Chapter 2
Not long before dawn, Salvatore had yet to cease complaining about the apparently dreadful experience he’d had at the dentist. He’d returned hours ago, a solitary cyclist on their light teal tandem bicycle.
“You can take that cotton out of your mouth,” Arthur said as he gathered ingredients for biscuits. Why Sal had it in the first place after a routine cleaning was beyond him, but Sal had never once in their decades of marriage missed an opportunity to be dramatic.
The sun had just begun to lighten the sky, and he wasn’t sure how early a riser Nora would prove to be.
Arthur was doubly determined to impress Nora with the breakfast spread.
A new city manager staying at their inn was no small thing.
If they charmed her, she might leave them good reviews—and go on to recommend them to others or even get them a coveted spot in the chamber of commerce’s yearly tourism brochure.
Wine and cheese night had ended a little awkwardly, but no matter.
Breakfast was the real draw—after the bed, of course.
“That horrible man gave no instructions for care!” Salvatore carried on around the cotton, one cheek still puffed up impressively. “That’s what one gets, going to a dentist.”
“He kept his practice open late for you,” Arthur said, only half paying attention as he scoured the counters for his favorite baking tray—a round one, dark in color, that was easy to balance in one hand, at least at night, when his vampiric nature made him more agile.
“The whole profession is evil.”
“Didn’t cavities used to kill people back in your day?” Arthur asked as he got out a mixing bowl. He was rushing to beat the sunrise, because after that, breakfast prep would progress at a snail’s pace in comparison.
“I think I’d remember dying from a cavity if it’d happened. No, that sounds like dental propaganda. Typical.” Salvatore made a pitiable face that, with the added drama of the cotton balls, made him look like an overblown pufferfish.
“Do you think we had any impact on Quinn?” Arthur asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Who cares? I’m far more interested in Nora’s history with her. Do you think they’re ex-lovers? Who do you suppose spurned whom?”
“Salvatore!”
“What? You know I’m right—there must be something salacious between them.”
Arthur dusted his hands on his apron and cleared his throat, determined to steer the conversation back toward the intended rails.
“I want this business to flourish and that’s not going to happen unless we can get some social capital in this town.
So, Quinn’s opinion of us matters a great deal, actually. ”
“I’ve never allowed others’ opinions of me a moment’s thought. Why start now?”
“Trident Falls could be good to us if we let it.”
“If we let it?” Salvatore spluttered. He dragged two truly disgusting cotton balls from his mouth, holding them aloft like grenades.
“I don’t know why you insist on acting as though it’s our fault the town doesn’t like us.
We are who we are, and if they don’t want us, I don’t know why you’d want them. ”
Arthur sighed and passed Salvatore the garbage bin for his cotton.
It was the same argument they always had.
Salvatore wanted to be his full vampiric self and let the town figure out how to feel about it, while Arthur wanted to show Trident Falls how normal two vampires could be.
If only their neighbors knew there was nothing to fear, the Iris Inn would be a staple of Trident Falls, and Salvatore and Arthur beloved members of the community.
All his life—and undeath—he’d never felt like he belonged anywhere, except perhaps hand in hand with Sal.
Fitting in would be a novel experience for him and he wanted very badly to know what it was like.
“Let’s not fight,” Arthur said finally as the oven beeped to signal it was preheated. “We don’t need our guest seeing us like this.”
“Fine! But as God is my witness, I shall never go to the dentist again.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in God.” Arthur slid the biscuits onto the middle rack, then started the timer.
“I’m not Catholic—there’s a difference. The better to bypass holy symbols.”
Arthur, who’d been Jewish all his life and remained so in undeath, had never really understood Salvatore’s religious inclinations.
Over the years, Sal had told countless stories that all seemed to contradict one another, as though he’d tried on a dozen religions before landing on his current flavor: Unitarian Universalist.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just be atheist, then?”
“Easier, perhaps, but one can’t help what one believes. I can lie all I want to the world, but it’s what’s in here that really counts.” He pointed to his chest. “If I must believe in God, the least I can do is be practical about it.”
At first, Arthur had thought Sal’s conversion was the least logical move possible.
Vampires, after all, were weakened by holy symbols of their faith, and Unitarian Universalist encompassed so many beliefs.
