VIII

An ant picked its way across the table, antennae inspecting a morsel left behind by a previous customer. It crawled from the table to a finger that was just as frigid and still, its owner watching with quiet interest to calm his nerves. With his other hand Ansel swirled the stone cold cup of coffee he’d bought to keep up appearances but had little interest in drinking; his last feeding had been days prior, and the lower his blood reserves, the less appealing he found standard food and drink.

For the past month, Ansel had been hovering around Misty for glimpses of the tall, dark-haired stranger who frequented the cafe in its opening hours. Sometimes in a rumpled, off-the-rack suit, or in his more intriguing leather riding gear, the man had first caught his eye with a lingering stare as they'd passed one another at the entrance. In the following weeks, Ansel had kept a respectful distance as their cat-and-mouse game expanded to comfortable flirting. He'd at last plucked up the courage to make a move, reasoning that the man was too bashful or else too reticent to cross the line from plausible deniability to overt gesture himself.

He coaxed the insect off his finger when the blinds above his head twitched open. He covered his face with the knuckles of one hand to obscure his grin and was thankful his glamour didn't reflect the flush of excitement in his cheeks.

The man walked halfway from door to table and stopped, the coffee cup a makeshift shield between himself and Ansel. His pulse raced behind his dark eyes in a way Ansel found indescribably charming, though he couldn't guess the reason for his nervousness.

"Thanks," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "For the coffee."

Ansel moved his eyebrows up his forehead in an elaborate display of surprise. "Barista ratted me out, did she?"

"Yeah." He sipped at his drink and pointedly averted his eyes, making no motion toward the table.

Clucking his tongue against a glamoured fang in thought, Ansel shifted his chair a miniscule amount to the left. Taking the invitation for what it was, the man took the seat across from him. Though his body language was still guarded, he relaxed enough to rest his arms on the table in front of him, drumming the fingers of one hand against the surface.

"You look like you swallowed a lemon," Ansel chuckled.

Succeeding in catching him off guard, the man looked up at him and a tinge of color darkened his cheeks. Unseen forces played out in his mind and he blurted out, "Do you know a Sheriff Cutter?"

A look of genuine surprise crossed Ansel's face that time and he scratched at one side of his chin. Cutter had been on the take for decades, long before he'd even been promoted. "He's a sour old cuss, even on a good day," he said, rubbing at his forearm. “And he ain't the type with a bark worse than his bite, if'n you catch my drift. I take it you ain’t a fan?”

He seemed grateful for the distraction and all but slammed his cup on the table. “Two fucking tickets this morning,” he huffed, his accent deepening in a way that made Ansel hide a growing smirk. It wasn’t local and had a cadence he’d come to recognize as someone who didn’t grow up speaking solely English. “I swear he has my schedule memorized.”

“Maybe he’s just stalking you.”

The man’s expression sharpened briefly before clouding over. “Wouldn’t be the first in Odette,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

Heat flashed Ansel’s face and he sat back, rubbing at the side of his neck. “Well I ain’t a very good one, I never even got your name.”

After a moment of stoney silence, the man’s facade cracked and he smiled, running a hand through his hair. “Hector.”

“Ansel,” he said, some of the tension between them melting away.

That earned a wrinkled nose that Hector barely hid behind his cup. “Pretty old-fashioned name.”

“Never heard that one before,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. Hector at least had the good grace to look regretful for the comment and Ansel pressed on to further break the ice. “Got any jokes about redheads while we’re hitting the highlights?”

Hector tilted his head to the side as if sizing him up. "Not unless I want to open myself to lawyer jokes."

Ansel felt his eyes spark with interest. "You a lawyer?"

"Public defender for my day job," he answered, frowning into his cup. "Pays the bills."

The blinds beside them twitched minutely, catching Ansel's attention. A nosy barista ducked away, seeing she'd been caught and he chuckled.

"Day job," Ansel repeated, leaning in, "Implies you get up to something else at night."

Hector stood his ground against the advance, ceding nary an inch. "Well, we all do, don't we?" he said, lowering his voice.

Ansel gently bit his lower lip and he locked eyes with Hector. "Maybe I could come around to your place and find out some time," he said with quiet longing.

With a sputter, Hector choked on his drink. Gasping for air he doubled over, coughing into a closed fist. After a worrying moment, he recovered enough to sit up, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Sorry," Ansel said, offering him a napkin which he snatched away and held under his nose. "I thought — I mean I figured —" He had a sudden powerful urge to slip his skin and flee the scene.

Hector stayed his response with a raised hand and removed his glasses to wipe them down. The expression on his face was a strange mixture of embarrassment and pity, but Ansel couldn't place who for. "Any other time I would've said yes," Hector said, composed at last. "But I've got a lot going on right now."

A near-century of rejection didn't keep the twinge of pain from squeezing Ansel's heart, but he didn't let it show on his face. "Ah, I get it," he said, drawing back to his side of the table and crossing one leg over the other.

"But," he paused, brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, unlocking it and offering it to him. "I'll take your number?"

It would have to do. Ansel entered his contact info and passed it back, taking out his own when Hector sent him a text. Saving his number under Misty, he pocketed it again. "Don't panic if I'm slow to respond," he said with a grin and no further explanation.

Dog. It's time to come back.

There was only a sliver of annoyance that flashed across Ansel's face to hear Baptiste echo in his mind. Though it wasn't a command, he stood automatically, palms pressed flat against the table to suppress a tremor. "Just remembered, I gotta scoot."

Hector raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Don't let me keep you," he said, draining his drink.

"I wish you would," Ansel grumbled before he could stop himself. He turned to leave before he made a bigger ass of himself.

"Hey," Hector called out to his back. "I'll see you around? I need to pay you back for this, anyway."

With a half skip, Ansel pivoted on his heel, waving in acknowledgment with a lopsided smile. "Definitely," he said, before breaking into a jog, the cafe disappearing behind him as he rounded a corner.