Page 5 of Night Shift

Every gift came with a request attached.

This woman wants nothing.

"Eat it," she says. "Trust me."

So I do.

It is crumbly, tart with cranberry, painfully sweet with icing, and exactly the right counterweight to the bitterness of the coffee.

Calliope smiles. "Better?"

"Yes."

"See? I saved your relationship with coffee."

"I was unaware we had entered into a relationship."

She laughs again.

There it is.

That peculiar sensation returns.

I want to hear the sound again.

Calliope moves away to wipe down the counter, and I carry my coffee and scone to a table near the window. I could leave. There is nothing keeping me here, and I have wandered through thousands of towns without feeling compelled to linger in any of them.

Yet I remain.

From my table, I watch Calliope finish her work. She wipes counters, stacks cups and wakes the sleeping lizard creature long enough to inform him that the shop is closing soon. He grumbles something unintelligible, and she pats his shoulder before returning to the espresso machine.

She is tired. I can see it now in the slight heaviness beneath her eyes and the way she rolls one shoulder when she thinks no one is looking.

Yet when she catches me watching her, she smiles.

"How're we doing over there?"

I glance at the cup.

"The coffee has become less hostile."

"Progress."

"And the scone is very good."

"I'll tell the baker she saved a life."

"My life was not in danger."

"I know. You have a very dramatic face."

I have been called many things throughout eternity.

Dramatic has not generally been among them.

She returns to her work before I can respond.

I finish the scone.