Chapter 15 #2
The short, teenage boy who’d made my strawberry shortcake frappe followed behind him.
I wondered what had drawn the café employee outside, until he set his eyes on Daphne—who stiffened—and beamed.
“Hi Daphne,” he said in a deep voice that didn’t match his scrawny build—the poor teenager hadn’t gotten his growth spurt yet for sure.
“Hello, Noah,” Daphne said, plastering a polite smile on.
“When I saw Flint, I realized you must still be here, so I thought I’d come out and make sure you’re enjoying your matcha,” the employee chirped.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. Why do I suddenly suspect it was a lot more than sensory overload that was responsible for Daphne wanting to sit outside?
Perhaps all of Helen from HR’s one-on-one seminars with me about employee interactions were finally coming in handy, because I had a hunch based on the way Noah peered at Daphne that he was romantically interested in her.
Daphne fidgeted in her seat. “My drink is great, what about yours, Abi?”
“It’s fantastic,” I said, even though Noah didn’t peel his gaze off my werewolf friend.
Flint loudly slurped his fruit slushie and watched the exchange.
Noah watched Daphne with obvious adoration. He even shook his head to clear his shaggy strawberry blonde hair from his face so he could better stare at her. “How’s the Pack?”
“Great. Everyone is enjoying the summer weather,” Daphne said, still smiling but keeping her replies simple, most likely so as to not encourage the much younger boy.
“Did you do a Pack run recently? I heard some wolves singing, and I thought it might be you guys.” Noah bashfully shuffled his feet.
Oh yeah. He has it bad for her.
To Daphne’s credit, she kept on smiling patiently. “No, Noah. As I’ve explained before, you’re most likely hearing coyotes. Coyotes are a lot more populated. And our family sticks to our lands.”
“Oh. Okay.” Noah was quiet for a moment, and Daphne took a sip of her drink. “Is it true you’ll only marry another werewolf?”
Daphne choked on her matcha and hacked so bad it sounded like she was coughing up a lung.
I recognized signs of her distress—her widened eyes and the pleading looks she flashed her brother before she bowed her head to avoid Noah’s adoring eyes and my observational gaze.
Flint, unmoved by his sister’s plight, just raised an eyebrow.
I, however, was not so stone-hearted. But given the witness, we could no longer talk about supernatural matters, so I dug my rolled up Algoma guidebook out of my purse and smoothed the cover.
“I apologize for interrupting this… personal conversation, but this is the perfect time to ask: are there any other places besides Caffè Tlazo you guys recommend checking out? I did see there was a bookstore called Yardstick…”
“You’ll definitely want to check Yardstick out,” Daphne leaned across the table, grabbing this new conversation topic with desperation.
“There’s a cute little store cat, and it has a section for local books and authors.
But since you’re such a book lover you might also be interested in the Book Corner.
It’s a used bookstore the Algoma Friends of the Library run as a library fund raiser. ”
“I think I saw that in the guidebook. Or maybe it was on the internet? Either way, I’ll make a note.” I started flipping through the Algoma guidebook, searching.
Noah still hadn’t given up. He stayed, hovering by Daphne, giving her a besotted look. “It’s great that you’re so knowledgeable about Algoma.”
“I am a local,” Daphne pointed out.
“Yeah, but you’re a supernatural,” Noah said. “You’re so… cool.”
I found the Book Corner’s advertisement, then folded the page so I could find it later, while trying to come up with a new conversation topic. Preferably something that would make Noah take a hint. Maybe something about employment policies and time limits of employee break times?
“You’re a page folder, instead of using a bookmark?” Flint asked, finally joining me in my efforts to help his sister.
“With stuff like this, yes. Not with actual books though. That’d be disrespectful,” I said.
“You’re weird,” Flint said.
Effortlessly falling into the role of older sibling correcting a younger sibling—something that I had years of experience with thanks to my mouthy but charming little sister—I reached up and ruffled Flint’s carefully combed hair. “And you need to respect your elders.”
Flint’s unemotional act dropped, and he gaped at me in surprise, his mouth dropping open so he more resembled a goldfish than a proud wolf.
Daphne honed in on our interaction, and even Noah stopped drooling over Daphne long enough to stare.
“Um, I better get back to work,” Noah said, his voice tight with anxiety as he edged away before bolting into the building as if he thought Flint was going to snap and turn into a wolf right then and there.
“You,” Flint stammered as the door shut behind Noah. “You ruined my hair!”
