Chapter 7
LIZZY
To prepare herself for her first shift, an overnight one, Lizzy had stayed up later than usual, with the intention of pulling an all nighter.
She’d barely made it past eleven and then didn’t sleep in.
Damn circadian rhythm. Sunlight was pouring in through the window, and her body refused to let her sleep.
That, and the ever-present scent of her dad’s cologne lingering in the room.
So she got up and told herself she’d take a nap later.
For the rest of the morning, she wandered her childhood home like a ghost. Victor had said he’d be at the diner until her shift started, and Brayden was at school. She had the house to herself. She fed Igor, unpacked her suitcase, failed to call her mom, then around midday tried to take a nap.
But as soon as she returned to that room, she was hit by a sudden wave of grief and couldn’t look at the space.
It reminded her too much of Frank Jr. She couldn’t very well go all night without sleep.
Sleeping on the couch in the living room would hurt her back, damn aging body.
Which was what led to a wild thought. She’d loved napping in her childhood bedroom, back when she had the luxury to do so.
It was south-facing so it didn’t get too hot, and the thick blackout curtains created the ideal sleeping den.
While Victor was working, she could try napping there.
It wasn’t weird to sleep in the same bed as him, was it?
Did it make her a hypocrite to sleep there now.
Last night the thought of returning to her childhood bedroom after everything was the paramount of failure.
But she had to admit it was rather cozy.
She got up from the couch she’d attempted to sleep on and knocked on the bedroom door.
There was no answer, of course, and she opened it.
Everything was exactly as it had been the night before, except there was a small indent on the pillow where Victor had presumably lain down, and the blankets were pulled back.
She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the gleaming smiles of pop stars of her youth and the dusted Hero Club figures.
Was this an invasion of privacy? What if Victor caught her here? What would he say?
She decided sleep mattered more. He himself had said he hardly slept. It wasn’t weird. It was just a bed, not like they were sleeping together. She lay back, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse, and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers she’d plastered on the ceiling as a preteen.
The mattress was as comfortable as she remembered, and the dark environment enveloped her like a cocoon.
She rolled onto her side and inhaled the scent of Victor.
She wasn’t sure what bodywash or shampoo he used, but it was intoxicating.
Is this creepy? she thought sleepily, but before she could pursue the ethics of sleeping in your sorta-roommate’s bed, she fell asleep.
Lizzy was startled awake by a gentle tapping. It was dark out, she didn’t recognize her surroundings, and there was a line of drool on her chin. A beam of light was coming from the open door, and Victor filled the doorway.
“Sorry to wake you,” he said, leaning on the doorframe.
“Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed.” She buried her head in her hands.
“Don’t be. It is technically your room.”
“It’s just the primary bedroom smells like Frank Jr. And I needed sleep for tonight and…” She trailed off as she peered through her fingers at him. He was smiling at her.
“It’s really ok, Lizzy.”
She discreetly turned her head to wipe the drool from her chin. “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven p.m.”
“Oh, I need to get ready!” She jumped up and ran down the hall to the primary bedroom.
She tore off her loungewear and put on the outfit she’d planned for that evening.
A comfortable pair of high-waisted jeans and a tight-fitting top with a sweetheart neckline and bell sleeves.
She ran back out into the hall. She needed to brew a pot of coffee and eat a quick bite before starting her shift.
If she didn’t eat first, she’d be a monster within four hours.
When she entered the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot, she found it full and hot. There was a pan of chicken thighs glazed in some sticky sweet sauce with flecks of pepper, alongside glistening stir-fried vegetables, and the rice cooker chimed a fun tune.
“Oh, the rice finished just in time,” Victor said.
“You cooked dinner?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sit down. I’ll make you a plate.”
He slid up next to her at the counter, and she tried reaching for a plate from the cabinet at the same time. “No, you don’t have to serve me. You cooked all day and then made me dinner.”
“I insist.” He grasped her by the wrist, and she looked up at him. Warmth was coiling in her belly at the brush of his hand. She was certain he could feel her pulse racing.
“Are you the perfect man?” she blurted.
Victor let her go and grabbed a serving spoon, then plopped rice, chicken, and veggies onto a plate for her.
“That’s what I was built to be.” But it wasn’t said with the cocky sort of assurance she would expect, but rather a sad resignation. She still couldn’t read his moods, so she was stumbling in the dark with him.
She sat down at the table, studying his broad back as he prepared plates for everyone, including Igor, who was hopping around on the counter, squawking.
“A bird eating chicken feels wrong,” he muttered as he slid a plate over to Igor.
Igor didn’t share his sentiment and tore into his food. Then Victor turned around and caught her staring.
“Like what you see?” He flexed his arm before sitting across from her.
A blush burned her face as she looked down at her food.
Steven had never once cooked for her, unless you counted ordering takeout, and he’d certainly never served her.
But a lot of her former relationships started out too good to be true.
There was Michael, who’d been a total heartthrob but turned out to be a scammer who stole thousands from her, or Derek, who’d planned elaborate dates and texted her every morning and night but turned out to have a wife and kids.
Eventually their masks slipped and their true nature came out.
She couldn’t let herself be swayed by nice gestures.
“You’re being too nice to me,” she said.
He quirked a brow, pulling the scar above his eye into a wrinkle. “You’re doing something nice for me. It’s the least I could do for you.”
He shook what seemed to be an entire bottle of hot sauce onto his plate. It was more hot sauce than food by the time he took his first bite.
