Page 40 of Cruel Destinies

I hadn’t even noticed it. A contemporary pop version of Jingle Bells was playing softly.

“What about it?” I pulled out the chair opposite him and sat.

“It’s like watered-down blood. Whatever happened to music that actuallysoundslike Christmas?” He flicked the full glass of water sitting on the table in front of him.

Julian’s grouchiness seemed to subside as he looked around with a worried look, most likely afraid he’d spoken just a little too loudly about blood and its possible consumption. Fortunately, no other customers were nearby, and our server hadn’t yet come our way.

I didn’t quite know how to reply to the analogy. “I’m afraid my experience with the taste quality of blood limits my understanding of what you just said, but I get it. In my book, the classics are the best.”

Light footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned to see Vicky—the same server who’d helped me the last time I’d come—approaching. It was as if her auburn hair held the same intricate braid it had a month ago. Her uniform dress was light yellow, and her apron white. In her hand was a steaming pot of coffee.

“Welcome back to Neville’s,” she greeted with a smile. Her lips matched the color of her red fingernails.

“Thanks, Vicky,” I said as she poured me a cup of coffee. She handed me a few single packages of creamer and a container of sugar.

“My pleasure,” she replied. “I hope you’re planning on getting something because your friend is once again adamant about coming to a restaurant andnoteating.”

I glanced at Julian and found him frowning, his head tilted down as he stared daggers at the table.

“Luckily for you,” Julian said to the waitress, “I ate before I came.”

An awkward moment surrounded the table, and I worried Julian would actually pounce on the poor girl.

I cleared my throat. “You know, Vicky, what I really could use right now is a big slice of pumpkin pie.”

My words broke the spell—at least for our server.

“Going for dessert first today, are we?” she asked, pulling out her pad of paper and pencil.

“And second, I’m afraid,” I replied with a chuckle. “More than likely I’ll be getting two slices. But let’s start with one.”

“I’ll go get that right now,” she said as she jotted it down with quick scribbles. With one last scowl at Julian, she turned and walked away.

“You know,” I said, opening a package of creamer and dumping it into my coffee, “you could try a little harder to be a bit more civil. Especially around the holidays.”

“That waitress is relentless,” he said, pointing a pale finger toward the back area of the restaurant where Vicky had disappeared. “And trust me, I don’t use that term lightly. In my lifetime, I’ve known alotof relentless people.”

“Maybe we need a new meeting place,” I suggested, dumping a packet of sugar into my cup and stirring it. “One that doesn’t involve food.”

“Food doesn’t bother me,” he said, looking out the window next to us. “Persistent waitresses do.”

Julian mumbled his last words as Vicky approached with a piece of pumpkin pie that had to be at least a quarter of a whole one. She placed the plate in front of me, then handed me a rolled-up napkin that had the prongs of a fork sticking out of the top.

“Can I get anything else for you?” Vicky asked.

“You’ve already brought me perfection,” I said, staring at the massive piece in front of me. A large dollop of whipped cream had been placed on top. “To ask for more would be way too selfish.”

“Overindulgent,” Julian corrected.

Vicky snorted. “At least he ordered something.” She looked back at me and smiled. “Just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

I nodded. “I will. Thanks, Vicky.”

She left us alone, returning to the back area once again.

“I’m glad to see you, Julian,” I admitted. “You went silent for quite some time, and I was beginning to think Hadrian had done you in.”

He chuckled dryly, running a hand through his long black hair. “Not yet. But I’m still walking on dangerous ground.”

---