But, as it turned out, their nondenominational leanings meant Salvatore was exempt from almost all holy safeguards against vampires and could walk through life unafraid of religious iconography.
He had only one weakness: the Coexist bumper sticker.
“Suit yourself,” Arthur said with a shrug before turning back to his baking. A high-pitched sound made him nearly jump out of his skin—a feat he was, as a relatively young vampire, entirely incapable of—but the timer still had a few minutes left.
“Is that a cat?” Salvatore moseyed toward the glass sliding doors leading to the garden, where, lo and behold, a cat pawed at the door, letting out meows pitiful enough to rival Salvatore with a head cold.
It was an adult cat, but on the smaller side, with scruffy black fur and piercing green eyes. Arthur mentally cataloged its state, noting the few burrs stuck to its side and the way one eye wouldn’t open all the way.
“Must be a stray.” Arthur took two steps toward the door, then stopped. A completely feral cat wouldn’t approach people like this. “I bet it was abandoned by the road.”
“Poor thing,” Salvatore said. “Do we feed it?”
“Someone’s got to.” Arthur grabbed a shallow bowl and splashed some milk in it. “I can buy it healthy cat food later—”
“You’re going to let it go hungry all morning, then make it eat health food?
You might as well become a dentist.” Salvatore took the dish of milk and opened the door.
For a moment, Arthur worried the cat would rush inside, but it darted back into the garden, almost out of sight.
Salvatore set the bowl down and closed the door.
Gradually, the cat returned. It looked from the door to the milk, then began lapping it up.
Salvatore smiled, his earlier rantings mellowed by the sight. Arthur didn’t care much for cats. He wasn’t allergic. He was just ever-so-slightly put off by their perceptive eyes and the way they always landed on their feet.
“Let’s get back to it,” Arthur said. “Lots to make before our guest wakes up.”
Guest. It felt so wonderful to say.
Together, they made turkey sausage, waffles, and three different kinds of eggs. Arthur considered setting up an omelet bar, but Salvatore scoffed and said, “What army do you think you’re feeding?”
“We must be sure to serve something she likes. Oh no, what if she’s vegan?” Arthur wiped his hands on his floral apron—a gift from Salvatore when they’d signed the papers for the bed-and-breakfast—and took a deep breath.
“She isn’t,” Salvatore said.
“She could be!”
“She ate both meat and cheese from the charcuterie boards last night.”
“That was hours ago! She could’ve had a change of heart!”
“You’re taking this awfully seriously.”
“It’s our livelihood!”
“Undeathlihood?”
“Something smells delicious,” said Nora Anderson herself from the doorway.
Arthur startled, almost dropping a plate of sausage.
Sal leaped forward to usher their guest into the kitchen. “That would be the aroma of freshly baked biscuits.”
“I love biscuits!” Nora’s gaze traveled over the many options Arthur had laid out for her, eyes widening. “And waffles, and eggs, and sausage…”
Sal gave Arthur a smug smile as if to say, I told you so.
Arthur ignored him. “I hope you slept well, Ms. Anderson. Is there anything I can get for you? Breakfast will be served shortly.”
“Please, call me Nora.” She pointed through the window at the hedges outside. “I’d actually love to take a walk through the garden, if that’s okay?”
The timer for the biscuits blared. Salvatore, who stood next to the oven, stared at the appliance as if he’d forgotten why it might be beeping.
“The biscuits!” Arthur exclaimed, pushing past his husband to extract the fluffy, buttery, carb-filled delights.
Salvatore ducked out of the way at the last moment, narrowly escaping being singed by the baking sheet.
Once Arthur had set the biscuits on the cooling rack, he grabbed the neon paisley umbrella from the stand, put on his most winning smile, and said, “One garden tour coming right up.” He turned toward the glass doors and was met with a set of big green eyes.
“You have a cat?” Nora asked.
Arthur had all but forgotten about the animal. “It’s a stray, alas. You’d better not pet it in case—” Arthur stopped himself from mentioning terrible infectious diseases before breakfast. “In case it scratches.”
Salvatore grabbed a sausage from the counter and exited first. “Don’t worry, Nora. I’ll lure it away with snackies.”
The cat ignored him and the sausage, darting instead toward the edge of the patio and looking back over its shoulder as if in disdain.