Season of the Witch

Part 6

It was late when you woke up the next day. Sam had made breakfast, and helped himself to the shower, which was running as you passed by the bathroom door. There was a plate of Belgian waffles on the counter, steam still rising from them, the coffee fresh in the old coffee pot. By the waffles, there was a bowl of sliced strawberries and a can of non-dairy whipped cream.

You helped yourself to the breakfast, piling your waffle with strawberries and a mountain of whipped cream, suddenly ravenous. Whether it was skill or magic, you couldn't say, but Sam had made the most perfect waffle, fluffy and soft, moist and rich, with a hint of vanilla singing through the batter. The strawberries were the perfect sweetness, and the whipped cream fluffy and light.

You were on your third waffle when Sam waltzed out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him. His hair was damp, already drying partially in waves that cascaded over his bare shoulders. He wore a pair of linen pants, and nothing else.

"This is amazing," you mumbled as you swallowed the bite you had just placed in your mouth, using your fork to point to the half-demolished waffle on the plate. Sam smiled, coming closer to the table and leaning over.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, batting his eyes, reaching out and using his index finger to dip into the melting whipped cream that was on your breakfast, crooking it to scoop some up. You watched as he lifted a small mound to his lips. "I would have preferred to make it from scratch, however the last time I conjured dairy it curdled on me." The digit slid between his plush lips, and your cheeks grew hot as he looked down at you, smiling around his finger. Your mind flashed to your dream, how he had cleaned your own juices off his fingers this same way, eyes closed and humming. "Something the matter, fawn?"

"N-no!" You shook your head, appetite suddenly gone. Your eyes had stared at his lips for too long, yours tingling from the memory of his kiss in your dream. You could still feel it, the firmness of them as they parted your own and tasted you. "I need to go get dressed." As you passed by, you swore you smelled cinnamon wafting from him.

Once you were dressed in your work clothes, you made a beeline for the door, muttering to the supernatural man on your couch to 'just...behave while I'm gone.', earning a snicker as the door shut and locked behind you.

Afternoon shifts were not your favorite. They tended to drag on, leaving you shuffling the same things around behind the counter to try and look busy between the few customers. You had rearranged the gift cards by the register for the fourth time when the bell above the door chimed.

"Welcome, what can I get started for you?" you stopped for a second when you saw the man in front of you. He was tall, almost tall enough you had to crane your neck to see his face. He was studying the menu, and you took the time to take in his short black hair, and bright green eyes. He had a small amount of scruff along his chin, but a full mustache above his lip. When he smiled down at you, you felt your cheeks burn.

"Can I get a large vanilla latte with a shot of espresso? And uh, an extra pump of vanilla, please?"

"Sure thing, anything else?" You asked, glad to look away from him and to the computer screen to punch in the order.

"Yeah, sometimes you guys have these cinnamon rolls, do you have any left?" He scanned the case to your left. You know you were out, but you could definitely whip one up for him.

"Not out, but I can get you one." You cleared your throat, giving him a smile. He grinned back. "Big breakfast for dinner guy?"

"You could say that," he answered, swiping his card on the pin pad while you started his coffee. "I'm a firefighter, and I'm working nights this week. So this is technically my breakfast considering I woke up maybe half an hour ago."