Chapter 21 Gargoyle Encounter
Gargoyle Encounter
TEDDY
Cruising slowly with my windows rolled down, I circle twice around the block, sniffing the air for any scent of strange werewolf.
Satisfied whoever sent Sophie those text messages isn’t hanging around at this late hour, I head to my one-room flat above Rob Wolferman’s garage, wishing I’d never moved out of Sophie’s cottage; if I’d stayed, I could keep her safe at night.
Well… at least until the full moon, when Jake and Rob think I’ll turn into some raving mad werewolf. That idea fills me with such dread I shudder as I park the Caddy and trudge wearily up the steps.
My apartment suits my needs for now; I have a kitchenette on one wall, a table with two chairs under the window, and a sofa, couple of lamps, and flat panel TV on the opposite side of the cozy space.
Best of all, Rob is charging me half the going rate, in exchange for mowing his lawn and clipping his hedges.
I don’t bother turning on the lights; I can see just fine with my night vision, and there’s no clutter to trip over anyway, unlike at Sophie’s place.
I sure miss Zosia though, whom I visit a couple times a day when I need a short break from the remodeling; Sophie has even returned her cottage key to me, just so I can spend some quality time with the little white fluffball.
But I miss Sophie even more, despite the fact we’re together all day long.
We had a breakthrough on the beach today when she took my hand, and later in the bakery when she threw herself into my arms, although that probably doesn’t count.
I was the only available source of comfort when she learned her mother was in the hospital; Sophie probably would’ve been satisfied with any pair of arms in that moment.
Even so, my heart leapt as I held her against my chest, and I planted a tiny kiss on top of her lustrous brown curls; I was so gentle she didn’t even notice.
I adore that gorgeous, impetuous faerie, and each day it becomes more of a struggle not to tell Sophie about the mate bond, but it’s obviously so one-sided that sometimes I find myself rubbing the spot over my chest where my heart aches with yearning.
Unfortunately Sophie’s not very discerning about other people, especially other men, and she doesn’t like asking for advice or help, trusting in her own judgment more than she ought.
I’m pretty sure the werewolf who sent those texts is the same guy she called her “prospective boyfriend” not that long ago.
At least she realizes he’s bad news, but that knowledge alone isn’t enough to keep her safe.
I wish I could tell Jake, but that would mean admitting I was snooping through Sophie’s phone, which makes me sound almost as creepy as the other guy.
I didn’t intend to invade her privacy, but I couldn’t stop myself from scrolling when I saw that unsettling message on her screen, You shouldn’t be holding his hand, Sophie. That’s not right.
Turns out he’s the same guy she went on that sunset cruise with, the one she’d called a turkey. He must have some connection to the vampire couple getting married later this summer, but what was he doing in Riddle Hill today? The werewolf obviously isn’t local. Where’s his pack located?
I peel off my clothes, slip on my sleeping pants and a clean tee, and tumble onto the sofa; it has a pull-out bed, but I’m too exhausted and upset to bother with it tonight.
On top of trying to get Sophie’s bakery ready in time for her grand opening—which I’m going to miss entirely because it coincides with the full moon—now I’ll be helping her at the restaurant and keeping an eye out for this lowlife, who’s bound to turn up again.
Yawning, I close my eyes, and despite all the worries swirling around inside my head, I fall instantly asleep.
I knock on the café’s back door early the next morning, and Sophie pulls it open.
Her glorious waves are pulled into a bouncy ponytail, and she’s wearing a black apron over a lavender tee and blue jeans.
She ducks her head, probably so I don’t notice the dark circles beneath her eyes.
I need to confess now, before I lose my nerve…
and because she can’t just ignore this problem named Rafe.
“Let me show you around,” she says, turning away, but I tap her on the shoulder. Sophie pauses but doesn’t glance back at me.
“I’m sorry, but I read those messages—all of them—from a creep named Rafe,” I whisper quickly. “Jake should know there’s a strange werewolf hanging around you.”
Sophie spins around, pinning me with a hard glare. “You had no right to scroll through my personal texts, even if I handed you my phone; it was wrong and you know it. This situation with Rafe is my business, and… and besides, I’ve already handled it.”
