemed like an entirely different life.
“Not very often.” More like never, but the realization made me feel oddly ashamed. “My dad said…”
Poe lifted one dark eyebrow. “What did your dad say?”
“He told us it was dangerous here, that we should steer clear.”
I waited for Poe’s judgement, but he just nodded. “He’s not wrong. I wouldn’t want my kids running loose in Southside either. Well, my kids would be okay, but you know what I mean.”
My mind was spinning but my heart was doing something else and I was pretty sure my ovaries were trying to get a word in too.
I’d never imagined the Butchers having kids — I mean, who would?
— but Poe had mentioned having kids so casually, like it was a foregone conclusion that he would have them someday.
The thought made me sick with jealousy.
Oh M, you’re in big trouble.
Tell me something I don’t know.
Marv returned from the back carrying a pink bakery box. He set it on the steel counter and taped it shut, then held up a finger.
“Wait.” He disappeared into the back room again and emerged a minute later carrying a small white bag. “For the road.”
He handed it to me and the smell of hot sugared dough filled my nose.
The bag was filled with cinnamon-sugar donut holes.
“Wow, thanks,” I said.
“Go ahead and try one.” His face was changed by eagerness.
I reached into the bag and took one of the donut holes, then popped it in my mouth. It was a little disconcerting with its maker studying me, but I forgot all about him as soon as the dough hit my tongue.
“Oh my god…” It was light and fluffy with just enough of a crispy fried shell to crunch under my teeth.
And the dough. My god, the dough. It was vanilla forward, as anyone would expect, but there was something else there too, a hint of spice.
I opened my eyes. “Is that…”
“Cardamom?” Pride was written all over his face. “Yep.”
“Wow.” I took another one and popped it in my mouth. “Incredible.”
Marv beamed. “Right?” He looked at Poe. “Take those from her so she’ll have room for the maple bar when you get back to the loft.”
Poe tried to pull the bag from my hands, then tugged when I didn’t let it go.
“I’ll just hold this until we get home. You really don’t want to miss Marv’s maple bar.”
We said goodbye and headed back through Southside. Poe nodded and lifted a hand in greeting to the people we passed, like he was the mayor or some kind of celebrity. They seemed happy to see him, so different from the way people in town treated Bram.
Like he didn’t exist.
“Why doesn’t anyone talk to Bram?” I asked him.
Poe stopped at the crosswalk and we waited for the light to change. “In case you haven’t noticed, Bram’s not really a talker.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “They don’t even look at him. It’s like he’s invisible.”
“They’re scared,” Poe said.
“But why? I mean, I know why.” Let’s be honest, Bram was scary as fuck. “But why can’t they look at him?”
Poe was silent as we crossed the street and started toward the loft. “People look away from things that scare them.”
I thought about all the people who’d disappeared from our lives after June’s murder. They muttered words of condolence if we saw them in the grocery store, but invitations to cookouts and holiday parties stopped coming.
My dad said it was because people didn’t know what to say, but that had sounded like a cop-out to me.
Say something. Say anything.
Or just… I don’t know, be there. Act like you can actually see us.
Like we still exist.
But the more I thought about it the more I realized it wasn’t just because they didn’t know what to say: they were afraid. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, of feeling stupid or uncertain.
But not just that. They were afraid of what had happened to us. Afraid if they looked at it too long they’d realize it could happen to anyone.
That it could happen to them too.
What had happened to Bram to make people look away?
My heart felt heavy when we reached the loft and I trudged up the stairs ahead of Poe, telling myself maybe Bram really was just a monster. Maybe everyone saw it, and maybe that’s why they couldn’t look at him.
I didn’t really believe it though. I saw him. I just didn’t know what I was looking at yet.
Remy was in the kitchen when we got to the second floor.
“Thought you’d bailed again, killer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Only in my dreams.”
It wasn’t true, but saying it was easier than acknowledging how I really felt about being back at the loft.
Like I was home.
Poe set the pink bakery box on the island. “Want a donut?”
Remy scowled. “You might as well ask if I want a referral to a cardiologist.”
Poe took down two plates. “Do you?”
I looked up as Bram stepped into the kitchen from the hall. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t look at me. After the first Hunt he’d spent a whole month pretending I didn’t exist.
“Did you tell her?” he asked Poe and Remy.
“Tell me what?”
And now he looked at me.
It felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs, like Bram had absorbed it into the hollowness of his soul.
“We’re going to help you. With Ethan Todd.”