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Rain pours incessantly onto the pavement, the heavy pitter-patter sounding like bullets against the plastic of your umbrella. Clutching the handle tighter, you make your way through Dovebrook District, wanting nothing more than to get home to your apartment. It’s been a long day at work, and you frankly do not want to deal with any drunk Fools or wannabe gangsters. Though you doubt anyone would be out here willingly in this weather.
What you’re looking forward to now is a nice, warm bath; accompanied by the sound of relaxing music mixing with the drops falling against the window in the background. Then, you’ll cook yourself a delicious dinner and go to sleep with the most elating feeling of all: the knowledge that tomorrow is the weekend and you can sleep in. You even picked up some pastries before heading home, which you’re now guarding close to your chest so the box doesn’t get wet. Yeah… That sounds like a plan.
…you always thought it was just an expression when people say that it’s raining cats and dogs.
When you turn the corner to access the rather hidden alley your apartment door is located at, you suddenly hear it: a low, pained whine. You freeze in place. What- what was that? Did someone leave their dog outside? Is it a weird imagenae causing trouble? As a resident of Dovebrook, your heart rate spikes: On one hand, you’ve heard of people on the internet warning about kidnappers playing baby or animal noises to attract victims so they can do horrible things to them; you certainly don’t want that to be you. On the other hand… What if there’s actually a wounded animal here? Leaving it out here in the pouring rain would just be wrong. What to do…
You look around the alley and see a small windowsill that’s protected from the rain. An idea forms in your mind. You place your pastries down there, hoping that they won’t get wet. Then, you take your phone, the police on speed dial in one hand, while the other still clutches your umbrella tight. Would you be able to defend yourself with it? Debatable, but it’s better than nothing. Slowly, you walk further into the alley, approaching the sound of soft whimpers. Every cell in your body prays to Aha, hoping that the rain drowns out the sound of your footsteps as you approach the shared garbage containers. Your steps can’t be as loud as your pounding heart in your ears, right?
Gosh, what are you doing? You’re going to get yourself murdered, aren’t you? All because your stupidly big heart can’t bear the thought of a puppy in the rain. What a pathetic way to die. Any moment, some gangsters are going to put a sack over your head and-
There are no gangsters as you peer your head around the container. And there is no puppy either. Well, it’s not a puppy anymore; you reckon that the beast before you must have been one at some point. It certainly is one big, big dog, lying against a heap of trash bags. With the little light from the street lamps, you make out a long snout, dark fur, and strong yet nimble limbs. Maybe it’s one of the officer dogs you’ve seen patrolling the streets? It certainly looks similar to one. Its dark fur is completely soaked by the downpour, and it’s panting heavily, eyes closed and ears folded back.
Oh, poor thing. You take a step closer, leaning down as your heart clenches at the sight of the big puppy being so miserable. What’s happened to it? What is it doing here? As your eyes trail over the animal, desperately trying to make out something in the dim light, you suddenly notice a streak of something barely recognizable in the dark fur, but that streams down into the pavement in a deep crimson: blood.
You gasp.
Immediately, the animal’s eyes shoot open, teeth bared as it lets out a deep, aggressive growl that makes you stumble back, raising your free hand in defense. Okay, it’s not friendly.
“Hey, it’s okay,” you try in the gentlest voice possible, speaking in a higher octave. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
The dog tries to stand up, but the sudden movement makes it stumble back onto the ground, another whimper ringing through the air. Your heart clenches. You have to help it somehow! You’re not letting this doggy bleed out here.
Think… What can you do? Finding an awkward angle to balance your umbrella on your shoulder, you use both hands to type into your phone and see if there are any emergency vets nearby.
Fuck. The closest is in Duomension City, about a thirty-minute ride from here. You don’t have a car. Neither do any of your friends, and getting the dog on public transport is out of the question. Alright, cabs. There’s gotta be someone out there that can drive you for money, right? Quickly opening the app, you type in the address of the vet and check for available drivers.
“Oh for the love of-”
Flashing red, your screen seems to laugh at you. The entirety of Plnarcadia can NOT be all driving around right now. What do you mean that the next available car is free in two freaking hours?! You don’t have the time for that!
As another pained whimper breaks your focus, you tear your eyes from the screen, and your eyes meet the wolfish dog. Grey eyes with a dash of pink look back to you, and the initial hostility in the form of bared teeth and a scrunched snout has melted into a truly pitiful look. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to do something, anything, to help this pup. Is there nothing you can do?
…one thought comes to mind. Could it potentially make things worse? Yes, because you know barely anything about dogs, but it’s better than not trying at all, right?
