I’VE GOT THREE AND A half months until my life changes forever. Literally. I could sit here and wait for it. I could worry my time away over it. I could have sleepless nights as I think about saying goodbye to the sun, how blood is going to taste, how sharp my fangs will be.
Or I can keep living, right up to the very last second.
“You’ll be here every mornin’ at four?” Fred asks.
I nod. “I’m already used to the schedule,” I say as we sit at the back of the bakery. The floor is covered in a fine dusting of flour. The air is heavy with the scent of dough. Fred, the large man with the darkest skin I’ve ever seen, has dried and cracked hands from the constant exposure to baking elements and endless washing. “So I promise it won’t be a problem.”
Fred, the owner and namesake of the bakery and coffee shop—Fred’s—nods. “I need someone to help me Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. If that’s good for you, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
A huge grin breaks over my face and I nod. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.”
He just chuckles at me and shakes his head.
I show up the next morning at five minutes to four, bleary eyed, but ready to bake. Fred doesn’t waste one second putting me to work.
And I’m happy to find that I’ve lost no skills in the last month that I haven’t been working. When Fred sees that I can handle myself, he assigns me the scones, the cookies for the afternoon, and of course, the dishes.
At six-thirty, when the shop opens, a few people start trickling in. Getting their breakfast on their way to work. Grabbing coffee, brewed by the self-proclaimed master, Tina. Fred helps the customers while I work in the back.
At ten, I’m just bringing out the sheet of snickerdoodle cookies when I hear my name called from the door. I look up to see Sheriff McCoy walking in.
“Are you workin’ here?” he asks with a look between a scowl and confusion.
“Yeah,” I say as I slide the cookies onto the display rack.
“Why?” he asks in bewilderment.
“Because why not?” I resist spitting the words out. Barely.
More customers wander into the shop. I’m surprised at how busy it is in here, considering how small the town is. I haven’t been up front until now, but I’ve been hearing the foot traffic all day.
“Fred, who’s this lovely young woman helping you out today?” a man in construction garb asks with a flirtatious smile as he walks up to the counter. He’s followed by a whole crew who starts ordering coffee.
“This is, uh…” Fred says as he takes money from a customer and checks them out. “Alivia Ryan. She’s new in town. And one hell of a baker.”
“New in town,” the man says with an approving smile. “Don’t get too many of them types here.”
Luke gives the guy a disapproving look. “Leave her alone, Dallas.”
“What?” Dallas says, with an innocent expression. “I was just bein’ friendly.”
“You look familiar,” one of Dallas’ buddies says as he squints in my direction, coffee cup in hand. “You related to someone here in town?”
My eyes dart uncomfortably from the guy to Luke. Who just gives me a little I told you so look back.
“Wait a second,” the guy says, still studying my face. “You’re that girl who moved into the Conrath Estate, huh? You’re that freak’s daughter.”
“Now, Corbin,” Fred says, fixing the guy with a cold stare, even as my stomach settles somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. “You’s a grown man now and should know words like that isn’t nice. I think you ought to apologize to this nice young woman.”
But I’ve been outed. And there are two other people in the shop looking at me now like I’m about to tear into their necks at any second.
“I’m sorry,” I respond snarkily. “Did you think you know who I am?”
Dallas gives an “oh!”—fist to the mouth and everything. I offer Corbin a peeved off smile as I walk back into the kitchen.
And it’s like that for the next week. People talk about me in low voice like I can’t hear them. They speculate. There’s constant talk about the House. About the year 1875. About blood and missing or dead loved ones.
But never once do I hear the actual word vampire.
My shift is from four to eleven. It’s not many hours or days, but I don’t need the money. Not at all. I need the normalcy. But this is hardly normal. When everyone looks at you with disdain or fear. When you’re constantly judged for the sins of your father.
I’ve just finished putting the cinnamon rolls in the display case at six-fifteen when the little bell above the door rings. I look up, dusting my hands off on my apron. In walks a woman, maybe in her upper forties. She’s rail thin, almost skeletal. Her cheekbones are sharp and prominent, her lips too full for her face. But it’s instantly her eyes that draw me.