My stomach churns, because I have a sneaking suspicion Sophie probably sent him a message that will only provoke him further. “How did you handle it?”
Sophie hesitates and then pulls out her phone, holding it up so I can see the text she sent Rafe a short while ago.
“We went on one date, Rafe, and I can assure you, there won’t be any more.
You have no right to spy on me, threaten my employee, or lecture me about whose hand I can hold.
If I see you in Riddle Hill again, I’ll report you to the local pack alpha, who happens to be my cousin. Don’t bother replying to this message.”
My gut twists when I read it, because Sophie just blasted an unstable werewolf with the cold, hard truth. It’s like poking a grizzly with a hairpin. And yet I have to admire this gutsy spitfire of a faerie; Sophie Spellman Brownlee takes no prisoners.
I reach for her hand, but she snatches it back. “I’m still mad at you,” she hisses.
Of course she’s mad at me; what else is new?
“Fine, you’re mad. I get it,” I say softly so her father, who’s clanging pans in the kitchen, doesn’t overhear us. “But I think you just made matters worse.”
Sophie’s eyes cloud over with fresh worry, but then she shakes her head, her pretty, chestnut-colored ponytail swishing behind her. “I think you’re wrong, but we don’t have time for second-guessing now. We’ve got to get ready to open the café. Come on.”
Sophie hands me a black apron like hers, with Sit for a Spell embroidered in golden thread across the top. After I pull it over my head and tie the strings in back, she hands me a scrunchie. I hold it up, wrinkling my nose. “What’s this for?”
She rolls her eyes and points at my hair. “You need to pull it back into a ponytail like mine.”
I scowl at the scrunchie. I’ve never tied my hair back before; I prefer to leave it loose.
“It’s the law,” she adds firmly, waiting for me to comply.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Is there a mirror somewhere?”
“Oh, just turn around; I’ll do it for you,” grumps Sophie.
She snatches the scrunchie from me and then runs her fingers through my hair several times to smooth back all the strands; each time I nearly moan in pleasure at the glorious sensation.
It seems to be taking Sophie longer than necessary to finish the task, and now I’m gritting my teeth so I don’t make any awkward noises.
Finally she’s done, and I wipe my brow, which is moist with perspiration. Nash sticks his head out of the kitchen long enough to give me a friendly nod as we pass, and then he disappears to continue his meal prep.
We enter the dining area, and I’m immediately drawn to the portraits on the walls, which must be Sophie’s ancestors.
A lady in a purple gauzy gown smiles down at me, flaps her wings, and plays a chord on her harp, while an admiral with a hook for a hand glowers at me; nearly everyone else waves and nods, although a few remain sleeping.
I’m anxiously awaiting the arrival of Miss Dragonfly’s portrait, which the faerie undertaker will ship as soon as he confirms her ghost has taken up residence.
Although unalive supernatural ancestors sleep most of the time, I’ll be able to converse with Miss Dragonfly when she’s awake; I can’t wait to tell her I’ve joined a pack again… and that Sophie is my fated mate.
“Are you Aunt Sophie’s boyfriend?”
“What?” Both Sophie and I turn toward an adorable faerie child with delicate tipped-up eyebrows, teardrop-shaped ears, and small purple-and-silver wings. I’m assuming she’ll glamour her features once the doors open.
Cassia rushes over. “Olivia, that’s not a polite question. Mr. Barker is part owner of the Rhyme ’N Riddle bakery.”
“But Aunt Sophie was touching his hair… a lot.”
Cassia quirks her brow at Sophie, who blushes. Maybe Sophie liked the feel of my hair in her fingers as much as I did. “I was helping Mr. Barker tie back his hair,” she explains.
“Oh,” says Olivia, who promptly dissolves into giggles. She points at the long counter that runs along the café’s back wall, which is supported by five stone gargoyles mounted on corbels.
The gargoyles are smoothing down the tops of their heads with their three-fingered hands, slowly blinking their stony eyes as if in ecstasy, and grinning wickedly. Even though they’re making fun of me, I can’t help myself; I burst out laughing.
“Oh, please don’t laugh; they crave attention. It’s best to ignore them completely,” says Cassia under her breath.
