“I’m so tired of rain,” Jenn says mournfully, staring out the window of the shop.

“I can’t say that I don’t agree with you. Since no one wants to get out in it to grab food,” I murmur, strongly hinting.

“You’re so damned needy. Can’t you send your bodyguard?” she huffs.

“He’s at the back entrance in the alley,” I mumble, not happy with the way the cake I’m decorating is looking.

“What the heck is he doing out there?”

“Taking a piss,” D.D. yells.

“He is not! He’s on the phone with Victor and then he was going to call an old friend. He swears someone was at our house last night,” I tell her.

“Was there?” Jenn asks, showing concern.

“I don’t think so. He found some cigarette butts around the street light, but that proves nothing. Our street stays pretty busy. I think he’s just being over cautious.”

“Well, I’m glad he is. It’s not like you haven’t had way too much action lately,” she murmurs.

“Amen to that. I need a break almost as much as I need food,” I murmur looking up at her with a grin.

“You’re really a bitch. Why can’t D.D. go?”

“I’m watching the baby!” D.D. answers from the back.

“You’re both bitches,” Jenn grumbles.

“If that’s Connor’s first words I’m going to kill you,” I tell her laughing.

“Fine I’ll go. The usual for you guys, but what do I get that big hunk of man you’re screwing?”

“We’re not screwing,” I sigh, “and get him the meatloaf platter, the man has a thing for meatloaf.”

“I always heard it was bad if a man let his meat loaf.”

D.D. groans from the back room. “That joke is older than my grandmother and she’s ninety-fucking-two.”

“Connor better not use the word fuck, D.D.!” I warn her.

“I’m getting out of here,” Jenn grumbles.

“But money—”

“I’m using petty cash. We can figure it out later,” she mutters.

I finish frosting the cake and take the pan back. D.D. is on the phone; Connor is sleeping in his bassinet. D.D. waves, and I smile taking a tray of cookies back with me to fill up the other half of the display case. I’ve got half of them in the case when the bell above the door goes off. I look up to see a man with long, dark, oily hair showing under a hat that he is wearing low on his head. The hat shields his eyes, but you can see enough of his face to know it is riddled with marks and small scars. Yet, where I don’t notice Michael’s—and Michael’s are probably worse, something about this guy’s is different. There’s a coldness about this stranger that makes the scars look more sinister. He’s also strangely familiar—though I can’t see his face clearly enough to place him.

“Welcome to Charlie’s can I help you?” I ask the man, pasting on my fake “business” face.

The stranger doesn’t say anything. He looks around the room as if he’s inspecting every corner of the shop. Is he seeing if it’s clean enough? Since it looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in a month, I find that annoying. He walks to the counter, and being this close to him, makes me wish he would leave. He puts his hands on my counter. They’re covered in ink, but not the good kind like on Michael’s. These are crudely drawn letters that almost look like they’ve been dug into the skin and then someone inked over the scars. The words aren’t any better either. The right hand has “death” and “angel” is written on the left hand—one letter on each finger, all done on the knuckle. The uneasy feeling I’ve had since seeing him, increases. I wish I could shake the feeling that I’ve seen him before.

“I’m looking for a sweet treat. I am surprised your business is not filled with customers.”

His words set off warning bells, but I do my best not to react. He’s complimenting me, but it doesn’t come off like that—not even close.

“We have cookies and cupcakes. I have some specialty breads. Our lemon poppy-seed seems to be a favorite.” I decide to try and hurry him along so he will leave.

“I think I’ll taste your cupcakes. My brother, he says your cake is the best he has ever tasted, moist and succulent,” he tells me, giving me a smile that makes my skin crawl, almost as much as his words do.

“Well thank your brother for his recommendation,” I tell him.

“Sad, but I can’t. My brother passed away—recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Losing a loved one is never an easy thing.”

“That it is not. Especially when they die so senselessly.”

“I’m sure. How did he die?” I ask, and immediately wish I hadn’t.

“He was sleeping with another man’s woman. I’m told the man objected.”

His frank reply shocks me. It doesn’t seem like information you would share with a stranger. Then again, nothing about this guy seems normal. I really want him gone.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say inadequately. “Have you decided what flavor of cake you would like to try?”

“It is bad when a woman is a whore and leads a man by his dick, isn’t it? She lives while my brother feeds the worms and all because she could not keep her legs closed.”

Okay this is way off. This guy is a fucking nutcase. I also can’t help but think I’ve seen him before—even his voice seems familiar. I’m about to call for D.D. to get Michael to come up here with me. When I hear Michael.

“Sorry, Hayden. That took longer than I thought. Skull didn’t take the news that great,” he says, and just the sound of his gruff voice makes things better. I turn around as the door opens.

“That’s okay,” I tell him, relief making my voice sound way too bright and cheerful. Michael must notice something is off because he comes straight to me, wrapping his arm around me. I lean on him for a second to calm my nerves. I turn around to face the customer, just in time to see his back and hear the bell signaling the door opening. He leaves without a word, and I don’t try to stop him. I’m glad he’s gone.

“You alright, Beauty?”

“I am now,” I tell him honestly and go up on my tiptoes to kiss him.

I’m always better when Michael is around.