Page 8 of The Sad Omega

We buzzed around in my little car as I showed Isca where everything was. We even got out at most of the places we went to, so he could take a look inside and report back to his pack on what was available. He jotted down a lot of notes in a notebook he’d had stuffed in his pocket, frowning over his notepad and biting his lip as the pencil flittered across the page, and I wondered if he was going to have to prove he had actually done what he’d said he was coming into town to do.

Even so, we managed to knock off his list in a couple of hours, and we found ourselves at the bakery around lunchtime.

“Inside or out?” I asked Isca, pointing to the tables on the footpath alongside the café windows.

“Inside,” he said hastily, “away from the window. In case any of the pack come into town. I don’t want them to see me slacking off.”

“Having lunch isn’t really slacking off,” I sighed. “You kinda have to eat at some point.” Isca’s pack was ridiculous. Or else he was overly sensitive. I guess I didn’t really know which it was yet since I’d never actually met anyone from his pack.

As we entered the bakery, the high-pitched hiss of milk being frothed assaulted our ears, and the yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread teased our nostrils. All around us, a steady hum of conversation and chatter filled the room, as I scanned the area hoping to find someplace to sit. All the tables were occupied or had reservation slips sitting under the tiny vases containing a single fresh flower.

The screech of wood across the concrete floor drew my attention to the far wall, where the occupants were getting up from a small table for two. The older man with a ruddy, weather-beaten face nodded at me, his heavy boots scraping across the floor as he passed. His companion, a tall, lean man with sallow cheeks, smiled.

"Grab it while you can, boys. This place sure is busy this time of day."

The door bell jangled as they went out, and the low buzz of conversation wrapped around us again.

We hurried over before anyone else arrived to claim the table. Two coffee cups with the dregs of a brown milky liquid stagnating inside stared up at us, surrounded by the debris of something sweet and crumbly. A young server hustled over to the table, a dirty smear appearing across the table top as she wiped it down. Crumbs scattered on the floor, rolling under the table. I winced, knowing I was probably crushing the sticky morsels under my shoes.

Moments later the server re-appeared, plastic coated menus in her hand, which she thrust towards us.

"When you're ready, order at the counter please," she chimed cheerfully. She was gone in a second, hurrying to attend to a customer waving at her from another table.

"What do you feel like?" I perused the menu, though I pretty much knew everything on here. I always had the same thing anyway, though I'd tried almost everything on the menu. "I'll go to the counter for us."

"Um..." Irian hesitated. His eyes ran down the page, flicking all over the place. His lips twisted and he bit his lower lip. He wouldn't look at me. "Um..." His cheeks grew pink, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the plastic.

I guessed the problem. "It's my shout, since I've dragged you in here. Pick whatever you like. The bagels are really good. And the burgers too."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. I'm going to have the smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. They're amazing."

"Oh, okay. I might try that too," said Isca, finally looking at me. His body relaxed and he sat back in his seat.

"And drinks... cappuccino? Shake? They do freshly squeezed orange juice too."

"Milkshake, please? Vanilla?"

"Perfect!" I rose to go to the counter. There were several people ahead of me and it took a few minutes before I made my way back to the table. Isca was quietly observing the other occupants of the room when I got back.

"Thanks," he murmured, looking across at me with his luminous brown eyes bright in the dimness of the cafe. "I forgot Zarbius checks what the money's been spent on," he added apologetically.

"Oh, would he mind if you bought something while you're out?You have to eat."

"I don't know." He stopped, his face pinking up. Isca really blushed a lot, and it was extremely obvious on his very pale skin. "I don't really want to find out."

There wasn't much I could say to that. I didn't want to pry into their relationship which was obviously not great, so I steered the conversation to other less fraught topics.

"So what do you think of this place," I asked, waving a hand around to indicate the café.

"It's pretty great. I've never been to a place like this before."

"What? Do you mean a café or one that works in combination with a bakery?"

"Both." Isca's head swiveled taking everything in. His eyes were wide. Behind us, out of sight, the solid thump of the oven doors opening was accompanied by the homey smell of freshly baked bread.

"That smells heavenly," said Isca. "I should take some back for the pack."