"But yeah," Silas pressed, taking my silence as permission to continue his verbal assault, "let's keep her on a leash and see what happens. Let's make her wait for a public announcement about her own future, like some kind of festive sacrifice. That's not fucked up at all."
I should have fired him on the spot and reminded everyone present why creatures like me were feared in the first place. Demonstrated exactly what happened to those who forgot the natural order of power. Instead, I found myself oddly immobilized, caught between irritation at his presumption and reluctant acknowledgment of his loyalty. The baker cared for Simone, enough to risk my displeasure, which was no small thing. More disturbing was the realization that his accusations had found their target. Was that what I was doing? Turning her into a game? The thought didn't sit well, creating an unfamiliar discomfort in my chest.
Across the café, Simone took a deep breath, she lifted a mug of cocoa to her lips, the same blend I'd made her drink earlier, and took a small sip. Then, with the movements of someone who had weathered many storms, she returned to her position behind the counter, a smile firmly in place.
"The holiday party sounds wonderful," she repeated, as if Silas's outburst had never happened. "Silas, those cupcakes look amazing. Maybe we could do a whole spread of those for Friday? With the silver sugar? They catch the light beautifully."
Her calm redirection served as permission for the café to breathe again. Conversations cautiously resumed. The vampiresettled back in her chair. The werewolf's ears twitched once before he slowly emerged from beneath the table.
I watched her, truly watched her. On the surface, she projected seamless composure, steady hands arranging cupcakes, warm smile addressing a waiting customer, preparing the next drink order. A manager in control, unfazed by emotional outbursts or tension. But I could see what others couldn't. The slight tremor in her fingers when she thought no one was looking. The too-rapid blink that kept tears from forming and momentary vacant stare at nothing before she shook herself back to attention. She was fracturing beneath that composed exterior, hairline cracks spreading through carefully constructed armor. And rather than seeking support and acknowledging the strain, she worked harder to hide it. To be the person everyone needed her to be, regardless of what she needed herself.
Something shifted in me then, a recalibration of desire. Part of me still wanted to punish her for this deception, to break through her facade, force her to reveal the messy, wanting creature beneath the perfect exterior. To make her admit to her hunger, her exhaustion, her need. Hear her beg for what she truly wanted instead of settling for what others expected her to give. But another part, a part I barely recognized as my own, wanted something else entirely. I wanted to hold her together. To be the strength that allowed her to rest. Create a space where she didn't need armor, didn't need masks, didn't need to be anything but exactly who she was.
Even if I had to break her open first to do it.
The contradiction should have troubled me. Instead, it felt right, the dueling impulses of destruction and protection creating a perfect balance. I would shatter her carefully constructed walls, yes. But only so I could rebuild her, stronger and more authentic than before.
By Friday's party, she would understand. This wasn't just an evaluation of her management skills. It was an evaluation of her potential, to surrender, to trust, to be both broken and remade under my hands. To belong, not just to The Hearth, but to me and more importantly, herself.
I glanced at Silas, who continued to glare daggers in my direction, his tail lashing against the counter.
"You're not fired," I told him, amusement curling through me at his startled expression. "Your loyalty is...noted."
Then I turned away, returning to my booth to continue observing the woman who had become far more than a simple management problem. She had become, somehow, essential.
The café settled around us, returning to its rhythm of commerce and conversation. But beneath the surface, something fundamental had changed, a shift in the current, a new direction to the game.
Friday couldn't come soon enough.
Chapter eight
Simone
Iscrubbed at a particularly stubborn patch of dried icing on the counter, my shoulders hunched with exhaustion I couldn't afford to acknowledge. The pastry kitchen after hours was my sanctuary, where the constant performance of Perfectly-Put-Together Simone could take a break. My dress was smudged with cocoa powder and cinnamon, evidence of the day's chaos written across the fabric. I just needed fifteen more minutes alone before I could drag myself home to the echoing emptiness of my apartment.
Krampus's announcement about Friday's party still rang in my ears, each word a nail in the coffin of my time at The Hearth. "The new manager will be formally announced." Not "I'll announce if there will be a new manager." Not "We'll discuss Simone's future." But "the new manager" as if the decision was already made and my replacement was already chosen. My throat tightened as I scrubbed harder at the counter, the physical exertion a poor distraction from the hollowness expanding in my chest. Months of thinking I'd finally found a place where I belonged. All of it, evaporating like steam from a fresh latte.
The pastry kitchen door flew open with enough force to send a cloud of flour puffing up from the nearby work surface. Silas stormed in, his eyes flashing with indignation, tiny bells jingling from his horns in sharp contrast to his thunderous expression. He slammed a tray of leftover macarons onto the counter hard enough to make them bounce.
"Kitchen's closed," I said automatically, not looking up from my scrubbing. "Unless you're here to help clean, in which case there's another sponge in the—"
"Fuck the sponge," Silas interrupted, grabbing my wrist and yanking me away from the counter. "Look at me."
I sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "I'm tired, Silas. Whatever pastry emergency you're having can wait until—"
"You really gonna let him string you along like that?" he demanded, his tail lashing behind him like an angry cat's. "A party announcement? Seriously? You're just going to smile and nod while he dangles your job in front of the entire café like some kind of fucked-up Christmas ornament?"
"It's fine," I said, the words so automatic they required no thought. My smile slid into place, a reflex as natural as breathing. "I'm fine. It's his café. He can run it however he wants. I don't want to make it weird—"
"Oh my god, stop," Silas groaned, releasing my wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation. "Stop with the sunshine and rainbows routine. I've had enough sugar today to rot my fangs, and your fake smile is giving me a toothache."
I blinked, the practiced curve of my lips faltering slightly. "I'm not—"
"You are," he insisted, pointing a clawed finger at my face. "You're doing the thing where you pretend everything's fine when it's clearly a dumpster fire. The thing where you act like you don't care when you're actually falling apart inside."
The accuracy of his observation stung, but I folded my arms defensively. "I'm just being realistic. I've always known this job was temporary."
Silas's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Bullshit. You've been running this place for months. You don't just deserve to manage it, you should own it." His voice rose with each word, the bell on his left horn jingling indignantly. "You work your ass off. You figured out how to get those little frost imps to stop freezing the pipes by leaving them tiny knitted sweaters. This cafe is nothing without you."
