Page 6 of Death and Donuts

“You have time. If you approve of the second and third floors, I’ll focus the work there first.”

“There’s a third floor?” Vena asked, flipping the papers back.

We both looked at the rooftop design, which included a heated space with windows leading to a deck area with cushioned seating and a gas fireplace.

“This place is epic,” Vena said.

After seeing that, I knew she would push hard to move in, so I flipped back to the second floor for another look. Living above the bakery would save a lot of time, but it would also come with a list of problems Vena wasn’t considering.

“Do you want to add anything to the private kitchen?” Cross asked, watching me.

“No, it looks good,” I said.

“Bigger than ours at home,” Vena said, nudging me as if I didn’t have eyes or a brain to notice the same thing.

“It is,” I said. “The whole place looks amazing, Cross. And I can't think of anything to change or add.”

I stood. “We really should get back so we can get ready for work. Should Vena send you a list of book suggestions, or do you want her to bargain hunt for you? I recommend giving her a budget and telling her to fill the shelves within that budget—and make it low. She loves a challenge.”

“Hey,” Vena said with a scowl. She didn’t contradict me, though. Baking was in my blood, and bargaining was in hers. However, she loved money and would have bargained for the books and kept the change if there was any wiggle room.

Cross stood as well. “Send me a list, and I will set the budget and transfer the funds.”

She perked up a little and followed us down the stairs without complaint.

“What kind of access and safety are you going to have once this is all finished?” she asked. “I mean, you’re doing something that some people aren’t going to like. At least, not at first.”

“Very true. I’ll ensure it’s the safest place for you both. Day or night.”

Vena nodded with a side glance at me. Was she already up to something that would lead us into trouble? I really hoped not.

After saying goodbye, we drove back to the house. Neither of us talked much; we were both lost in our thoughts.

As soon as we were home, I went to my notebook and started flipping through the recipes I’d perfected. Most of them catered to humans, which meant werewolves would like them. But what about the other races?

I texted Miles.

Me: Are you up for some idle research?

Miles: Sure. What do you need?

Me: A list of favorite foods by creature.

Miles: On it. When do you need it by?

Me: Tomorrow?

Miles: You need to work on your definition of idle.

Me: I ate that dick cake. You owe me.

Miles: Tomorrow it is.

I shuddered as I remembered the rolled sheep’s scrotum he’d hidden in an innocent piece of cake. Why would anyone use scrotum leather to make a map? And why had he picked cake to hide it in? For safe keeping, obviously, but I still found it unreasonable.

Both he and Vena owed me for the trauma I endured at the beginning of this summer. Although, to be fair, Miles’ suffering had been worse with his kidnapping and vampire thrall. But still…dick cake!

“Why do you look like you’re going to heave your cookies all over the floor?” Vena asked.

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