I had to swallow, hard, against the lump in my throat. "I feel ridiculously lucky, too."
We smiled mushy smiles at each other for a while and then began to eat. I downed my first cup of coffee pretty quickly and then got up for a refill, mentally planning my day. There was a lot of work to be done. I'd already bought most of my presents for Shelley's birthday, but I still needed a few Christmas gifts for my family. Maybe another thing or two for Jack.
Jack jerked his head to the side and stared down the hall. "Molly's coming. She should get that muffler checked."
I cocked my head and listened. Nothing.
"Superior tiger hearing strikes again. Want more coffee?"
"No, but thanks. I need to get moving. I'll wash up here. You go get ready for your horrific trip to the chaos of shopping two days before Christmas." He shuddered and made a face. "I'd rather face angry, drunk werewolves than crazed holiday shoppers."
"I'll keep that in mind the next time I run into any angry drunk werewolves." I kissed him and then headed down the hall to unlock my door.
Locking doors was a new thing for me and most of Dead End, I imagined. But better safe than invaded by stalkers. Or alligators. Or vengeful vampires. Or …
Never mind. I'd just lock the door. Especially when Jack wasn't here.
Molly, never the most patient person, started pounding on the door just before I opened it, and then threw herself into my arms for a hug.
"Why are you locking your door now? No, wait, I know the answer to that. Why isn't Jack figuring out who killed Santa? This is no time to sit around eating breakfast!"
"Actually, it's exactly the time to eat breakfast, since it's not even nine o'clock," Jack drawled from the kitchen. "Coffee? Did you eat yet?"
"Happy birthday, Jack! I had a huge breakfast at eight, but I guess I could nibble on something." She skipped down the hall to the kitchen, too full of energy at all times to do anything as mundane as merely walk.
Molly was tiny, tattooed, and terrific. She wore her silky black hair down to her shoulders these days, a change from her long-time pixie cut, but her cutting-edge fashion sense hadn't changed. For our trip to the mall, she was rocking a red wool sweater, black jeans, and stylish leather boots with three-inch heels.
I washed my face, slapped on some moisturizer and a little makeup, and pulled on a forest-green sweater, jeans, and my leather boots, which were a little less stylish than Molly's and only had a half-inch heel. Still, they were gorgeous, and I loved them. They'd been a splurge buy a few years back, and I kept them in good shape and polished the way Uncle Mike had taught me.
He and I had spent many long hours bonding over boot polishing. Especially during the not-infrequent times Aunt Ruby and I had butted heads over something. I'd polished his boots to a mirror sheenthe day Aunt Ruby had heard thirteen-year-old me say my first bad word and grounded me for a week.
It hadn't even been that bad a word, as I'd learned the next month when I tried out one that was much, much worse. That time she grounded me for a month.
To this day, I didn't swear.
I walked back into the kitchen just in time to see Molly polish off a plate that looked like it had been filled with breakfast.
"Glad you could nibble," I said dryly, pouring coffee into my to-go mug. "Want some coffee to bring with?"
She bounced up off her chair. "Nope. Need to get moving. Already had a quad latte this morning."
One of her first purchases with her new music money had been an enormous cappuccino/espresso maker. Since Molly on caffeine was a truly awe-inspiring experience, my expectations for the day rapidly revised themselves from "this may be tough" to "oh, holy cow, let's keep Molly off the ceiling."
"Oh, boy," I muttered.
Jack laughed, washed Molly's plate and fork, put them in the rack, and dried his hands.
"Good luck with everything," he told me, before pulling me close and kissing me again.
I pulled away quickly, still shy about public—or even private in my kitchen, but in front of my best friend—displays of affection. Jack's eyes laughed down at me, but he didn't say anything.
"Okay, well." I patted his chest twice like I might pat Lou's head, feeling silly even as my cheeks heated. "You … do the thing. And then call me. Okay?"
"Yes, Jack," Molly said, her dark eyes filled with curiosity. "Do the thing. What is the thing?"
"Secret birthday stuff for Shelley," he said smoothly.
I blinked at him, wishing I could lie that easily. I was a horrible liar and had almost lost my shirt—literally—at strip poker as a teenager, until Molly'd saved me and yelled at the boys to quit taking advantage of my easy-to-read tells or she'd kick their butts for them.
