Page 17 of The Lone Wolf Café
I studied the strange witch. Her face was hard as stone, but as I continued gazing into those dark eyes, I felt flickers of her hidden emotions. Intrigue. Curiosity. A desire for connection. And of course, that fierce, mysterious protectiveness, roaring like an ever-burning flame.
As my mind gently prodded hers, attempting to fit all the little pieces together into a cohesive picture, I gained more insight into her personality.
She wasn’t reserved by her own choice – it was forced upon her.
I just couldn’t figure out why.
“Everyone loved the scones,” Rowena continued, pacing around the room. I noticed she kept several feet of distance between us.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I passed them out to customers as samples. Told them the bakery section of the café officially reopens tomorrow.”
I raised a thick red eyebrow. “So my baking duties start tomorrow?”
“Yes. You’ll be paid the same amount for today, though.” Rowena walked toward the back door, grabbed a black cloak from a hook and slid it over her shoulders. It fit her perfectly, and I couldn’t help but admire her taste in clothing. She was a strange witch, but she was also stunning. Her curves were perfectly accentuated by her elegant purple corset, and the exposed skin of her collarbone was as fine as porcelain. “Now come along. Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Yes. I already closed up the front of the shop.”
I craned my neck to look out the kitchen window. Sure enough, the café was completely dark.
“The café closes at 3 p.m.,” Rowena scolded, the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “Come on, walk with me.”
Rowena pulled a ring of keys out of her pocket, fiddled with the clunky lock, and swung the back door open. A cool breeze burst through the open door, filling my lungs with chilly air and making my exposed skin tingle.
We walked mostly in silence, which was both awkward and soothing. I knew Rowena wasn’t one for conversation, so I assumed she was perfectly fine with the quiet. But I wasn’t as reserved as she was. Back home, werewolves were bold, chatty, and outgoing, always prattling on and getting up in each other’s business. My wolf half loved the quiet, since I spent so much time hunting in the peace of the woods, but my human half was accustomed to noise and laughter.
“So, Rowena…” I cringed as soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth. My voice sounded awkward due to walking in silence for nearly ten minutes. “Since the café closes so early, what time does it open?”
It took several seconds for Rowena to answer, with only the crunching of leaves underfoot to fill the awkward silence. We’d left the main village square and were traveling down a long dirtpath, just wide enough for us to walk side-by-side. The fiery autumn forest was motionless, except for the occasional loose maple leaf that fluttered to the ground like snow. It was magical, and it reminded me how much I loved this time of year.
“We open every morning at 6 a.m.,” Rowena replied. “Our hours are 6 a.m. to 3 p.m., Tuesday through Sunday. We’re closed on Mondays.”
I didn’t reply at first, but Rowena must’ve noticed the way my face paled at her reaction, because she let out a noise halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. “What, not a morning person?”
“Uh…”
That was a no. Werewolves were not “morning people”. We were night owls, prowling the forest until the early hours of dawn and sleeping in well past sunrise.
I could handle waking up a bit earlier than usual, but 6 a.m. was unfathomable.This time of year, it would still be dark outside.
“Well, I have bad news for you, human.” Even with Rowena’s stoic personality, I could tell she found this situation amusing. “Since you’re our new baker, you’ll need to have all the pastriesdoneby that time. Which means you have a 3 a.m. wakeup call tomorrow.”
3 a.m.?!
I questioned if that was even physically possible for werewolves. But I needed this job, so I would have to make it work. Plus, this was all temporary. I wasn’t planning on staying in this town for more than a few weeks.
“Alright,” I replied, trying to squeak out the words with a pinched throat. “I guess I should go to bed early then.”
I grimaced, knowing since I was a werewolf, I’d most likely lie awake for hours; grumpy, restless, and desperate to shift into wolf form and go for a run.
“Speaking of beds…” Rowena stopped, pointing to a fork in the road. It wasn’t even 4 p.m., but since it was Maine in the middle of autumn, the sky had already taken on the hazy orange glow of evening. Through the dim light peeking through the trees, I could see two cottages, side by side, shrouded in foliage with less than twenty feet of space between them.
Although, as we got closer, I noticed one was significantly more choked by the trees. It was also dingier, with weathered wood siding and a roof that desperately needed replacing – the result of at least a few decades of disuse.
“It’s not much,” Rowena noted. There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, as if she wished she had better accommodations to offer. It was surprising, but also reminded me of how fiercely she declared she would protect me if something went wrong. I still didn’t understand it, but I appreciated the feeling of having someone by my side in this harrowing new world.
