The Wolf Had Opinions
Gideon
Wednesday was normally our slowest day, but not this week. I had to hand it to Leon, as annoying as the constant festivals were, they were indeed bringing in business.
I hadn’t really expected many people to be that interested in a class on how to pour a beer properly, but I’d agreed to host it anyway, mostly because Leon wouldn’t let it go. But I’d give him his due, in this instance anyway, he was right. We had a steady stream of festival visitors alongside the usual locals, and the pub hummed with the sound of people enjoying themselves.
We’d all been working hard, not that I was complaining, because I wasn’t. Between the people enjoying the new beers that were on tap and the delicious appetizers Alvin had created to pair with the brews, we were having one of our best weeks ever.
I’d been surprised when Sable had said she’d be willing to teach the class, and I knew she’d worked hard on herpresentation. So when Leon announced it was time to start, I gave her a reassuring nod and turned the bar over to her.
Sable stood behind a line of glasses arranged with the precision of someone who took their job seriously, which she did.
"The angle matters more than most people think," she said to the group clustered around the bar. She tipped a glass at exactly the degree she'd diagrammed and let the ale slide down the side with the kind of authority that invited no argument. "You want the foam. You just don't want all the foam."
When I was sure she had everything under control, I did a slow circuit of the room, checked in with tables, made sure drinks were flowing, and no one needed anything. Luckily, Tate was doing a great job and had everything well under control. I’d been unsure when I first hired him, but Sable had taken to him right away.
Leon was near the back, working the room with the focused energy of a man on a mission, no doubt trying to do damage control and save what was left of the festival. He'd straightened his sweater vest—tonight's was a deep burgundy—and was introducing himself to festival visitors with the handshake of a man running for office.
"Wonderful turnout," he said when I passed him. "Wonderful. This is exactly the kind of positive community event we needed this week. Especially after”—he glanced around to see if anyone was listening—"you know, Roy."
"It is," I agreed. I moved on, slowly making my way to the table in the corner where my people sat.
Sandy was there, with his chin in his hand and his turquoise hair somehow even more vivid under the warm pub light. Hazel sat beside him, four of her eight legs tucked primly beneath her chair and four resting on the floor with the practiced arrangement of someone who'd spent decades making herselfcomfortable in human furniture. I felt the hum of magic in the air around her, telling me she was using glamour. She didn’t often use magic to disguise her spider legs from humans, usually preferring to hide them under her skirts instead. But Elwood had been encouraging the misfits to try new things lately, so perhaps this was her way of doing that. Az was leaning back in his chair wearing an easy, laid-back expression.
Declan was next to him.
He had a half-eaten plate of Alvin's pairing snacks in front of him, while he was talking. His hands were moving, and his glasses had slid down his nose in the way they did when he was so focused on whatever he was doing or saying that he forgot to push them up. I felt something shift in my chest, the same thing that happened every time I walked into a room and located him in it. Like everything slotted into place.
I pulled up a chair.
"—and the kitchen," Declan was saying, leaning forward. "You have no idea. It's enormous. Whoever designed that space knew exactly what they were doing. There are two full-size ovens, and the prep space is—" He stopped when he saw me sit down. "Hi."
"Hi." I reached over and stole one of his smoked almonds. "Tell them more about the kitchen."
He pointed at me. "Donotmake fun of me for being excited about an oven."
"I would never."
"You’re making that face right now."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is just my normal face."
“The one that says you're humoring me.”
Sandy looked between us like he was watching a sport he deeply enjoyed. Hazel looped her yarn without looking up, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Declan rolled his pretty eyes, dismissing me, and turned back to the group. “Anyway, as I was saying. It's perfect. The whole building is perfect. Janis is drawing up a one-year lease with the right of first refusal, and I’m going to open a bakery.”
That last sentence came out like he was half afraid saying it out loud would make it real. From the look on his face, it did.
"That's wonderful, dear," Hazel said warmly, clicking her needles together in a brief, approving way.
"If you need any help, I’m always available," Sandy said.
“You know how to bake?” Declan asked.
“Nope,” Sandy said with a grin. “But I’m an excellent taste tester.”
