Page 4 of Hunters and Hydrangeas

In a cruel twist of fate, vampires have a heightened sense of smell, which has no upside that I’ve found. Bread smellsamazing, but we can’t eat it. Cake smells amazing. We can’t eat it either.

The tired, sweaty construction worker who walks past me on his way to the forbidden bakery department doesnotsmell amazing. Sadly, we can eat him. (Not that it’s legal, or that I’d want to. It’s not, and I don’t.)

The cost of immortality is high.

There are perks, however. My skin looks amazing. Blemishes? None. Pores? Microscopic.

I’ve also lost five pounds, maybe thanks to the virus, maybe thanks to my new carnivore needs. (It’s not a diet; it’s a lifestyle.) But most importantly, I’m now the same species as my boyfriend.

Okay, we were always the same—both humans, one of us a little more vampiric than the other. We’ve traded places, though. These days, I’m the night-dwelling monster in the relationship.

Noah can go in the sunlight thanks to the clinical trial of a daylight medication he’s taking. I can’t, because they don’t let new vampires sign up. And I am new—very new. I’ve only been in the final stage for a week now. Which is just long enough to come to terms with my new life and enter a period of grief where I mourn all the things I’ve lost.

Like donuts, sunshine, and cucumbers.

And maybe even worse, I have to take the synthetic blood straight now. And while my body might crave it, my tastebuds do not. I miss smoothies.

“Hey, Piper,” Miguel says as I pass him in the produce section. He’s stocking bright red, forbidden tomatoes. “You looking for Noah? I was talking to him a minute ago, and Naomi called, needing change. He’s probably still in the back office.”

“I’ll look for him there.” I try to ignore the cute basil plants that are stocked on a stand next to the tomatoes. They make methink of spaghetti…which makes me think of linguine, fettuccini, penne, and tortellini.

Never mind. I don’t miss bread the most. I miss pasta.

Be strong.

I find Noah in the office, sorting through rolls of change. He looks up when I knock on the open door, grinning when he sees it’s me. It still makes my heart flutter.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Cassian was headed home, and I asked him to drop me off. You said you’d be done by eight, so I thought we could go out to dinner.”

He glances out the window at the dusky mountains. “I didn’t realize it was getting so late.”

It’s quickly becoming my favorite time of day—still light, but the sun can’t fry me to a crisp. It’s a brief stretch of time that doesn’t last nearly long enough.

“Yep, it's now safe for me to leave my coffin.” I watch him type something into a spreadsheet.

Right now, his parents are in Estes Park with his sister and her fiancé. They’re meeting with the wedding planner and going over final details for the venue. Noah has taken a few days off to fill in for them, watching the store in their absence while the assistant manager is off. But she’ll be back tomorrow, and then he’s free for the weekend.

We’ll probably do what we did last weekend—hole up in the house and watch K-dramas. Which is great…but this hiding from the light thing is getting old.

“What about the farmer’s market?” he asks.

“Olivia declared it wasn’t safe to have me around all those vegetables and said she’d run the stand tonight.”

“That works for me. I don’t mind keeping you to myself.” He joins me and leads the way out of the office. “I just need to getthese quarters to Naomi, and then we can eat. What are you in the mood for?”

“A salad. Maybe some pasta. An entire loaf of French bread.”

He gives me a look that’s laced with pity, but I smile to let him know I’m joking.

Or, you know. Mostly joking.

I pause just before we reach the registers, waiting for Noah to hand over the change Naomi requested. Shamelessly, I watch him go. Tall, trim, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the man is pure temptation. (Which is not an easy feat in a green grocer’s apron.)

I’m not the only one who notices. Though Noah might be oblivious to the heart palpitations he’s giving the girls at the registers, I’m not. I wait with a wry smile as they attempt to flirt and giggle.

He doesn’t notice. Or if he notices, he doesn’t care.

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