I was going to shake my head again to disagree, but there was a knock on my door.
A knock? Our shift isn’t for three more hours, so that’s not Sunshine. And Considine is right here with me.
I absently placed a hand on Considine’s chest. He placed his hand on top of mine.
“Get a dagger,” I whispered to him.
“Why?” Considine whispered back.
“Because you’re here, and it’s too early for Sunshine. That means it’s probably an enemy,” I whispered.
Considine chuckled. “Why don’t you check the peephole?”
Another knock on my door propelled me into action.
I still considered grabbing a dagger, but Considine’s laugh had me opting to follow his advice and check the peephole, pausing with shock when I saw Mrs. Weston standing outside.
Why is Mrs. Weston knocking on my door?
Her willowy frame was bundled up, covered by a tweed suit coat with an unbuttoned wool coat shrugged over it, and a leopard print scarf tied around her neck. “Jade, darling! Are you home?” She called.
“Just a moment!” I unlocked all my extra locks, barely noticing when Considine joined me, lingering at my back while I swung my doors open. “Hello Mrs. Weston…and Mr. Weston.”
I smiled at the older woman first, then her husband as he marched down the hallway.
Mr. Weston was as short and squat as Mrs. Weston was tall and willowy. He was dressed similarly to Mrs. Weston with a wool vest and a buttoned tweed coat, topped with a hand knitted scarf I was fairly certain was Mrs. Weston’s work.
“Wonderful, you’re home—oh, and I see the boyfriend is here, too!” Mrs. Weston wriggled her fingers at Considine with the affection of a grandmother. “Hello, Connor.”
Considine’s courteous smile had a touch less polish than usual and some actual warmth to it. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Weston.”
“Ooh, a greeting? Aren’t you being unusually verbose today?” Mrs. Weston chuckled.
Considine draped an arm around my waist and leaned into me. “What can I say? Love does strange things to me.”
Mrs. Weston’s face lit up. “Then it has happened? Finally? You two have become a couple?”
“Uh,” I stammered.
Mrs. Weston had implied before she thought Considine was my boyfriend—back when I thought he was only Connor.
Considine was so smug he practically purred. “I’m working on it. I dare say it’s going well, all things considered.”
Mrs. Weston slapped Mr. Weston’s shoulder three times. “You see! I told you, Alvin. I told you!”
Mr. Weston adjusted his hold on the plastic bag he held. “Yes, yes. You told me, our bridge club, your wine club that is masquerading as a book club, all three of our children, all our grandchildren, and anyone from the apartment building who would listen to you.”
“And I was right!” Mrs. Weston said. “Elly is going to be positivelygreenthat she missed this critical moment!” Mrs. Weston gleefully tightened her scarf. “But don’t misunderstandme, Jade. You need to make this young man work for it! You’ve been so sweet to him since he moved here. It’s high time he shows some appreciation for you!”
Considine peered down at me. “It really is,” he said to me. “I’m open to suggestions if you want to give me any ideas.”
As this was a conversation I did not want to have on my doorstep, in public, and I could feel the telltale burn in my cheeks that usually signaled I was about to blush an unappealing tomato red color that made my freckles look more like a bad case of sunburn, I was able to override my usual social anxiety with sheer desperation. “What brings you to my apartment, Mrs. Weston?”
“Oh—right! Silly me.” Mrs. Weston took the plastic bag from her husband. “I wanted to thank you for that delicious Chex Mix you share with us, so I made some no-bake cookies!” Mrs. Weston pulled out a Tupperware container of chocolate cookies made primarily of oatmeal.
“Thank you.” I said automatically—never before had I been so grateful my mother had drilled manners into me since around the time I started my dagger training. Without that, I would have been speechless from surprise.
I’d moved into my apartment a year ago, and while everyone had been kind, this was the first time someone was returning my attempts at baked goods.
