Page 51 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

“Give me the piping bag.” He hands it to me. I look at the tray, then at him. “I’ve lost count.”

“One hundred and four.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you know.”

“I count most things.”

I point the piping bag at him.

“Stool.”

He inclines his head.

“Yes, chef.”

I nearly pipe cheese onto the floor.

At nine thirty, Julian has his coat over his arm and I’m locking the walk-in.

“Penny.”

Something in his voice makes me turn. He’s standing by the loading door looking unusually stiff.

“What?”

“I have been asked to attend a benefit at the Maritime Museum on Sunday.”

“Okay.”

“I would ordinarily send money and remain at home.”

“That sounds like you.”

“It does.”

He pauses. Julian is not a man who fidgets. He does absolutely nothing now, which, on him, is practically fidgeting.

“May I ask you to accompany me? I⁠—”

I’ve invited this man to dinner. To chowder. To the grange. To coffee. Into my house. Into my kitchen. Into every corner of my life.

This is the first time Julian has invited me anywhere.

“Yes,” I say before he’s even finished.

His face changes. Just a little, but I see it.

“Sunday,” he says.

“Sunday.”

“I’ll collect you at seven.”

“You’ll collect me?”

“Yes.”

“Like a date.”