“Alright, big boy.” You crouch down until you’re at eye level with it, slowly, hoping it won’t lash out again. “I can’t bring you to a vet, but my apartment is right here, and I have a medkit. I’m gonna help you,” you explain. If it’s a security doggo, it should understand what you’re saying, right? “Is that okay?”
It seems you’re in luck, because after a few contemplative seconds, the animal lets out a resigned huff. You take that as a yes.
“Good. Can you stand at all?”
Again, you watch as it tries to stand up, but it falls back against the trash bags, panting heavily.
Shit. That’s not good. Now the question is: how heavy is that beast? Because it looks like you’ll break your back just carrying it into the elevator. Skipping the gym so often may not have been such a good idea in hindsight.
Once more, you balance the umbrella on your shoulder, then slowly move your hands closer. “I’m going to have to carry you, sorry.”
You expect another growl, but it merely watches you cautiously, waiting for your attempt. Alright, gentle now. As best as you can, you try to grab around its waist and tentatively test the weight. Wet fur sticks to your shirt, and- oh shit, he’s heavy. Like- genuinely back-breaking heavy. Did you jinx yourself by thinking about it? Real funny, Aha…
Alright, focus now. You step a bit closer, trying to lift with your legs and not your back, and in one swift movement, you have the dog splayed against your chest while you hold onto its butt and hind legs. All that drenched coat slaps against every inch of your body and makes you shudder. Ugh.
The motion must have accidentally hit something, because you hear a whine against your ear and almost cry on the spot.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. We’re taking the elevator, we’ll be there soon,” you mutter apologetically, hoping to calm it. “Aeons you’re heavy…”
It’s an awkward waddle to your door and inside the building. Luckily, having a face-scanning system in your block means you don’t have to fumble around with keys, and soon you’re inside, stepping into the elevator as it automatically transports you to your floor. Every second with the dog in your arms feels heavier than the last, until you finally stumble into your apartment. Your first instinct is just to drop it off somewhere, but the poor thing is sopping wet, and so is your clothing now. So instead, you take the last few steps towards the bathroom, pushing the door open with your hip, and then, you carefully lower it into the bathtub.
Something cracks when you stand back up again. Ow… Well, at least it’s done.
In the very next second, you shriek as the dog shakes himself and sprays you full of water, and you’re very grateful you got him into the bathroom before he could do that in the middle of your apartment. Sigh… Your clothing was wet anyway. Can’t fault the poor thing for wanting to get rid of the rain.
Now that the cool lights of the bathroom stream down on you, you can finally inspect the dog closer.
Uhm. You know, you’re no expert, but. That’s something.
What looked like any regular old dog out in the rain now resembles a wolf more than anything. The tips of its dark fur fade into white at the limbs, ears, and snout, and he (as you find out) not only has a metal collar in the shape of fangs around his neck, but his right front paw seems to be a prosthetic. Huh. Well, this definitely isn’t a security officer, but there’s definitely someone out there who cares enough for him to have given him these things. What reckless owner just leaves their dog out in the rain? Maybe he got lost?
But that’s not important: what really requires your attention is the now very visible gash on one of its hind paw, staining the white fur red.
“Oh, poor baby,” you coo, carding a hand through the wet fur. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Your whiny tone is met with a whine of his own, and you stand up, walking over to the little cabinet where you keep the usual bathroom stuff. With a heater, a hair dryer, some towels, and the promised medkit under your arm, you step closer once more. The first thing you do is take off your soaked clothes so you don’t get sick: the heater will keep you warm, and it’s not like a dog cares about nakedness much.
“Alright, let’s dry you a bit so the bandages stay on,” you hum, approaching the dog.
Maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear that he’s staring at you now that you’re in your underwear. He has gone surprisingly still, and even the heavy pants have stopped. It’s deadly silent in your bathroom, save for the whirring of the heater fans and the patter of the rain outside.
…you try not to think too much about that. Instead, you take your phone again, looking up any emergency dog help on forum websites. Navigating through people’s different situations and responses is honestly a pain, but it’s better than trusting the AI-generated responses. You’re not taking any chances. All the while, you softly rub the towel over the dog’s back while you take mental notes.
Seems starting with painkillers is a good idea. That way, you’ll be able to dry him off and tend to the wound more easily. Hm… Almost everything you’d give a human seems to be toxic, so you dig into your medkit, hoping to find a substitute for the usual stuff. Good thing you checked, geez. Luckily, there is some morphine tablets for more extreme cases, which should be safe.
The only problem is that you’ll have to guess this guy’s weight if you don’t want him to sleep until next Friday.
