Page 80 of Starting a New Life

“Do you like pancakes? My son says I make the second-best pancakes in the world.”

“The second best?” I asked, shaking my head at myself. Why was I asking questions?

The coffeemaker started humming louder, then there was a tinkling sound, and the first drops of coffee started falling into the glass carafe.

“Yeah.” The shifter was pulling out eggs, bacon, and buttermilk. “According to my son, my husband’s pancakes are the world’s best ones, but he cheats.” She gave me a smile, eyes crinkling at the edges. “My husband, that is. Always drenching the pancakes in maple syrup or butter.”

I had to suppress a laugh, but I could feel the smile on my lips.

“But today, I’m gonna take the win, you hear me, honey?” She winked at me as she started whipping up the batter. She knew exactly where everything was, pulling out bowls and pans from cabinets.

“How do you like your pancakes, sweetie?”

“Oh, I don’t—” My stomach grumbled, cramping as if warning me not to reject food, or else.

“Nonsense. Look at you, you need to eat. So tell me, how do you like your pancakes? Or do you prefer waffles?”

“Pancakes are fine,” I quickly said, swallowing the nerves that had started rising in me at the prospect of having to stay here longer. I’d just wanted to grab a coffee, and now someone was making pancakes for me, and I couldn’t just take them up to my room… could I?

“Perfect.” The shifter smiled at me. “Do you want them sweet? With chocolate? Blueberries? Or plain with maple syrup or butter. What about bacon?”

My stomach rumbled again, and I pressed a hand to it, willing it to stay quiet.

“Sounds like a yes to bacon.” She laughed, the sound echoing off the walls, calming my heart a little. “I get that. I mean, we shifters sure like our meat.” With a wink, she added several thick slices of bacon to a pan, the sizzling music to my ears. “Looks like the coffee’s ready.”

I turned to the coffeemaker, and sure enough, the coffee pot was filled to the brim.

“The cups are in the cabinet right above the coffeemaker,” the shifter told me.

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath before turning around all the way, putting my back to her. Not a comfortable position, but her aura was calm, and she was still several feet away, clattering and tinkering with the pans as the aroma of bacon and pancakes started filling the air. Still, I hurried to get two cups out of the cupboard and turn back far enough that I could keep her in my periphery. She might look like a sweet lady, hell, she might behave like a sweet lady, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t strong as fuck. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Black with two teaspoons of sugar, please. And thank you, honey.”

She was the one cooking for me, so I figured making her a cup of coffee was the least I could do.

“Here,” I said as I slowly walked up to her. She’d be able to hear my pulse speeding up and sense the thrill of fear creeping up my spine, but there really wasn’t anything I could do about that, so I just placed the cup next to her before deliberately putting a bit of space between us.

Another shifter was rousing in their room on the second floor, but they didn’t seem to want to come downstairs immediately. Good. One was more than enough for me to handle.

“Thank you, dear.”

I busied myself by taking small sips of coffee. It tasted fucking awful. Then again, I hadn’t added any milk, and black coffee was just… ugh. Too bitter. But my bravery was waning quickly, nerves flaring as a door fell shut upstairs.

“Looks like I’m done for now,” the shifter said, and I looked at her, surprised to see she’d already prepared two plates of pancakes with a heaping side of bacon. “Now, I know it’s freezing outside, but I just love to have my morning coffee out in nature. Would you care to join me?”

I breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. Outdoors I could do.

“In that case, come get your plate and follow me.”

By the time I’d grabbed my plate and cutlery and picked up my cup of coffee, the shifter had already opened one of the sliding glass doors and was heading outside barefoot. I looked down at my own bare feet and willed an air bubble around them, heating it up until my feet felt toasty and warm, then followed her to a table on the patio.

She put her breakfast down and started moving chairs, then quickly darted back inside, gathering blankets.

“Here, take them,” she said, gently placing two thick woollen blankets in my arms, careful not to touch me. “My son will kill me if you catch a cold because of me.” The words sounded serious, but her laugh and the twinkle in her eyes told me she was at least half joking.

Still, the words hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Your… son?”