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The guy is back again. Derek watches curiously from his counter, idly keeping an eye on the teenaged vampires trying to decide on a type from the blood popsicle selection. The guy outside the store is a little pale and lanky, with a cute upturned nose and a sprinkle of moles on his pale face, not that Derek didn’t notice the first time he stopped in the middle of the bustling street to stare at Derek’s store sign, which he wasn’t supposed to be able to do.
With a bright-eyed smile the guy tells his two friends something that Derek isn’t able to pick up through the various wards that protect his shop from the mundane world, even with his werewolf hearing, and the floppy-haired boy with the uneven jawline takes the hand of the brunette girl and they walk on, laughing and waving back at the guy, who is now staring resolutely right at his door, hands in his pockets, a curious look on his face.
The bell above the door rings jauntily and the guy sweeps into the store, eyes dancing merrily over all the sweet displays. Derek tenses up, because he can’t smell a whiff of the supernatural off the guy— not the scent of a wolf, that long-dead acidity that vampires seem to exude, the electric sharp tang of banshees or even the saccharine whiff of the fae. The three vampires seem to notice too, and one of the girls’ nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath as the guy walks by her.
“Here, we’re having a sale on all Type B,” Derek says, grabbing the pops and hastily ringing them up. Fortunately the vampires seem more interested in the sale and leave right after making their purchase, leaving Derek alone with the human–he must be human, the way he’s staring at the shelf of chocolate-covered pixies and the tray of slightly shimmering caramel cobwebs below it.
“Can I help you?” Derek asks, biting his lip.
“You don’t look like a hipster,” the guy says with a cheery smile.
“A what?” Derek frowns, crossing his arms.
The guy laughs, and Derek can’t help but notice how he throws his head back and his whole body quakes with mirth. “The monster theme, dude; like this is the most hipster thing I’ve ever seen to sell candy, but you look like you just walked off the cover of a motorcycle ad.”
Derek looks down at his leather jacket, suddenly self-conscious, and then back at the guy just in time to swat his hand away from the sample tray of homemade bone-marrow laced marshmallow bites.
“Those are, uh, probably stale,” Derek improvises, grabbing the entire tray and hiding it behind the counter.
“Ooh, what are these?” the guy asks, squinting his eye at the label ‘Gummy Guts’ and poking the scoop into the pile, pulling it out and watching the string of colorful and sugared tendons spill out of it.
“No, no, stop,” Derek says, grabbing the scoop out of his hands, and the guy throws them up in surprise, wiggling his ridiculously long and pale fingers. “Look, uh, we’re closed,” Derek says awkwardly before the guy actually tries to sample something and gets sick. He doesn’t want to be responsible for that.
“Really, Derek?" The guy smiles brightly, tracing a finger on Derek’s nametag and stepping closer. "That sign by the door says you’re open till five."
"Well, I have— I have a family emergency and have to close up early. Please get out."
"Oh okay, hope everything’s okay,” the guy says with more concern he should have for a perfect stranger, and lets Derek gently guide him towards the door.
“Well, your wards are perfectly fine,” Deaton says, gazing imperiously at the shop as they stand on the street, looking at the window display. “You sure he’s human?"
"He can’t be anything else," Derek snaps.
Deaton just shrugs, vague as ever. So helpful. Derek scowls at Deaton’s disappearing back after their curt goodbye, and he disappears back into the store, giving Cora a quick nod before losing himself in the kitchens, trying out new recipes.
Derek is leaning over a fresh new batch of chocolate fudge that he’s about to mix in a bowl of tarantulas in (it’s a big hit among trolls) when on a whim he stops and pours a pan of just chocolate. He bakes it along the spider-filled one, taking care to mark the difference and then returns to the front of the shop.
Cora grins at him mischievously, turning away from a conversation at the counter with— oh, it’s him again.
"Derek?” she asks with glee, and the guy smiles up at him, hands in his pockets. “Stiles here was just asking about you."
"Hi,” Derek says, his mind carefully cataloging away the name. He slips behind the counter, placing the fudge behind the glass.
“Oh wow, freshly baked!” Stiles says gleefully, rubbing his hands together.
“Here.” Derek hands him a square from the non-spider version and tries not to stare as Stiles swallows it down in one gulp, licking his lips delightedly.
“Oh wow, that was great,” Stiles says, moaning, and Derek should not be reacting this way to watching someone eat chocolate, it’s ridiculous. Cora seems to know exactly what he’s going though, smirking at him.
Stiles grins at him, brown eyes lit up. “Alright, how 'bout I buy the whole tray of these goodies, and then we talk about pack negotiations?"
"What.” Derek nearly drops the rest of the fudge in shock.
“Stiles is the new emissary for the McCall Pack,” Cora says, clearly enjoying the look of disbelief on Derek’s face.
“You— what–” Derek splutters. “That’s how you could see through the wards!"
Stiles grins proudly and only barely falters when Derek leans into his space to get a better sense of him– his magic work must be incredibly skilled, if he’s in a pack of wolves and can mask their scene so he just smells— incredibly neutral. And nice.
Cora is wrapping up the fudge while Stiles pays and Derek stares awkwardly. "You— you were casing the shop,” he says.
“No, I wasn’t,” Stiles replies. “I was checking you out, and you guys just happened to be the same people that my pack wants to merge territories with, so everybody wins. And I made sure, there aren’t any rules for inter-pack dating.” He waggles his eyebrows at Derek, and Derek can feel his cheeks go hot. “Oh man, it was so funny when you were trying to keep me from noticing all the supernatural things. And you made me special human food! So sweet. I can tell, this is the beginning of something beautiful."
Derek snorts, but he doesn’t give Stiles the pleasure of knowing he actually agrees. Stiles notices the slight smile on his face anyways, and years later, will always remind him of that moment.