Your brain works overtime as you try to compare the weight to the dumbbells you’ve lifted in the gym before, it’s a hazy memory… Uh…
Fuck. Let’s err on the side of caution. You stand up, popping one of the tablets out and breaking about half of it. Then, you turn to the dog. “Do you want this wrapped in something? I’ve got some salami?”
At the word, he seems to perk up, and you can’t help but laugh at the adorable puppy eyes he gives you.
“Yeah? You want some salami? Oh you’re such a good boy,” you squeal, grabbing his sopping wet cheeks and caressing his snout. He’s just too cute, you don’t care if you actually brought a freaking wolf into your home. He’s so polite, even if he’s in pain! “I’ll be right back.”
Suddenly, you feel something warm and wet hit your wrist as the big dog licks at your skin, and you let out another squeal. Oh, he’s adorable! If only they’d let you have pets in the apartment…
With that, you stand up and walk over to your room, quickly changing into a t-shirt and some shorts. As your eyes scan the room, they land on a pillow in the corner, and you decide to take that with you too. Then, you walk over to the kitchen, take a package of salami slices from your fridge, and head back into the bathroom.
“Alright, pill time.” First, you take the pill, then you drop the pillow onto the floor so your ass won’t hurt once you’re done here, before you roll the small tablet into one of the slices. Tentatively, you move your hand closer, hoping that those sharp teeth won’t sink into your skin. It makes your hand tremble a bit. “Please don’t bite me…”
In a scenario where you encounter a wild animal, you’d be the idiot on the news that got mauled for trying to pet it.
Lucky for you, this wolf is not a rabid beast. Quite the contrary: when he notices your trembling, he leans in slowly, almost meekly, and gingerly takes the laced snack with his teeth, not even touching your skin. As soon as he has the salami in his maw, though, he scarfs it down in the blink of an eye.
You let out a relieved sigh. How could you ever doubt this sweet baby? Hmm, but he seems hungry. You’ll have to see if you can give him something else for dinner later. For now, the most daunting task is ahead of you: drying all the long, dense fur of this massive animal.
…what did you get yourself into…
Taking the towel, you rest your knees on the pillow as you lean over him. “I’m going to start drying you so I can clean up and take care of that gash on your paw,” you explain. If only he could speak, things would be a lot easier, but at least you two seem to communicate just fine. You lay the towel onto his back, but before you start, you add, “If I accidentally touch something that hurts, you can growl at me again.”
Another huff leaves the wolf’s snout, this one sounding more approving, and you get to work, gently rubbing the towel along his body. You’ll definitely have to go in with the dryer after this, but for now, you just hope that the towel will absorb most of the wetness.
While you dry him off, you strike up a one-sided conversation with him. “I wish you could tell me where you’re from… Did you get lost? Did your owner abandon you somewhere?” you question, “or did you run away from home?”
From the way his ears press against the back of his head, it seems like none of those things are true. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to hear about it. If it’s a painful memory, you don’t want to make him think about it. Maybe you’re just projecting human traits onto a dog, but he seems like he’s not out on the streets for the first time. As you part sections of his fur, scarred tissue shows up underneath, hidden by the usually fluffy coat. The prosthetic arm must be a tale of its own, too. Suddenly, you feel a bit silly for treating this possibly veteran stray like a regular pup.
“...I hope you don’t get into fights too often,” you mutter, eyes trailing down to the crimson at his hind leg. “What if there’s no weirdo helping out dogs next time you’re injured like this?”
Something between a petulant whine and an amused huff escapes the wolf’s snout, and he shakes his head in a way you’re not sure how to interpret. If he were human, you’d label it as a typical headshake, a ‘don’t worry about it’. Seems your big friend here might really belong in the streets. But he’s not going back there until he’s healed.
You drop the now drenched towel to the ground, inspecting your work. You snort. He looks very funny like this, and you can’t help but giggle a bit. The part with the hairdryer is significantly more dramatic, and you know that he’s just being dramatic because he’s not growling, just letting out the most pathetic little whines as if he’s being tortured.
“We’re almost done.” You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Just a bit more, big boy, and then I’ll patch you up.”
The more you dry him, brushing him in the process, the fluffier he gets. Gosh, it feels so good to run a hand through that dark fur.
“You’re such a handsome boy, aren’t you? Such a pretty boy,” you coo with a big smile.
That little whine he lets out sounds almost flustered. It’s adorable.
