Chapter 58: Please Stop Auditioning at Her Counter

Dove kept a hand on her bag. "Go on, ask me. Or were you hoping I’d just stand here while you called me a thief?" Thorne’s growl deepened when the stranger reached again. Dove touched her mate’s jaw, keeping her eyes on the other man. "He’s being very patient. I wouldn’t make a hobby of testing it."

Thorne stayed at her shoulder while the owner described the sheath. Before the other man could repeat his rumor, Edrik pointed toward a basket beneath the next table. "Your brother borrowed it to cut cord. I watched him put it there."

The knife lay under the cord, exactly where he said. Its owner apologized, looking at her this time. Dove told him to ask his family before volunteering hers for inspection. When she turned to thank Edrik, his chair was empty.

That evening, snow buried the lower diner windows. Fuel crews worked in pairs, following a rope to the trailers. By breakfast, the keeper had closed the yard, and Dove had no interest in arguing with him about it.

Day Twenty-Four’s stock was three fleece shirts with proper seams and room for broad shoulders. Selling two would pay ten normal coins. Five new Favor would unlock lined leggings priced at fourteen normal coins. The daily costs stayed unchanged, and Dove spent several minutes enjoying the fact that nobody had handed her a pile of tiny replacement hardware.

After her pool-water wash, she put on yesterday’s warm dress over her leggings and wore her coat open inside. Thorne smoothed a fold at her shoulder, asked whether she was warm, and received a kiss for looking so thoroughly distracted by a sensible dress.

"It’s got pockets, so you can stop looking at my boobs for a second and admire those," she told him, turning to show him. His grin suggested the pockets were losing.

At the counter, two men traded a bag of oats and a sealed jar of berry preserve for two shirts. Both asked whether there would be more tomorrow. Dove explained that daily stock changed, but she would show them what arrived before promising anything.

A third buyer took the last shirt while she finished explaining the sizes. The reward remained ten normal coins, paid once for the mission. Selling the extra shirt meant another useful trade and no leftover fee, which suited her much better than Sprout’s advice about keeping souvenirs of customer interest.

A stocky jackal man appeared carrying a carved comb. He introduced himself as Brant, set it on her counter, and said he could give her something much better than a panther’s company if she stopped wasting time.

Thorne’s hand rested on the edge of the counter beside hers. He let her answer, but Brant noticed how close he stood and moved half a step farther away.

"You think insulting the man I picked makes you more attractive?" Dove asked. "That’s embarrassing. Take your comb."

"One mate isn’t enough," Brant said. "Who keeps you safe when he goes hunting? You can’t sit alone while he brings down dinner."

Thorne told Brant he understood the risk and could leave her to choose. Dove squeezed her mate’s hand before answering. "We have food, a guarded building, and several hundred people who can find the door. I haven’t advertised a vacancy."

When Brant insisted she would need another mate eventually, Dove smiled at him. "And I’ll choose him myself. You’re doing a wonderful job of ruling yourself out."

Brant left red-faced. Thorne watched him with a look that promised a much worse conversation outside. Dove reached up and scratched between her mate’s ears. "Good boy. You let me finish." His ears lifted, his tail swept against her leg, and the same man who had looked ready to tear Brant apart leaned into her palm. Two waiting customers blushed. "Oh, don’t look so shocked," she told them. "He likes me."

His amusement completed the five-Favor target. With the mate bonus, her Favor balance settled at one thousand sixty-two. Ten normal coins remained, four short of the leggings. She kept the leggings for later and stored her newly traded oats to finish the day’s storage task.

Near the kitchen, another trader displayed a single tiny sealed jar. Oren, a hare beastman with long brown ears, explained that one appeared in his palm each morning. The same mild healing salve, once a day, no matter how often he tried afterward. He traded it for things he wanted rather than pretending a jar could treat the entire shelter.

"Yesterday I sat there squeezing my hand until lunch," he admitted. "All I got was a cramp."

Dove liked him immediately for knowing the limits of his own miracle. Thorne looked from the jar to her counter, then leaned closer.

"Could that be the same kind of gift as your supplier’s?" he asked quietly. He knew about Sprout; he was asking about Oren.

Dove noticed the waiting customers listening. "Things appear, we sell them. Close enough for a public explanation."

Thorne nodded without repeating the system’s name. When Oren turned to answer a buyer, she added under her breath, "Mine comes with a shop, two purses, and an annoying voice. His seems to have better working conditions."

"I’ve heard you argue with yours," he murmured. "I’m not sure it would agree."

She elbowed him lightly, pleased that he had lowered his voice too. Oren’s gift was different, but she did not owe the whole diner a tour of her head.

Across the diner, Edrik watched her while pretending to inspect a frayed harness. He had taken the table nearest the doors to the cubs’ rooms, and she could not tell whether he was guarding them from the storm or from her.

A carer brought several small cubs through for lunch, including an older girl with round brown ears tucked beneath a knitted hat. Two younger cubs padded after them on four paws. She stayed between two older boys while the carer counted bowls. Dove moved her trade basket farther back before lowering herself to their height.

"No climbing the display," she told them. "I’m extremely easy to rob, but I like to preserve some dignity."

The smallest boy giggled. She gave the carer the remaining jelly beans from her own pouch to divide into tiny treats after lunch, making clear they were a gift with no trade expected. There were only a few left, nowhere near enough for eighty cubs. The carer thanked her and promised to save them for that little group’s treat turn.

Dove did not volunteer to become everyone’s mother. She helped a boy find the cup he had put inside his own hat, then went back to her counter feeling better for having solved one manageable disaster.

Edrik was still watching her when a heavy crack came from the passage behind him.

A carer called for help from the side passage. Snow had broken the awning outside the cubs’ room, twisting the doorframe. Children were crying on the other side of the stuck door.