Daphne stifled a laugh.
“You started it by engaging in verbal combat, squirt,” I said.
“Squirt?” Flint’s voice cracked and he looked bewildered.
I paused, confused.
Do werewolves not play fight with each other?
Flint and I looked to Daphne for guidance.
Daphne coughed to cover up her laugh, but she couldn’t smooth out her smirk. “Abi is right, Flint. You need to respect human elders.”
I nodded, feeling confident once more. “That’s right. You won’t get far in the business world, not to mention human social expectations, if you don’t respect those older than you.”
Flint rubbed his forehead and continued to look bewildered.
He must need more sibling interactions. Daphne did say their family is small.
I stood up with a groan and stretched. “While that frappe was delightful, I think I’m ready to check out the bookstore. Would you two be interested in joining me?”
“Sure.” Daphne stood up. “Just let me throw out my drink.” She paused next to the door.
“Do you want me to throw it out?” I asked, amused. “To save you from the admiration of a certain employee?”
Daphne scrunched her nose up. “I’d tell you to stuff it, but truthfully I don’t want to face him again, so I’ll swallow my pride and say thank you.”
I laughed as I swiped her plastic cup—empty except for a few unmelted ice cubes. “I’m always happy to help. Just make sure no one takes my guidebook.”
Flint eyed my worn copy. “Who would want it?”
I rattled Daphne’s cup at him. “Do you want to find out the next level of warning after a hair ruffle?”
“No.”
“Then zip it.”
Daphne was still smiling as I ducked into the cooler and shadier indoors.
When I decided to come to the Door Peninsula, I wanted change. I just never thought it would come in the supernatural variety.
“I have finished my work for the day, Miss Marshall,” Christopher declared. He had a very decorative, almost theatrical way of speaking that I’d finally gotten used to.
“I’ve told you before to call me Abi,” I reminded him as I joined him in the shadowy kitchen. It was dark outside, but Christopher had only turned on one of the kitchen’s overhead lights for some reason.
Christopher set a hand over his heart. “I couldn’t possibly.”
I shook my head. “Okay then. Did you get the refrigerator water filter changed?”
Christopher paused and tilted his head. “No.”
“Why not? I told you that was the priority when you came this morning.”
Christopher kept weird hours, preferring to show up either at the buttcrack of dawn, or in the evening. Sometimes he would do both and would disappear for daytime hours.
It was shady as all get out, but in the first week I’d worked here, he’d repaired a rotten section of trim on the porch, rebalanced a gutter that wasn’t slanted correctly so it wasn’t draining, and replaced a section of roof where the shingles had torn off and there’d been considerable water damage, so I was inclined to keep my mouth shut.
(He’d also identified some problems with the house’s conservatory that he’d said were beyond his skills as it involved welding and glasswork, but I wasn’t going to worry about that money pit of a room until I absolutely had to!)
Christopher folded his arms across his chest and looked moody. “I told you before, I do not appreciate the ways of technology.”
“It’s a refrigerator, Christopher. It’s hardly technology,” I wryly said.
Christopher made a hmph noise in his nose and looked away.
I pressed my lips in a flat line and itched to reference the binder I’d put together for maintenance dates. I was pretty sure the refrigerator filter was one of the things that I hadn’t been able to find a record of having been changed ever.
I didn’t know if it was necessary for sanitary reasons, but I wasn’t paying for it so that filter was getting changed!
“Do you not know how to change the filter?” I guessed.
Christopher dramatically sighed again.
“Christopher, you’d better tell me, because next on my list is cleaning out the dishwasher filter and the washer filter,” I wryly said.
“Carpentry work is much harder than cleaning filters, I’ll have you know,” Christopher said, which was as close to an admission as the handyman would likely give me.
“Sure, sure.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and shot off a text to Jonas, asking if he knew anything about refrigerator filters, and/or cleaning washer/dishwasher filters.
(If he didn’t, I’d have to look into hiring another professional, but it would make my life a lot simpler if Jonas could handle it.)
“I did repaint the chipped windowsills in the formal dining hall,” Christopher said.
“Excellent, thanks for your hard work today. I’ll see you next week?” I smiled and put my phone away.
He bowed his head. “Of course. Good evening, Miss Marshall.”
Christopher left via the back kitchen door, and I made my way through the maze-like mansion, heading for Beckett’s study.
It was a pretty long trip, so I had plenty of time to ponder Christopher and his oddities on the way.