“Yes, well, it is better kept here.”
I had no idea why, until I thought back to his house, which I’d only been inside of twice. He had a good eye for decor. Very clean and classy and comfortable. I hadn’t seen anything resembling a toy in his home. There wasn’t really room for them among all the plants, flowers, bushes, and succulents he had draped—growing and flourishing—in his living room and kitchen.
Death, or at least Death on vacation, had quite the green thumb. But for some reason he didn’t want anyone to know about it.
“Tea?” I asked.
He gestured toward the cup sitting on a side table set up with a burner, tea pot, and a selection of teas.
I poured sugar and cream into the cup and sipped. It was light, creamy, and tasted of spring.
“Why don’t I drink tea more often?” I murmured as the music changed to a new song. This one was newer and more upbeat. Pretty sure it was Taylor Swift talking about calming down.
“Did you come to discuss my opinion of your terrible tea-drinking habits?” He hadn’t moved, was still on that stool, watching me, the tea a shield between us.
“Nice jeans,” I volleyed. “Totally go with the boots.”
He paused, then set his cup down on the shelf behind him.
“I understand denim trousers are very ‘Pacific Northwest,’” he said.
“Oh, they are. But so is the lumberjack look. Have you thought about flannel and suspenders? Maybe a beard and a beanie?” I tipped my head to one side. “Can you even grow a beard?”
“I can grow whatever facial hair I desire,” he said, clearly affronted. “However, if you came here this afternoon to discuss my wardrobe, I would remind you that this is a place of business, not an episode of a fashion show.”
I blinked. Because half of that comment was what I’d expected he’d say. But the other half was blowing my mind.
“Please tell me you watch fashion shows. Do you like the wedding dress shows more than the runway designer shows? No! You like that new one that’s all about thrift shopping for a look. You do, don’t you? That’s why you’re wearing jeans and turtle boots.” I sucked in a big, fake gasp. “You thrift-shopped.”
“Denim,” he corrected, “because it is practical in this community. Boots,” he pointed one long finger downward, “because it is raining.” His finger swung to the windows behind me. The sky had darkened another notch, the clouds and storm growing into a real force.
“And the fashion shows?” I wheedled.
“If that is all, I am very busy, Reed Daughter.”
The song wound down, Tay Tay telling us all to calm down. I made a big show of looking out into the shop, craning my neck to see the corners. “Somany customers in here today. You really are super busy. Maybe I should stay to help you keep up.”
I thought, just for a moment, that maybe I’d pushed my luck a little too far. He gave me a withering glare, then picked up his tea and sipped again, looking as if he had all the time in the world to watch me rattle on.
“Unless you’re rearranging your ceiling menagerie? I’d be happy to help you hang some poisonous jellyfish on top of kitten kites, or whatever other childhood joy you’d like to ruin.” I gave him a big grin, letting him know I was teasing, but those eyes.
Those eyes were watching me.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?”
“Who is bothering you and why you are avoiding them.”
“Nothing’s wrong. No one is bothering me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have my punch card still?”
“Yes. If I needed you to help with something… big, I’d ask.”
“You are telling me there is nothing going on you need help with?”
“There’s always something going on,” I said. “This is Ordinary and there are no days off. Not really. It’s just magic, explosion, curse, monster. All. The. Time.”