Once you deem his paws dry enough, you reach for the medkit once more and take out a bottle of healing spray. It’s safe for dogs; you’ve rigorously looked through all of the ingredients and looked up if there’s something inside that could be harmful, but it seems the wonders of medicine extend beyond uses for humanity only.
Shaking the bottle, you gently lift the other paw to gain better access to the wound. “Okay, this is going to feel cold and uncomfortable, and it might sting a bit, but that wound will be healed by morning.” You pause. “You’re not allowed to touch it, though.”
Usually, they’d put a cone on dogs when they’re not supposed to lick or bite at something, right? Unfortunately, you don’t have one of those at home. Hmm… Maybe bandaging the area around the spray will be enough to create a barrier between the healing foam and the wolf’s teeth? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
“Ready?” You start the countdown as you take the cap off, aiming it at the gash. “Three… two… one…”
A surprised howl rings through the air, making you jump at the sudden volume. Instantly, you bury your free hand into the dog’s fur, worry flooding your veins.
“Are you alright?” When he huffs again, you let out a relieved sigh, happy that it was just another one of his antics. “Stop giving me heart attacks, geez… You’ll live.”
Ruffling some hair on his back, you complete your emergency vet work with two layers of bandages around the paw, and you’re finally done. Whew! That was a bit less nerve-wracking than you expected, and it’s all thanks to this big fella cooperating so well.
“Good job! You did so well!” More coos and happy squeals leave your lips as you move your hands all over him, taking in the animal’s soft fur, and he’s more than happy to lean into your touch, tail wagging now that he’s taken care of. Aeons, he’s so fluffy you could die! Ugh, you wanna bury your head into that cute belly…
As if on cue, your own belly lets out a growl, and you remember that neither you nor this guy have had anything for dinner yet. Into the kitchen you go, then.
You pick up your pillow from the floor and put the medkit away, before turning to your furry friend once more. “Can you try walking on your healthy legs? I don’t know if I can carry you again..”
This time, it barely takes him any effort to step out of your bathtub, and even if he’s still limping, you’re more than happy that the medicine seems to be working. He looks so much better now compared to the drenched bundle of misery you found outside of your apartment. It makes you smile.
“I’ll lay down a blanket for you on the couch so you don’t cover everything in hair. Then I’ll cook you something nice, alright?”
Tail wagging happily again, the wolf follows you out and patiently waits for you to come back from your bedroom. He watches you lay down the blanket, but instead of lying down, he follows you into the kitchen. Curious, isn’t he?
“Come on, get on the couch.” Chuckling, you boop his snout. “I’ll be done soon.”
Instead of complying, he sits himself on his hind legs, those ashen eyes looking up with such innocent curiosity. Ahh, why did he have to be so cute? How could you resist those eyes?
“...alright.”
The internet is a wonderful place for recipes, and there are thousands of bloggers uploading recipes ‘for you and your canine friend’. In the end, you opt for a simple dish of braised meat, taking out a big portion for him before you season yours. Honestly, you think he likely eats more than you, and if you’re still hungry after, you still have your-
You pastries. You left them outside!
“Oh shit-” Quickly settling a bowl with his food down in front of him, you take your umbrella and hurry out the door. “I’ll be right back!”
Shit, you completely forgot about them! They’re going to be freezing cold by now. And you had even bought them freshly made, so you could enjoy those toasty treats right off the oven. Ugh! You don’t even bother with the elevator, practically flying down the stairs as you open your umbrella and walk up to the window where you left the pastries.
When you arrive, though, you find nothing. The windowsill is empty, with no trace left of your pastries save for a few crumbs where the box used to be. Great. At least someone got to enjoy them… Aha must really be laughing at you today. As long as you got to help out your new friend, you assume that you don’t mind too much.
Time to go back inside. When you open the door to your apartment, you find the big wolf sitting on his blanket, and when he hears you come in, he happily wags his tail. Honestly, who cares about pastries? He’s already plenty sweet!
“No pastries for me,” you mutter in a dejected tone, taking your plate and plopping down next to him.
It seems you look like you need a pick-me-up, because the dog scoots closer, laying his head in your lap and letting out what sounds like an apologetic whine.
Okay, you take everything back, you’ve had only good luck today, good luck! Maybe this is a gift from the universe, for all the hardships you have ever endured. If you could, you’d adopt this baby in a heartbeat!
“No, no, it’s not your fault,” you soothe him, gently petting over his head and down his back, “I shouldn’t have left them outside, it’s okay.” You chuckle. “Thank you for cheering me up, though. I wish I knew your name… How about I call you Wolfie for now, hm?”
A few licks to your fingers make you giggle, the warm sensation still foreign to you.