She wears sunglasses, but behind them, I can see hollow eye sockets. Her blindness explains the walking stick.
“Good morning,” I say to her politely. “You’re up and about early.”
“I’m afraid I don’t get much sleep these days,” she says with a pleasant smile. “I’ve been up too long already this morning.”
She bumps into a table, nearly knocking a chair over. I duck around the counter and help guide her to the display case. “Sorry about that,” she laughs at herself. “I’m a lot clumsier than I used to be.”
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “We’re not quite open yet, but we’ve got some stuff out. What can I get you? I just brought out the cinnamon rolls. We’ve got raspberry scones, bran muffins, fritters. Just about any breakfast pastry, we’ve got it.”
“Mmm,” she says in delight. Her accent is heavily Southern Belle. “It all smells heavenly. How about a cinnamon roll?”
“Excellent choice,” I say as I scoop one out for her onto a little glass plate. “That’ll be two dollars.”
The woman digs around in her bag and pulls out a wallet. When she opens it, I see different bills folded in different ways. Smart. She hands me a five and I make change for her.
“Thank you, my dear,” she says as I take her plate to one of the tables and guide her to it. “I just moved in to the edge of town and hoped I might find somewhere comparable to my old regular. Y’all are very sweet here.”
“I haven’t been in Silent Bend too long myself,” I say, sitting at the table for a minute because I don’t have much else to do in the back at the moment.
“That right?” she says with a smile and manages to fork some of the roll off.
“I’ve only been here at Fred’s for a week,” I say. It’s nice, having a normal conversation.
“How do you like the town so far?” she asks.
“It’s…” How the hell do I answer that question? Dark. Manipulated. Totally crazy. “It’s a town that will keep you on your toes.”
“Good to know,” she says.
“Well, I better get back to work,” I say, standing from the table. “You have a nice day.”
“You too, Miss…?” she asks.
“Alivia, Alivia Ryan.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Daphne, and I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”
“I hope so,” I respond politely. Fred calls for me from the back, and I go to help him.
Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Chocolate. Berries.
All of this is normal. And when I have my headphones in, listening to my old playlist, it’s like I’m back in Colorado and life is what it used to be.
Until just after eight, Fred comes in the back where I’m putting the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies in the oven. “Ian Ward is at the counter askin’ for you. You two even know each other?”
I blush, even though Fred has no idea of the truth. Boy, do we… “Yeah,” I say instead, tucking my hair behind my ear. Fred takes over, and I walk out to the counter.
There are two ladies drinking coffee in one corner and enjoying scones. And standing at the counter, hands in the pockets of his EMT uniform, easy as always, is Ian.
“I have to admit, I didn’t really believe Rath when he told me you’d gotten a job at Fred’s,” he says with the classic Ian smile. “This seems too mundane and normal for you.”
“Well, this girl doesn’t have bills to pay like some people,” I say, recalling the conversation we had that first day we met. “But I needed something to keep me busy and from going crazy.”
Ian just nods with a smile and studies me for a moment. “You look good.”
And he means it. Which is a surprise, since I’m wearing a maroon apron covered in flour, my hair is in a crazy, messy bun on top of my head, and I probably have foodstuff on my face somewhere.
“Thanks,” I say with a blush. “You just get off work?”
Ian nods and I instantly notice the tiredness in his eyes. “Yep, should be my only graveyard shift this week, though. Worked the last six days straight. I’m going home now to catch a few hours of sleep, but…maybe I can come by later this evening?”
He looks hopeful, like he isn’t sure what my answer is going to be. Which is incredibly adorable. And I’d almost never use that word in relation to Ian. Strong? Yes. Assertive? Yes. Adorable…?
“Yeah,” I answer with a smile as another customer walks through the door. “I think you can.”
He just laughs and his eyes grow brighter. “Well, how about three scones for the family while I’m here? Lula loves Fred’s heart-stopping pastries.”
“You got it.”