Page 13 of Lycans & Lattes

Naphula strode over to Eloise, who crossed her arms and stared the demon down. “If you want my donuts, you need to wait in line for them like everyone else, Naffy.”

“Don’t call me that,” the demon replied tightly. “And I have centuries of wisdom to know there’s always room for negotiation.”

“Not here there isn’t,” my sister replied, inspecting her black nail polish.

“Come on, little wolf,” Naphula purred. “What is it you really want? Tell me and I just might give it to you.”

“I want . . .” Eloise looked side to side as if worried someone might overhear.

Naphula leaned in. “Yes?”

“I want . . .” Eloise edged closer until there was only a hair’s breadth between them.

“Tell me.”

Eloise’s taunting whisper snaked through the room. “I want you to wait in the fucking line like everyone else.”

I bit my cheek to keep from howling with laughter.

Scowling, Naphula snapped upright and struck me with a dangerous glare. The demon didn’t know what she was getting herself into by toying with my sister like that. Eloise would seize upon any reason to bring her claws out.

“I will have those donuts,” Naphula declared with an indignant stomp of her foot before turning toward the door. “So help me, Lucifer!”

“You can have them when you wait for them, sweetheart,” Eloise called to her back.

“Don’t play games you can’t win, puppy,” Naphula shot back, giving one last pointed look over her shoulder before leaving.

I shook my head, still a little stunned at their exchange. “You’re going to cause a riot with those donuts.”

I started to move some maple sugar kouign-amanns onto a cooling tray with a wry smile on my lips. Naphula might have been centuries old, but she was truly out of her depth.

“Whatever.” Eloise dusted a hand down her apron, despite the fact that there was no flour on it—a gesture we bakers did out of mindless habit. Her eyes drifted from the closed bakery door back to me. “So . . . are we going to talk about why you’re all cheery and why it definitely has nothing to do with Willow?”

If she thought I wasn’t going to use my own ammo, as was my brotherly right, she had another thing coming. “Not unless you want to talk about what just happened between you and that demon.”

My sister’s arrogant smile fell, and I laughed.

“Touché,” she said, giving me a mock salute. “Truce.”

“Truce.”

7

Willow

Iglanced at the clock on the wall, then the digital one on the register, then my watch. Time was going so slowly, I was starting to wonder if the town had been hexed. Even in the aftermath of a bustling midday rush, I’d quickly run out of tasks.

Harlow was on a long lunch to make up for having to take over for me this afternoon and likely this evening for closing. I wasn’t counting chickens, but if last night was any indication of how our date would end, I didn’t want to have to worry about the layer of sticky, dried coffee waiting for me.

Every time I passed my glinting reflection in the chrome espresso machine, I checked my lipstick and mussed my hair again.

Am I overdressed for apple picking? Does it seem like I’m trying too hard? Maybe I should change . . .

No matter how much I was overthinking, I couldn’t shake the butterflies in my stomach. There had to be a horde of them in there because I was practically levitating. I floated around the register, scooping crumbs and righting the sugar packets. I was so exuberant that I didn’t even notice one of the mugs was out of place until I knocked into it. Shards of shattered ceramic scattered across the floor, and several heads picked up from their laptops or conversations to look for the sound.

I waved a hand to assure the customers that there was no threat.

“Shit,” I muttered, reaching for the dustpan and hand broom.