Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
The knock on the door was a surprise.
Declan Grant, now my friend, stood there with a large bag.
“Good morning, Declan. It’s nice to see you, but it’s kind of early.”
“I know,” he said with a sigh, “but I couldn’t sleep, and I just… I had to do something for you—and strangely, for Chief MacBain, who’s also on my mind—to show my appreciation for—oh, what a beautiful cat!” He pointed behind me.
And indeed there was Argos, looking down into the hole, probably wondering where it came from and what Lorne was doing down there.
“That’s the daemon I told you about.”
“Really? He doesn’t look like any I’ve ever seen.”
“When he gets big, believe me, you’ll be reminded,” I said, inhaling whatever was in the bag he had with him. “Do you have cinnamon rolls in there?”
“I do,” he replied, smiling wide. He really was beautiful, but fauns were as a rule, and he’d lost none of that changing into his permanent human form. “And crispy bacon for the chief, as I’m sure you don’t eat meat.”
“You would be correct.”
“I also brought him eggs and biscuits, and I made avocado toast for you.”
“Thank you,” I said, opening the door for him.
He tipped his head as though listening, and just stood there and waited. “My intentions are pure toward all inhabitants of this charming…” It took a moment. “Oh, cottage. How lovely.”
I groaned.
He took a breath and began again. “My intentions are pure, and actually quite warm, toward all inhabitants of this charming cottage, as well as toward the domicile itself.”
“Just come in already,” I groused at him.
“Were you raised in a barn, because I was, and my manners are still better than yours.”
I sighed. Loudly. “The food’s getting cold.”
“What’s wrong with you?” He stepped inside, passing me the bag as he took off his polished ankle boots, and placed them on the same shoe rack Lorne had used the day before. Where these things kept appearing from, I had no idea but I was guessing that that cavernous storage room on the other side of the cottage held treasures I’d never be able to count. Once done, he reclaimed the bag from me and proceeded toward the kitchen. “Are you sick?”
“I’m not sick,” I muttered.
“You’re certain? Because you’re in a terrible mood.” He started unpacking the goodies he’d brought.
Lorne came far enough up the ladder to hold a book out for me. I darted over and took it from him.
“Hey,” he greeted Declan.
“Good morning, Chief,” he said happily. “I brought you breakfast. Do you like hash browns or grits?”
“Both,” Lorne assured him, grinning. “That was damn nice of you.”
“Well, you and Xander were both very kind to me. Come here. I have cinnamon rolls too. Are there more coffee beans to grind or—oh, I see them.”
“Where do you see them?” I asked, rushing back over to where he was.
He looked concerned as he opened the cupboard, where bags of coffee beans were neatly arranged. “I love this hand-crank grinder, those work so well, and it’s so hard to find good ones anywhere.”
At the table, Lorne was taking the remaining boxes out of the bag while Declan poured beans into the grinder, and as soon as the cinnamon rolls were out, I grabbed one and sat down to leaf through the book Lorne had found.
“Um, we use forks and knives at this level,” Lorne said, clearly repulsed by my caveman manners. He put a plate and utensils near me, then laid a napkin in my lap.
“Cloth napkins, Xander, how charming,” Declan mused.
I grunted and opened the book Lorne had found, which turned out to be a diary. “Why did you bring this?” I asked Lorne, seeing the old-fashioned penmanship on the pages.
“Because it fell off the shelf.”
That seemed reasonable.
“Do you have a kettle for the stove or—”
“It’s hanging over there by the fire,” Lorne directed Declan. “Use the mitt when you grab it so you don’t burn yourself.”
I wasn’t even going to ask what mitt, because I’d used a dish towel for as long as I could remember. The fact that there was suddenly a mitt, with a hook for it to go back on, was pissing me off. It was like the house was on its best behavior, first for Lorne, and now for Declan, whom it also seemed to want to impress. It was similar with Amanda, and I remembered how my grandfather had been when she came to live with us.
“Oh, look,” he’d say sarcastically. “The broom is suddenly in the closet with everything else.”
“Where else would it be?” Amanda had asked innocently.
It was the same for Lorne and Declan. Everything they needed—a butter knife for Declan, a platter for Lorne to put the biscuits on—suddenly, inexplicably, was accessible in places one would expect them to be. It was annoying and also sort of sweet.