Chapter 32: She Asked Him to Stay This Time

The inspection mark had been made in darker ink than the rest of the entry. Varek explained that he remembered checking the cart empty on its earlier trip, not approving the later load of filled tins. Somebody had copied his initials into the wrong space.

Dove stayed at her counter while he spoke to Ash. She could hear enough to understand the difference between careless work and a record somebody had tried to make look better afterward. She could not hear enough to know who had held the pen.

Thorne watched the duty table, anger showing in the hard line beside his mouth. "He should have listened."

"He should have asked questions without accusing me of paying you in orgasms," Dove replied. "Those are separate complaints, and I’d like both on file."

The panther looked down at her, caught between surprise and something warmer. "For the record, you haven’t."

"I’m aware. I keep very detailed accounts."

He laughed under his breath, but Sprout issued no fresh award. Dove appreciated that an ordinary exchange could remain ordinary instead of every conversation turning into an unpaid audition for the shop.

Varek came over after Ash left for stores. The altered record would be checked against the other load sheets, and Rusk would need a second worker on future oil runs until the missing inspection was explained. That was a work restriction, not a finding that he had targeted Dove.

"Thank you for checking," she said. "And for not telling me the paper developed hormones."

Varek looked toward Thorne, then back to her. "Keep the route clear. Report anything else before you move it."

It was not warm, but it was useful. Dove wrote it down, clipped the page under Thorne’s board, and got back to work.

A customer returned for the sock pair he had considered before the label appeared. He offered a clean metal cup with a fitted lid. Dove inspected the rim and accepted, putting the cup with her personal things. The day’s sales mission was already complete, so the trade brought no second bonus.

Sprout confirmed that when she asked. "A completed task cannot be completed again today."

"I was checking. Retail taught me to read every promotion like it wanted to steal my car."

The customer watched her face while she folded the socks. "You look different," he said. "Prettier, if that’s possible. Your fur catches the light."

"I discovered washing. Very advanced technology. Please spread the word."

He smiled, then glanced at Thorne across the hall before leaving. Dove wondered whether he had returned because he trusted the socks or because the panther made dishonest gossip less entertaining. She would have preferred the first reason, but she could only record the sale she actually had.

She returned the unsold consignment pencil before closing and paid one normal coin, leaving nine normal and fifteen Favor. She already owned a pencil and preferred the small return charge to spending four Favor Coins on a spare. Sprout took the returned item, not her original pencil, which she checked with the suspicion it deserved.

By closing, her feet hurt less inside the new insoles. The hall had cooled, and she was still comfortable with her gloves and coat sleeves pulled down. She did not test that improvement by stripping a layer off. Survival did not require a dramatic demonstration every time something went right.

Thorne finished his loading shift and returned while she was storing the display. He asked whether she wanted the bench moved away for more room. Dove looked at the empty end beside him and surprised herself with her answer.

"Leave it. I’ll make tea if you’ve got ten minutes."

He stopped with one hand on the bench. "For me?"

"No, for the terrifying second man hiding behind you. Yes, for you. Don’t make me regret a very normal beverage decision."

She used one of her four sale tea bags as a personal item, leaving three for customers, and fetched ordinary hot water from the kitchen. The new lidded cup became his for the drink, not a gift. She kept the chipped mug she knew how to hold without catching the rough edge.

They sat apart with her tail between them. He had washed the oil from his skin and changed coats; she had asked before sitting, and he had answered without acting insulted.

He showed her the clean strip torn from her dress, then folded it back into his pocket. The shallow cut had closed unusually quickly, he said. He had not asked about her bottle in the hall, and she had not forgotten that.

"Do you always notice that much?" she asked after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"My hands. My cup. When I’m closing. It’s either thoughtful or the beginning of an extremely annoying surveillance program."

Thorne studied his tea. "I used to notice because I expected you to say something cruel. Now I notice and don’t know what to expect."

The answer was not pretty enough to feel rehearsed. Dove watched steam rise from her mug and let herself believe that part without deciding it solved anything else.

"Sometimes I won’t be pleasant," she said. "I don’t want you waiting for one bad morning so you can decide none of this counted."

"I don’t need you pleasant every morning."

"Excellent. That’s an ambitious product description even with coffee."

He looked at her then, and the faint smile disappeared. "I need to remember that being angry doesn’t give me a right to frighten you. I didn’t do that before. I should have."

Dove’s fingers tightened around the mug. He had apologized already, but hearing him name what he had to change made the apology feel less like something finished and more like work he still understood belonged to him.

She did not tell him everything was all right. Instead she asked whether he would stay while she checked the latch after their tea. His answer was a quiet yes, without a smile that made her request into a victory.

At the gate, he stood outside while she tested it from within. It caught cleanly. The tarp closed without leaving the old gap, and the new shelf stayed firm when she checked its edge.

"That’s all," she said. Then, before he could leave, she added, "I was glad you were there today."

He looked at her through the open top of the gate, golden eyes fixed on her face. For once he seemed to be the one who could not find an easy answer.

A runner entered the hall carrying a folded notice from the outer watch. He went straight to Varek, but his voice carried when the guard asked which route had reopened.

"The bus terminal road," he said. "Terminal’s crew wants to trade."

The warmth left Thorne’s face so quickly that Dove reached for the gate before she knew what she meant to do.