“I can and will.” Rafe kicks a jumper. “This ispolyester. Do I look like I put polyester against my skin?”
“Once we open and I make some money, we can do some online shopping and I’ll buy you something that you choose. But to get to that stage, I need you to put some trousers on and stop complaining.”
“I get to go shopping with your credit card?” Rafe leans forward, his chin in his hands as he regards me with sparkling ocean eyes. “You’ll let me buy whatever I want?”
“Within reason.”
“You didn’t say that before, so it’s not legally binding. Oh, you are going to regret this promise. I have both expensive and exquisite taste.” Rafe leaps down and riffles through the pile of clothes. “After I don these monstrosities you dare call garments, what’s on the agenda today?”
“We um—” I get distracted by Rafe’s exquisite arse. I shake myhead.Stop that, Autumn, keep your eyes on the prize. And I don’t mean that prize derriere.“We need to put the next coat of paint on the walls, and then I’ll find a carpenter to make the shelving and tables.”
Rafe pulls on a pair of black boxers, and I find myself swallowing down the tiniest bit of disappointment. “And you brought the gothwaffles?”
“The gothwaffles?”
“The spellbooks that will have a cure for my curse. You called them gothwaffles last night.”
“Oh, right. Thegrimoiresare right here. I thought we could look over them at lunch and see if there was anything useful. But speaking of gothwaffles, Celeste is open, so I’ll head next door and get us some breakfast while you get started.”
I duck through the door toGlazed and Confused. Pax’s voice thunders through the small bakery as he thumps down sourdough loaves for customers. Celeste is wiping down tables. She goes in to hug me.
“How are you doing this morning?” she asks.
“I found out the identity of our ghost,” I whisper. “It’s Rafe the cat. He’s actually a cat burglar named Rafe. He tried to rob the Widow Hardcastle, and she turned him into a cat.”
“I actually meant, how are you holding up with Warrick gone? Have the police found anything new? But I think I have my answer.”
Oh, right. I’m supposed to be the worried wife.I shake my head. “Nothing new. I’m distracting myself with shop stuff. And Rafe is definitely a distraction. He can now turn back into a human if he’s near me. He’s your cheese-stealing ghost.”
Celeste snorts. “I should have known. That cat is a menace. Can you imagine someone being silly enough to rob Widow Hardcastle? What did she even have of value anyway? I wonder if it has anything to do with her murder.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I say. “And the police won’t follow that because they don’t take witchcraft seriously. I promised Rafe that I’d try to break his curse, but I think it’s all connected. I’m going to look into it.”
“Count me in for whatever you need,” Celeste says. “And that goes for Warrick things, too. Did you and your menace of a cat need breakfast?”
I glance up at the breakfast menu. Every week, Celeste does a few cafe-style breakfast options in addition to her baked goods. My eyes land on the waffles, and a silly idea occurs to me.
“Could you make us some gothwaffles?”
“Some what?”
“Gothwaffles. Waffles that are goth. I don’t know what that would involve, but it’s a running joke between Rafe and me.”
“Gothwaffles. I love it.” Celeste disappears out back. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll bring them over when they’re ready.”
“He evenlookslike Rafe the cat,” Celeste whispers to me as she clears away our plates. The gothwaffles were delicious. She’d written RIP on them in chocolate drizzle and placed them upright like tombstones in a garden of salted caramel crumb and fruit “flowers.” Rafe declared her a genius and seems to have forgotten entirely that he hates the smell of wolf. “Well, Rafe the cat, if he were a lingerie model. He’sstunning.”
“He is? I haven’t noticed.”
My cheeks burn. How is it that I can’t even think about that man without blushing?
“You’re a terrible liar, Autumn Abernathy.” Celeste winks at me. She heads back to her shop. “I’m leaving this door closed so the paint fumes don’t put off my customers, but feel free to come by for lunch.”
After Rafe licks both of our plates clean, we get cracking on the next coat of paint. Rafe steals my phone and puts on a playlist. I expect to hate his music because he’s a criminal and I assume criminals don’t enjoy art and beautiful things, but he’s put on a mix of Britishfolk rock and medieval music that makes my hips want to sway. He whistles along as he works.
“I love this music,” I tell him as I load up my roller tray with more paint. “It makes me feel like I’m walking into a real fantasy tavern.”
“You sound surprised,” he says. “You think because I’m a thief, the only songs I listen to are Jailhouse Rock and Folsom Prison Blues?”
