Page 57 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
I heat up some soup, leftovers from the lunch special, and set it before him with a plate of muffins—blueberry, chocolate chip, and banana nut. He eats like someone expecting the food to be taken away at any moment, hunched protectively over his bowl.
“Do you have someplace to stay tonight?” I ask when he’s finished, watching as he slips bits of muffin to the cat under the table.
He stiffens, eyes darting to the door as if calculating the distance. “I get by.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He meets my gaze, defiance flashing across his face. “No. Okay? I don’t. But I don’t need your pity.”
“Good, because I’m not offering it.” I start cleaning up, giving him space. “Wait here. I’m going to get you some more food to take with you.”
When I return from the front of the café with a bag of pastries and sandwiches, the kitchen is empty. The back door stands slightly ajar, and both boy and cat have vanished.
I stand there holding the bag, a strange heaviness settling in my chest. I should have expected it. Trust doesn’t come easy to the broken. I know that better than most people.
But if I thought that would be the last I saw of those two, I’m proven wrong.
The next morning, I’m setting up a chalkboard sign outside the café advertising a part-time position when I feel eyes on me. I glance up to see the boy from last night watching from the entrance to the alley, the black cat perched on his shoulder like some gothic familiar.
“Morning,” I call, keeping my voice casual. “Hungry?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he approaches, eyes darting nervously to the still-empty street. “Maybe.”
I gesture toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”
In the kitchen, I fix him a proper breakfast—eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice—and pretend not to notice how his hands shake slightly as he eats. The cat prowls around the perimeter ofthe room, occasionally pausing to glare at me as if assessing my trustworthiness.
“You’re looking for help?” he asks when his plate is clean, nodding toward the sign I’d been setting up but brought back inside when I invited him in.
“Mm-hmm.” I wash dishes as we talk, giving him the illusion of space. “Just basic stuff. Sweeping, mopping, maybe clearing tables. Nothing complicated.”
The sound of hope enters the tone of his voice. “I could do that. I’m stronger than I look.”
I turn around to study him. “You got a name I can put on the paperwork?”
“Alex,” he says after a slight pause. “And we don’t need paperwork. I sleep in the alley behind this place. I could come in early, stay late. Whatever you need.”
The casual admission that he sleeps rough makes my chest ache. “You can’t keep sleeping in the alley, Alex.”
His expression closes off. “I don’t need charity.”
“Again, I’m not offering any.” I smile at him as I dry my hands on a towel. “I need someone who can open the café if I’m running late. That means you need keys. That means I need to trust you. That means you need to be well-rested and not half-frozen from sleeping outside.” I fold my arms across my chest. “The office has a pullout couch. It’s not much, but it’s indoors, and it’s private.”
He stares at me, suspicion warring with desperation on his face. “Why would you do that? You don’t know me.”
“I know what it’s like to have nowhere to go,” I say simply. “I know what it’s like to be hungry and scared and alone.”
There is suddenly a look of understanding and recognition in his eyes. “You do, don’t you?”
“More than you know.”
And just like that, Alex becomes part of The Morning Brew crew.
A month passes, and the boy gradually settles into the rhythm of the café. He’s a good employee, starting early, working late, and taking on the most tedious tasks without complaint. The cat—dubbed “Salem” by Margo, who declared it “obviously a witch’s familiar, possibly containing the soul of a Victorian undertaker”—has claimed the office as its domain.
Alex is still guarded about his past. He flinches at sudden movements and watches strangers with wary eyes. But he has begun to relax around me and the other employees. Yesterday, I even caught him laughing at one of Margo’s morbid jokes.
I don’t push him for his story. Everyone deserves the chance to reveal themselves at their own pace. And some wounds are too deep to expose to the light all at once.
