Page 14 of Zachary

I sigh and reach for the notepad and pen in the middle of the table, where I shoved them in a pique of frustration earlier. Making those lists wasn’t easy. I have one each for Garrett, Cam, and Arne, and they’re… not exactly long. I don’t know much about anyone here because I haven’t made any effort to get to know them—not them personally. And now I have to make another one.

Painstakingly, I write Zac’s name at the top of a page. Not every dragon and elf bothered to learn how to write by hand, what with computers and tablets and smartphones being the norm in many countries. It was easier, Fabian told me, for themto learn to recognize typed print and use devices than to master the art of handwriting. It’s an undeniable fact, making a pencil or pen shape the letters the way they should look—without using magic to assist—ishard. But I considered learning how to be part of my atonement. If things had gone the wayheplanned, many elements of Earth’s culture, including handwriting, could have been eradicated. I owe it to the horror of what might have been to carry on what many locals already consider to be a dying art.

Now… what do I know about Zac?

I tap my pen against my lip, the way I saw an actor do in a movie once. It doesn’t help. Okay. Think. He’s… moody.

No, I can’t put that down. Everybody has moods, including me. What else?

He’s intelligent—I’ve seen the periodicals and journals he reads, and they’re not lightweight stuff. They’re also mostly about science—geology. Botany. Animals.

I write all that down.

He’s the town ranger—I can’t remember who told me that, but I remember thinking how little comfort it would bring to know that if I got lost in the wilderness, the person in charge of the search would be the one who despised me most. So I suppose he’s an outdoorsman. That first time I visited the cave, the others deferred to him on matters of safety. He’s the authority when it comes to all of that.

The children love him. He mentioned babysitting duty, but I’ve seen him around town with little ones clustered around or trailing after him like ducklings.

Speaking of seeing him in town… he’s athletic—if you can call snowball fights a form of athleticism. And he’s popular. People are always hailing him with big smiles wherever he goes.

I push aside a pang of bitter jealousy. I might not ever be able to have that level of liking and acceptance, but I can build a degree of it.

The oven timer for my croissants buzzes at exactly the same time the doorbell rings. I freeze. Who could that be? Zac, back to tell me he’s changed his mind?

Shaking the foolish thought aside, I reach out with my senses as I grab an oven mitt to rescue my croissants. They smell ready, and I don’t want to risk them burning while I open the door to… Is that a sorcerer?

My memory fills in the blanks a moment later. It’s Zoe, the sorcerer who can do amazing things with snow and ice. I’ve only met her once, but she was friendly enough and has a lovely smile. I’m not sure what she’s doing here, but I doubt it’s bad.

Setting the tray on a cooling rack, I close the oven and head toward the front door just as the bell rings again. “I’m coming!” I call, then wonder why I bothered. It just seemed the thing to do.

It’s only when I reach for the knob that I realize I’m still wearing the oven mitt. Sighing, I pull it off and open the door.

The tall blonde woman standing on my front step smiles brightly, her cheeks pink from the cold. “Hi! I don’t know if you remember me—I’m Zoe?”

I smile back. I can’t help it—she looks happy. “Yes, of course. It’s good to see you again.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your day off, but I’ve been—” She stops abruptly and sniffs the air. Her eyes drop to the oven mitt in my hand. “Is that heavenly aroma by any chance coming from your kitchen, and if so, what would it take for me to talk you into sharing some of it with me? A foot rub? Diamonds? A thirty-foot-high snow statue of you?”

A laugh bursts from me, and I stand back, holding the door wide. “Come in. I made too many just for me anyway.” I mentally pat myself on the back for sounding so normal when on theinside, I’m screaming with excitement. A visitor who seems to want to spend time with me? Even if it is just for baked goods, this is positive. This is an opportunity to make a connection here in the village. Sure, Zoe’s also a newcomer and technically an “outsider,” but from everything I’ve heard, she’s made a lot of friends and plans to stay indefinitely.

Zoe walks past me into the house, still sniffing appreciatively.

“Kitchen’s down the hall,” I tell her, then wonder if I should have shown her into the living room instead. I’m not used to having visitors—never have been. Even before I came to Earth, people didn’t so much visit as check up on me.

She doesn’t seem offended or fazed, though, stripping off her gloves and hat as I follow her to the kitchen. “Yep, this is definitely the source of that incredible smell. Croissants? Did you make them from scratch, or somehow convince Griff at the supermarket to stock the readymade ones?”

“He’d never do that—he’s got a crush on Greta from the bakery,” I say automatically, then freeze. “I-I mean… that’s just a guess. Nobody said anything to me.” Have I ruined this already?

To my relief, Zoe strips off her coat and lays it on the back of a chair with her other outer garments, then sits in the one beside it. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I kinda thought the same. I’ve been asking him for months to get me some of that American canned dough, at the very least, but he refuses. He never says no to anything else I ask for, so him being sweet on Greta and not wanting to get on her bad side makes sense.”

Relieved, I pile the hot croissants on a big plate and bring it to the table. “Jam? Or honey? I don’t have anything else, I’m afraid.” I was lucky to have enough butter on hand to even make the dough.

She nabs one from the top of the pile. “First one needs to be plain, to get the full experience. Then I’ll go from there.” She winks at me, and I’m completely charmed.

“Can I get you some tea? I don’t have coffee, I’m sorry. But there’s water and juice.” Like most dragons, after some experimentation, I found that I prefer tea for everyday drinking and reserve coffee for the frothy, milky, flavored concoctions I can get at specialty cafés. Finding I had that in common with my brethren was one of the first things, foolish as it was, that made me feel like a true dragon.

I was sure a hoard would be the clincher, but I’m still waiting for that.

“Tea would be great. Thank you. I swear, I didn’t mean to barge in on your day off. Well,” she smiles ruefully, “obviously I did after I invited myself in. But the reason I stopped by was to ask if you wanted to get a drink sometime.” She bites into the croissant and moans. “Holy crap, this is amazing.”

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