Afterward, the two friends parted ways, each driving off. They chatted and laughed as they walked out of the shop. All day, Tom motioned and gestured, chiding back inside the sling. Gerard made a split-second decision and jumped out of the car.
He donned a bright, welcoming smile. “III, yes. A friend commended this place, and P’ye—lærand—for its things. I’d love to try one of your specialty teas, but…?” She gave him a once-over, dearly unprised. “Miss…sorry, sir. We only serve female clients here. Either your friend’s playing a prank on you, or you’ve wandered into the wrong kind of shop.”
With that, she headed back to the car and climbed in. “I asked. It’s not a dessert shop. It’s…sli… a place that sells women’s products. Probably skincare or something.” Her face remained completely unreadable.
Vespera pulled into her driveway and went inside, carrying the bags upstairs to let them cool. She carefully took out the little toy and sat on the floor, instruction manual in hand. She hadn’t dared ask the shop owner to explain anything earlier. The vibe in that shop had been…well…a little too blushingly upbeat for questions like that.
She was just figuring out the buttons, checking the chimes and settings, when the doorbell rang. She jumped so hard the mural flew out of her hands. When one is doing something slightly immoral, maybe a little exciting, the last thing they needed was a scare.
Tiran, racing, stuffed everything back into the bag and shoved it to the end of the bed before heading out of the room. She opened the front door, and there he was—Dominie, standing there with the kitten in his arms. That sinking feeling in her gut? Totally justified.
Vespera held back the urge to explode. “Mr. Held, do you need something?” “Raymond’s out,” Dominic said, handing her the kitten. Vespera took it in silence. Then it went quiet again. Mar was off the clock. Could she not bother her after hours? Her inner rage was practically boiling, but to the exterior, she just gave the kitten a little head scratch and let him in.
“What do you want to eat?”
“Well, I’ve got is fior. Pinot picky,” Dominic said as he wandered through the living room, casually glancing around like he was taking stock of the place. Vesperia deposited the kitten on the floor and replied without much energy. “Fine. I’ll cook something.”
En route to the kitchen, she opened the fridge to scan for ingredients. There was no way she was doing a full-course meal. She settled on strak, a quick pasta, and some craquelin tacos. As she worked, Dominic finished inspecting the living room and went to sit out on the balcony.
The kitten, lord of the counts, jumped down, did a few laps around the room, then darted into the bathroom—slipping easily through the barely open door. Vespera set down the strak and pasta, then turned back toward the kitchen to grab the soup. She had just turned around when—the clock still untouched—Dominic suddenly heard a startled, high-pitched mewling coming from the bedroom. He put his fork down and headed toward the sound.