"That's coffee, bacon and eggs for you, sir, and pancakes for you miss. Is that all?"
After the waitress leaves, I glance again at the motel across.
"It's safe," Hayden says without looking up from the morning newspaper he picked up from the stand. I'm surprised he reads anything at all, let alone news.
I left the dragon egg in our room. If I carry it everywhere, that'll be suspicious, and I can't really explain what kind of bird could lay that big of an egg if anyone asks. Just in case, I'd put up a few shield barriers around the room.
After our breakfast, our first stop is the registrar's office, where we were able to confirm the marriage certificate is authentic, although there were no other information on the couple.
Next, we return to our room, checkout, and head to Buckram, to see the bakery shop.
As I step into the shop, if it weren't for the ceiling spotlights I would've thought we'd stepped into the past. Brick walls with cream paint, thick wooden shelves, stone flooring, pyramids of bread loaves, and large tied sacks at the corner, make it look like this shop was never updated.
A chubby old man, with just enough hair to not be called bald yet, wearing a crumply white linen apron, comes out of a small door at the back. "How can I help you?"
The closer he comes the shorter he looks.
"Sir, we're doing an article on old establishments and merchants in some of the towns. Can you tell us anything about this shop's history?"
Both the old man and I look wide-eyed at Hayden, but for different reasons. He didn't tell me we were going with a story. The old man looks excited. "Sure. Sure. Which paper is this?"
"The Times," Hayden lies through his teeth.
The old man is impressed. "Well, this is my family's shop. Please take a seat. I'll grab us some cakes and tea. It's not everyday we see out of town folks."
Before I could pass on his generosity, Hayden says, "Thank you," and takes me to one of the tables near the window.
"The Times? Really?" I say.
He shrugs.
The old man disappears behind the small door he came from. While we wait, three teenage girls, come in. They notice us while waiting near the counter. Notice him, specifically.
They giggle and whisper in each other's ears, probably something like how hot he is. Then the blonde girl at the centre, dressed in an off-shoulder yellow top and white miniskirt, approaches us.
"Never seen you here before. You from the city?" She asks us. Well, asks him. I'm invisible to her.
Hayden leans back and drapes his hand over the backrest, stretching his chest out. "Yeah. What about you?"
I want to punch him on the face.
The girl says, "I live here. So, you're just visiting today or staying for a while?"
Hayden smirks. "Depends."
I so want to punch him on the face. Is he doing this to rile me up or that's just him?
Either way, two can play this game. I notice a group of boys crossing the street outside.
Even though I don't consider myself a particularly sexy female, my friend Tressie had taught me that I don't have to be one to catch a man's attention: There's one trick that works for all.
My eyes meet with that of the tallest boy in the group. And I don't look away. He doesn't either. I hold his gaze till he disappears out of my sight.
Then I wait, while the blondie is asking Hayden what brings him here.
In a few seconds, I hear the shop door open. I smile to myself.
"Hey, Anna, is Jeff in?" a boy asks from near the door.
The blonde answers, "He must be at the back in the kitchen."
"Who are they?" the boy says and comes to our table.
"They are visiting from the city," she answers him.
The boy places his hand on the back of my chair and says to me. "If you need a guide to show you around the town, I'm available."
"My girlfriend and I won't be here for long. We're fine," Hayden says.
Oh, so, now I'm his girlfriend?
The guy straightens up, his face falling a bit. The girl looks disappointed, too. And I suddenly feel guilty and silly for doing what I did.
Luckily, Jeff comes out with a tray. The boy leaves first, and then the girls after buying two loaves of bread.
Jeff joins us at the table. I take out a notepad and pen, so at least we would look like we're working on an article. For The Times.
Jeff says, "This shop was established by my great great grandfather in 1746. Everyone here knows our family. We kept the original appearance of the shop as it is. Don't like any of those modern stainless bakeries. That's not how a legacy shop should look like, you know."
"Is your surname Boldman?" Hayden says.
Jeff nods.
"And what was the name of your great great grandfather who opened this shop?"
It takes Jeff a second to recall before he says, "Yates. His name was Yates Boldman."
Hayden and I exchange looks.
Jeff continues, "My grandfather said Yates wasn't from this town. He came here to make a living."
"Where was he originally from?" Hayden asks.
"I don't know," Jeff says, looking as if it's strange he doesn't know.
"Was his wife from this town?" Hayden says.
"No. She wasn't either."
"Where was she from?"
"Honestly, I don't know much about her. Whenever I heard stories from my grandfather as a young boy, my grandfather would mostly talk about Yates and this shop. I don't believe he said anything about my great great grandmother. I don't even remember her name."
Hayden continues with his questions, while I take out my wand under the desk and cast a spell to check Jeff.
Jeff is fully human.
Would it even have been possible for Yates and Ivana to conceive children? Is Jeff their descendant?
It doesn't seem to be.
After the interview, Hayden insisted to pay for the cakes and tea in spite of Jeff's refusal to take money from us. This is the least we could do for taking up Jeff's time under a false pretense.
When we're back in Hayden's car, Hayden says, "What do you think?"
"We definitely know more about Yates now than we did before. But it's not enough. We don't know where Yates was before he came to Buckram. If we did, maybe then we'll be able to confirm who his wife was."
"I'll tell my contact to keep looking into it."
"Okay," I say and check on the egg. It's good.
"Where to now?" Hayden asks, "Or would you like if we get a room and—"
"Rocktale," I tell him.
"Rocktale?" he says. "You're not going back to your apartment?"
"No."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't have to tell you. You're going to give me a lift or not?"
He is not happy with my answer, but starts the engine nevertheless.
