Page 28 of Protector of Talon Mountain

“Everything okay?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Totally,” I say, voice too bright. “Just... scone math.”

He watches me stir as though he has already figured out the puzzle but is not finished playing with it.

“I’ve got to do a drive around the town. Let folks see I’m watching,” he says finally. “You need anything before I head out?”

A million things. Protection. Answers. A second of peace. I shake my head.

“No. I’m good.”

He doesn’t move. His hand comes to rest on the counter beside me—casual, but close. I stop whisking.

“You’re still lying,” he says, voice low, private. “And you know I’ll wait you out.”

My throat tightens. “I know.”

His eyes search mine for a beat longer, then he nods once and straightens. “Keep the back door locked. I’ll be back around noon. Call if anything feels off.”

I nod. “Zeke?—”

He pauses. I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t even know what I was going to say. He doesn’t need me to. He just looks at me like I already said enough. Then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a quiet click that leaves the room colder than before.

The late-morning rush slows to a simmer just before eleven, and Jenny finally makes her way behind the counter with a refill pitcher in one hand and her phone in the other. Her messy ponytail hangs sideways, and powdered sugar dusts her apron, but her eyes are sharp and more alert than I usually see at this hour.

She plants herself beside the espresso machine and leans in. “So... did you see that guy out front last night?”

I pause mid-reach for a fresh mug. “What guy?”

She drops the voice a notch. “Creepy guy. Parked across the street in an old green pickup. Same truck I saw a few nights ago, around closing. Just... sitting there. No lights, no engine running, just watching.”

My pulse jerks, but I keep my tone even. “You sure he wasn’t waiting for someone at the bar across the street?”

Jenny snorts. “At nine thirty? With his headlights off? And no one got in or out for like twenty minutes? Nah. He was watching us. Watching you, probably.”

I force a chuckle. “Well, I’m not that interesting.”

Jenny gives me a look, the one that says she knows I’m full of it. She opens her mouth to say more, but just then, Zeke returns from his drive round town.

The second he steps through the door, the air changes. That fast, that tangible. Jenny notices it, too. She goes quiet and suddenly remembers she has a table waiting for fresh coffee.

Zeke crosses the room and stops in front of the counter; his body language is loose, but he locks his eyes on mine. He doesn’t say a word, just lifts a brow. A silent question.

I answer with a practiced smile, the kind I’ve given customers a thousand times over. “Everything’s fine.”

He doesn’t believe me. Of course he doesn’t. That stare of his could peel paint off a wall.

Still, he says nothing. Not here. Not now. He just nods once and moves to lean against the end of the counter, arms crossed, scanning the café like a predator watching over his territory. The man spends more time in my café than he does in his office.

The rest of the shift crawls by. Zeke lingers. Doesn’t hover—but doesn’t leave, either. When he goes back upstairs, I catch myself watching the stairs for too long after his boots disappear.

By eight, the café is mostly empty. The dinner crowd has almost cleared out. Jenny’s already packing up for the day, and I’ve retreated into the back kitchen under the excuse of prepping tomorrow’s pastries. I press my fingers to my temples, trying to quiet the static.

When I step outside to catch a breath, the wind bites harder. It cuts through my jacket like it has something to prove. I scan the alley instinctively, half expecting to see a dark shape tucked between parked cars. But there’s nothing. Not tonight.

Still, when I look up, I spot him. Zeke at the end of the alley shrouded in shadow. How the hell did he get there? The last time I saw him he was going up to his place over the café. His arms are crossed, and his head is down like he’s checking something on his phone—but I know better. He’s watching. Not lurking. Not hiding. Justthere.

That night, I close up fast. Lights off. Windows locked. Trash taken out in under three minutes. When I turn the key in the door, he’s already beside me, silent as always. I don’t startle anymore. I don’t need to ask what he’s doing here. I know.

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