as he looked from me to the door.
“The night mares stayed home today,” I said.
He tossed the rag over his shoulder. “They’re not sick, are they?”
“No, they’re fine. But they’d be delighted to know you’re worried for them.”
“Leila!” Rhonda, the owner, stepped out of the little kitchen walled off from the rest of the café with a grin. “Or I should say, Queen Leila. Welcome back!”
I leaned my hip against the counter and grinned. “Hey, Rhonda! Thanks. You’re looking good!”
“Yeah, drive through business has been excellent since you dropped by with your little horses. Who’s the handsome escort?” She nodded her head at Rigel and gave me a sly grin.
“Yeah, um. This is…Rigel. Rigel, this is Rhonda—she owns this café.” I laughed nervously.
“Welcome to King’s Court Café,” Rhonda told Rigel before she fixed her too-sharp gaze back on me. “What happened to the cute werewolf?”
“Chase is still my director of security,” I said. “Rigel is just, ahah, he’s—well. He’s my husband,” I said, feeling amazingly awkward.
No one from fae society would blink at that announcement. They knew the laws I had to follow—thanks, original king! But humans wouldn’t know that, and since Rhonda was a good friend of mine she knew I would have mentioned if we were dating previously, so this was awkward.
“Your husband?” Rhonda repeated.
I gave her my most winning smile. “Precisely.”
“Him.”
“Yes.”
“The fae noble who looks like he stepped out of one of those fae-human romance books like he’s a wild hero come to rescue you.”
I glanced back at Rigel, looking rather deadly in his black clothes. He hadn’t even blinked over the conversation. “Rescue is a strong word,” I said.
Thankfully, the conversation was interrupted by my truck’s blaring horn.
I dashed to the door, bumping it open.
Steve sat in the driver’s seat, pushing down on the steering wheel with a paw as she watched the café door. Muffin was next to her, sniffing the car dashboard.
“Steve! Stop that—I’ll be done soon!” I shouted. “And Muffin, don’t think I don’t know that you’re egging her on!” I shook my finger at them, then retreated indoors.
“More pets of yours?” Landon asked.
“Yes.”
Rhonda rested her hands on her hips. “You can bring ’em in, you know. This is a pet friendly café.”
Through the glass door, I could see Steve’s glowing orange eyes and her flickering fur. “Um. You’re not this kind of pet friendly,” I said.
“Leila, I insist you go bring those poor things in,” Rhonda said.
“I’ll bring them up to the door for you, and then you can tell me what you think about them.” I paused in the doorway and held a finger out to Rigel. “Don’t you dare order tea. I want to help you pick out a drink.”
Something flickered in Rigel’s eyes. Previously I’d only seen boredom, but I was fairly certain the light I’d briefly seen was amusement, which I hadn’t been entirely sure was possible.
“I didn’t know you were that invested in what I choose to drink,” he said.
“Of course I’m invested! I need you to like it, because the chef won’t dare say no if I tell him you want a coffee machine at the mansion. Be right back.”
I hustled out to my truck, going around to the passenger side and opening up the glove compartment.
King’s Court Café required collars and leashes for all animals. Thankfully, I was in the habit of stowing some in my truck back from the days I used to train the Drakes’ dogs. I dug out two nylon collars—one pink, one purple—and their matching leashes and put them on the shade and gloom.
I felt pretty ridiculous leading them on leashes that would have been more appropriate for a chihuahua than the enormous predators that prowled on either side of me.
I paused at the glass door and reluctantly opened it when Rhonda motioned for me to come in.
Landon had been working on wiping down some of the café equipment, which he clutched when he saw Steve and Muffin. “You have other monster pets besides your demon horses?”
“Yes. The dog is Steve, the cat is Muffin.”
“You’re certainly using those species classifications loosely,” Landon grumbled.
Rhonda leaned over the counter to beam at my pets. “Hello there, cuties! I have a treat for you!” She fed them each a cookie—the homemade ones she baked for customers’ pets. Steve got a bone-shaped cookie while Muffin gobbled up a fish one.
“Are we seriously not going to talk about how terrible their names are?” Landon asked.
“They have good names!” I protested.
“You’ve already shown your understanding of words