“The language of mysterious coffee beans left by anonymous admirers.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
“Is it?”
“It’s better than having the police question our motives.”
“That’s our new standard? ‘Better than police intervention’?”
Urien stood, moving to bank the fire. His dragon had settled somewhat, soothed by the prospect of action. He wanted to do something, even if that something was leaving premium coffee beans on their mate’s doorstep like some kind of caffeine-obsessed burglar.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We start tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Mabon agreed.
“Tomorrow,” Rux echoed, though he still looked like he wanted to argue for the rubies. But then Rux had always loved his bling.
Chapter Five
Sam
Monday morning saw Sam opening his front door, juggling his messenger bag, his travel mug, and his keys, while trying to stall Basil’s escape attempts. He stepped forward, and his foot connected with something that shouldn’t have been there.
A bag sat on his doormat.
Not a mail package, just a medium-sized brown paper bag - the kind bakeries used - folded neatly at the top.
Sam glanced down the street. Mrs. Channing was watering her roses two houses down. Mr. Kapoor backed out of his driveway. Nobody lurked suspiciously near Sam’s cottage.
He picked up the bag. It was heavy, and something shifted inside with a pleasant rustle. Then the smell hit him - rich, dark, and complex. Coffee?
Sam opened the bag. Inside, there was a smaller kraft paper bag with a label he didn’t recognize.SingleOrigin Ethiopia Yirgacheffe, it read in elegant script.Light roast, notes of blueberry and jasmine.
A folded card was nested against the bag. Sam pulled it out.
Have a nice day.
That was it. No signature. No return address. Just four words in neat handwriting on cream cardstock.
“Huh,” Sam said to Basil, who’d taken advantage of the open door to sniff the morning air with great interest. “That’s...nice?”
He looked down the street again. Maybe it was Mrs. Channing? She knew he worked at a coffee shop. Or Emma from the library - she was always trying to get him to branch out from his usual dark roast.
Sam brought the bag inside, setting it on his kitchen counter. The beans smelled incredible and were probably more expensive than his usual brand. He’d open them tomorrow, after his shift. It was a sweet gesture, though, a lovely gesture of neighborhood kindness.
/~/~/~/~/
Tuesday’s discovery made him reconsider. This time it was three books stacked on his doormat, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine like something from a period drama. Sam carried them inside and unwrapped them at his kitchen table.
His breath caught.The Fireborne Trilogy –special editions with embossed covers, gilt edges, and illustrations he’d only seen online. The kind of books Sam drooled over, but never seemed to manage to save up for.
There was no note this time, just three beautiful volumes that he’d mentioned wanting exactly once, to Emma, three months ago during a lunch break conversation he barely remembered.
Sam ran his fingers over the dragon embossed on the first cover. The detail was extraordinary - scales picked out in copper foil, eyes that seemed to gleam.
“This is weird, right?” he asked Basil, who’d claimed the wrapping paper. “This is starting to feel weird.”
But he put them on his bookshelf anyway, between his modest paperback collection. They looked gorgeous there, as if the collection belonged to someone who had their life together instead of a twenty-seven-year-old barista who wrote unpublishable romance in his spare time.
