Page 5 of Bread By the Grim
She reaches out and pats the closest thing to her with her giant furry hand—my knee. “Don’t you worry about this, Grim. This will all work out. I promise.”
I clear my throat. I’m sure it will. Eventually. Or I’ll just have to restructure Grim’s. I could always change from a breakfast/lunch place to a lunch/dinner place. Though the competition in Ghostlight Falls is fierce. There are so many places like Ratcliff’s, the fancy restaurant by the falls, that I could never compete with. “It will. But what can I do for you, Bernice? How are you getting to your daughter’s house?”
She smiles and leans back in her chair and starts to tell me all her plans. I don’t say much. I just sit back and listen and try to be happy for her.
Later that night, I find the piece of paper with Phil’s number in my pants pocket as I undress before bed. I should probably call him and see if he needs me to arrange for a shuttle or something. Sasquatch travel,even in this day and age, can be tricky. Ghostlight Falls is better at having options for larger cryptids than most. The city buses can all accommodate most of the largest known cryptids, but shuttles out to the airport might be more difficult to come by.
I set the paper carefully on the nightstand next to my bed before I strip down and promise myself to shoot him a text as soon as the sun releases me.
I lay out my clothes on the bed for the next day, then move to the corner of the room next to Sam’s tank. He swims around oblivious to me and the rest of the world.
Here at night, the building is so still and quiet. The walls are so thick, you can’t even hear the sounds of the annual frog orgy down by the Wonder Hole that seems to last longer and longer each year.
In fact, the only sound in the room is the soft, quiet bubbling of Sam’s water filter. I’d love a cat or dog—anything really—to break up the quiet at night, but it’s not safe. I’m only partially coherent when I shift, and I can’t stand the thought of accidentally hurting something or someone if the spell doesn’t work.
I turn out the light and head to the closet where I lock myself in, whisper the words of the spell, and blackout as the last syllable crosses my lips.
The hours between midnight and dawn are nothing to me when the spell works. It’s like beingput under for surgery—a more abrupt sleep of sorts where everything shuts off and I can hear and see nothing. I know locking myself in a closet above a bakery is dangerous, but it’s truly the only way I know how to control the gremlin—the part of me that’s feral and wild. The part that’s too quick to anger and rage. I manage to keep it locked away well enough—mostly. Bernice’s accident was a slip but a necessary slip.
The earliest morning light seeps in through the tiny weird window in the closet, pulling me from my frozen state. I’m tempted to just lay on the floor for a few extra minutes and stare at the ceiling in the gray morning light, but a small series of thuds catches my attention.
There are three in a row, a pause, and then three more.
I sit completely still, holding my breath and listening again.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Is that someone…knocking?
I start to worry that I forgot to flip the closed sign and some random tourist thinks we’re open. The ones who will show up this early just for coffee are insane and not to be trifled with. It took me weeks to deal with the aftermath of some witch who cursed the bakery with sticky dough when we ran out of coffee my first month in town,and I’m not about to deal with that again (though I do have some pretty solid antispell charms in place).
I skip my usual dressing ritual and pull on my pants as quickly as I can, racing down the back stairs as the thuds grow louder and louder. From the back of the shop, I can see no one out front, but that means nothing. Some of the local trolls living under the waterfall bridge can barely reach most doors. I hurry through the shop, catching my knee against the counter, and unlock the front door only to find myself facing a woman.
A regular human woman.
Well, regular would be the wrong word. She’s stunning—even in sweatpants and an old college shirt, her hair curls around her face, framing it like a halo of light. I can’t stop staring at her. It’s like an angel has appeared on my doorstep.
Her hand is mid-knock as I yank the door open. Her perfect pink lips form an O of surprise as her knuckles continue through with the movement, hitting my chest hard. She pulls her hand back in surprise.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she says, rubbing the spot she just knocked and then turning red. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be groping strangers. I’m sorry. I just—I’m looking for Grim.”
“I’m Grim.” As usual, it comes out louder and gruffer than I intended it to. The womanturns even redder.
“Hi,” she says, holding out her hand for me to shake. It’s then that I notice several suitcases behind her. One in particular starts to hiss. “Bernice sent me. I’m Phillipa. I’m your new pastry chef.”
Chapter 3
Phil
Bernice’s description of Grim certainly did not do him justice. I was expecting an old grumpy creature. Instead I get a hot, tall (still grumpy) creature answering the door shirtless. He peers down at me for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out what to make of me while I try not to get caught ogling his chest. He’s not a built man, but I’ve always been into tall and lanky guys—you can thank years in the kitchen with the fuckboy line cooks for that—but the outlines of muscles are there, hidden under the light dusting of green fur that seems to cover most of his body.
Most...or all? Not a polite thought at all for a man who is now my boss.
“I’ll be honest, I was expecting?—”
“A man?” I answer for him.
He makes a face. “A Sasquatch.”