“I forgot how annoying it is that I can’t read your emotions. Do you feel anything at all?” she asked.
Victor laughed. It was a deep, rich sound, like warm coffee. “I feel things, obviously. Frank theorized there’s something about the way I was reanimated that makes me immune to empath magic. He couldn’t sense my feelings either. I think it’s why we worked well together.”
“Wait, Frank was an empath?”
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head. “I thought he was a kitchen witch?”
“No, his father was a kitchen witch. I know cause Frank said his empath magic is what made him good at his job. He knew exactly what people needed and how to comfort them with food. It charmed customers as good as a magical ability with food.”
Frank, charming? That was not how she would have described him.
He was cold, distant, and emotionally shut off.
Unlike her mother, who’d been a riot of emotions at all times of the day, Frank was a blank wall of gray.
But she’d never asked him what his powers were, and he’d never offered.
Could it be he was able to block her out because they had the same sort of magic?
Then, why not tell her? She didn’t care how Victor spun it, Frank was a bad dad.
“Interesting.” She picked at her food. Suddenly her appetite was gone.
“If you don’t like that, I can make you something else?” Victor offered.
“Don’t trouble yourself. I should get ready for my shift.” She pushed away from the table and took her mostly full plate to place the food in a container for later. She didn’t want to waste all his hard work.
“Call me if you need anything!” he said as she walked out the door.
The diner was at the end of the house’s driveway.
Not a bad commute at all. Now that the sun had set, the red neon glow of the diner’s sign cast crimson light over her as she stepped inside.
There was one table occupied by a moth man, who’d ordered a black coffee and nothing else.
She relieved Vivianne and met the overnight fry cook, Jason.
Because Frank’s Diner catered to every type of paranormal, no matter their cravings, from bloody steaks to blood shakes, they had to be open twenty-four hours.
It was an easy first shift. A few people came in and out.
She found what Victor said about Frank Jr.’s empath powers aiding him in his job to be true.
She could feel straight away if a customer wanted her to chat or leave.
If they were indecisive, she could gently lead them to a menu choice.
It felt nice. She was riding high. The nap must have done wonders because she was sailing through the night, with minimal coffee and subsisting off the fries Jason made for her around two a.m.
He was a nice vampire who didn’t talk much but worked quick and, most importantly, was even-tempered. Everything was going great, until water started backing up in a kitchen sink around four in the morning. She discovered the problem after clearing her last table.
“Crap,” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.
She could feel the spike of his anxiety. “Nothing, just a clogged sink.”
“Oh no, that sink is always clogging up!” His anxiety prodded at her like a needle.
“It’s no big deal. We can call the handyman.” She went over to a piece of paper pinned on the wall. “I’ll call Lucian,” she said, pointing to the number.
She dialed the number, and she felt Jason’s anxiety stabbing into her skull, like a second heartbeat. It made her chest tighten in response. The phone rang, but there was no answer.
“Nothing?” Jason asked.
“Nope, it is kind of late,” she said. “Can it wait until morning?”
She wasn’t especially handy by any means. When she was a kid, her dad had been the one to fix most everything around the diner.
Jason’s anxiety was peaking. It fizzled over her skin, and at the same time, the urge to crawl back inside herself and retreat into that numb place returned.
“It can’t wait. There are dishes that need washing, and it could be a health code violation!”
She had no choice but to call Victor.
“I’ll get Victor,” she said and turned to go make the call when she collided with the man himself. She was nearly flung backwards, but he caught her from hitting the clogged sink by grabbing onto her waist and pulling her close to him.
“We’ve gotta stop running into one another.” He grinned.
“I was just about to call you. The sink is clogged.”
His gaze flicked over to the sink. “Not again. Well, I can fix it.” He gently moved her aside to reach the sink. Jason stood by the flat top, arms crossed.
“It happens every night!” Jason said.
Lizzy watched their exchange, like she were underwater. Both their words and Jason’s feelings felt a thousand miles away. Her focus might have continued to drift, but Victor kneeled in front of her. She looked down, flushed. He was almost in line with her crotch.
“Excuse me,” he said with a smirk.
“Oh, sorry.” She backed up and watched as Victor pulled a bucket out of the supply closet, placed it beneath the sink, and then proceeded to unscrew the pipe with his bare hands. Her panties were instantly damp.
“You can fix things and you cook. Why ever are you single?” she asked, aloud. As soon as the words were escaped, she placed her hand over her mouth to try and cover them up.
“Why? Are you interested?” He looked up at her, and seeing him from this position caused her mind to fill with filthy visions. She swallowed hard. And attempted to laugh it off.
“I’m a mess. You don’t want all this.”
“I could handle you.” He smirked.
She laughed again, gaze flicking over to where Jason had been, but he’d left the kitchen. It was just the two of them.
“You’re joking,” she said.
He tilted his head to the side, moving closer. “Do you want me to be joking?”
Her heart fluttered. Did she? She was freshly single and desperately out of her depth. She wasn’t about to get entangled with her sort-of roommate, was she? Right, bad idea. No more rushing into relationships. She needed to defuse this situation. “How can you do that with your bare hands?”
“I have control of my body at a cellular level. I can turn off pain receptors. I can harden limbs to use them like tools and even change the dexterity of parts of me.” He crooked two of his fingers, bending them in a way that had her pressing her thighs together.
“Interesting,” she said. But it was more than interesting, it was downright dangerous.