But Sophie has other ideas; she stomps over to them, crosses her arms, and growls, “I’m keeping a record of your misdeeds for my mother. Every time you act up, I’m writing it down; so far you’ve earned one good spanking from her. Want to make it two?”
The gargoyles immediately drop their act, shuffle their feet, and shake their heads. “That’s more like it. Now stand up straight and stop goofing around. We have work to do.”
The stone creatures listen to her! My chest swells in pride at Sophie, who can command a troop of gargoyles without using magic.
I feel a tug on my apron and glance down to find a pair of bright green eyes staring up at me. “Yes, Olivia?”
“I’m hungry.”
Cassia, who’s reviewing the daily specials with Sophie, looks up. “Uncle Nash is making you breakfast. I’ll go check—”
“I’ll make sure Olivia has her breakfast,” I tell her. “Finish what you’re doing.”
Cassia nods her thanks, and Olivia takes my hand, leading me over to the counter. “This way, Mr. Barker.”
“You can call me Teddy.”
Olivia giggles at me.
“What’s so funny?” I lift Olivia onto one of the counter stools just as Nash delivers her a short stack of strawberry pancakes, two slices of bacon, and a glass of orange-mango juice.
“I’ll call you Teddy Bear!”
“No, Olivia, you may not call him that,” scolds Cassia. “Please address him as Mr. Teddy or Mr. Barker.”
“Okay.” The little girl sighs. “But he reminds me of a great, big teddy bear.”
Sophie snorts and then turns away, while Cassia compresses her lips to keep from laughing out loud. I suppose I ought to be offended, but I think it’s kind of cute, even if it hits a bit too close to the mark. Even this little faerie realizes I’m as harmless as a stuffed animal.
Sophie decides the best way for me to learn my way around the café is to shadow Cassia, who knows all the regulars by name and recites the menu from memory.
I’m surprised at the number of non-supers who stop in for a meal, but Cassia explains that a lot of human tourists vacation in Door County during the summer season.
My original plan was to head over to the bakery after the breakfast rush, but the café is still full as noon approaches, so I stay on to bus tables and refill beverages.
A platinum-blonde faerie named Spectra picks up a chicken-veggie wrap to go and tells me to stop into her salon anytime; the first trim will be on the house.
The takeout line is long and comprised mostly of women, who introduce themselves to me and want to chat.
Nash is struggling to keep up with all the orders, but when I offer to give him a hand in the kitchen, Sophie glares at me and stomps off to help her dad.
I stare after her, unsure why she’s mad at me again. Cassia must notice my confusion because she whispers, “Sophie’s just mad because I was right, and she was wrong.”
My brow furrows. “What were you right about?”
Cassia chuckles softly. “I told Sophie you’d be good for business—and clearly that’s true. Besides, I don’t think she likes all those women fawning over you.”
“Are you sure about that?” I cock my head to the side. “Because Sophie is constantly pushing me away.”
“Well, that’s between the two of you,” says Cassia. “But if you like Sophie, then you need to make sure she knows. Sophie isn’t very good at reading signals.”
“Don’t I know it,” I mumble, embarrassed by the extra attention I seem to be attracting from the other women. They’re all customers of the café who deserve prompt service and a friendly smile. How else should I behave?
Sophie continues to shoot me salty glowers for the remainder of the morning, which I’m not sure how to interpret.
Does that mean she might like me, just a little, as Cassia seems to be implying?
Cassia is her best friend and knows her better than anyone else, so perhaps I should take comfort in her advice, but I can’t.
By one-thirty the café is beginning to thin out, and I hang up my apron. “I’m heading over to the bakery now.”
“Thanks for all the help today,” says Cassia. Nash steps out of the kitchen long enough to say thanks, but Sophie doesn’t reemerge.
I pull open the back door, my shoulders slumped with dejection; even the warm sunshine doesn’t cheer me up. I recall Doc Demetrius’s advice to tell Sophie she’s my fated mate, but given how often I annoy her, I don’t think that’s wise.
The truth is I want Sophie to fall for me; I want her to choose me. Until that happens—if it happens—I won’t burden her with my needs and the depth of my feelings.
I never want Sophie to feel guilty because she doesn’t love me back.