“Alright, I’m keeping that nickname. How about we watch a movie, hm?”
Dovebrook District is always full of surprises. What drives some away draws others in, the hustle and bustle never-ending in this never-sleeping city. In a world like this, governed by none other than absurdist Elation, all kinds of things can happen. Just like now, when you’ve dozed off on your couch, the TV still running in the background, and the wolf in your lap is absolutely sure you won’t wake up anytime soon. That’s when he decides to pay off the first fraction of the debt he now owes you for helping him out.
…
Sunlight streams into your window when you regain consciousness. Outside, Dovebrook is as lively as ever, and you can hear the sounds of people and cars outside, proof of the district’s culture. Seems that it’s a new day.
You stretch, pulling the bedsheets from your body, when you suddenly freeze. Wait. Eyes bleary and still tired, you look around and confirm your suspicion: You’re in your bedroom. You did not fall asleep in your bedroom. Why are you here?
“What the…”
Maybe you were just so tired yesterday that you don’t remember switching from the couch to your bed? That reminds you: is Wolfie still here?
After rubbing your eyes, you scan the room once more, but the dog is nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he found the couch comfortable, and hopefully, his leg is better now.
That’s when you suddenly notice a sticky note on your door. You did not put that there. Okay, things are getting weird now. Several alarm bells go off in your body as you stalk closer, close enough that you can read the note.
“Please don’t freak out. I’ll explain everything.”
Sadly, the note has the very opposite effect on you. What the hell do you mean, “don’t freak out”?? Hello?? Who the heck wrote this?! What weirdo actually expects you to go ‘oh yeah okay I’m chill about this’...
Okay, okay, deep breaths. You’re not overprepared and paranoid for nothing; living in Dovebrook requires you to be on your toes at all times. Which is why you walk to your closet, taking the baseball bat hidden in the corner before you even think of opening this door. Careful, barely making any noise, your fingers curl around the door handle. Take a deep breath. Whoever may be on the other side better have that explanation ready.
Slowly, in minuscule, snail-paced movements, you turn the handle, carefully peeking outside.
…what the hell is that guy doing here??
Suddenly going from 100 to 0 leaves you a bit dizzy with relief, and you drop the bat against one corner of your room before you decide to greet the unexpected, yet familiar intruder: Detective Ashveil, from the Ashen Detective Agency.
“Mr. Ashveil?”
The man in question is currently leaning against the counter in your kitchen, and when he hears your voice, he turns back with a wide smile. “Ah, there you are! A wonderful morning, isn’t it? Especially after all that rain yesterday.” In each hand, he is holding a mug of steaming coffee, and he happily holds one out for you. “Care to join me?”
You know Detective Ashveil; heck, everyone in Dovebrook knows him. You had seen him work on a case or two, or spotted him at the most unusual place, doing whatever crazy thing he had been commissioned for. Personally, you had never had a need for his services, so why is he here? Did someone ask him to spy on you? Still, since he arrived, the streets have been safer, and the gangs have reduced their turf wars significantly. Though wary, you don’t have a reason to distrust him.
“Uh...” You step closer, tentatively taking the cup. “Mr. Ashveil, how did you get in here?” Eyes drifting past him over to the couch, you find it devoid of its new visitor. “And where’s Wolfie?”
Sounding like an engine that won’t start up, Ashveil lets out a few dry coughs, his cheeks suddenly flushing crimson, eyes fixed on the mug in his hands. “Well, that’s a long story…”
…you know, you’ve never actually seen the detective up close. That white coat with the red-purple details has always been flashy enough to recognize him even in the busiest crowds, and interfering in Dovebrook business is never a good idea. However, now that he’s right in front of you, those features of his are starting to look familiar. That dark hair that fades into white at the tips, the greyish eyes with that splash of pink… Even his right hand, clawed metal curled around your favorite cup. Not to mention the myriad of wolf motivs all over his clothing.
You don’t have to be a genius to put two and two together. And when you do, your eyes widen in sheer, horrified disbelief. That- how- no, that can’t be, right?
Ashveil knows that he’s busted when you make that face, and he grumbles as he pulls his hat further into his face, trying to hide his embarassment. It’s no use. “...you’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” It sounds less like a question and more like a complaint.
Shifters aren’t unheard of. They’re extremely rare in Planarcadia, sure, but it’s not like people go around announcing it on the streets when they are. Well, they usually turn to the internet in hopes of getting famous. You can’t believe you actually found one out here.
…gosh, this- This is so weird, on so many levels… The worst part is that you got half naked in front of him and you didn’t even know that he wasn’t just an animal. Maybe the gangsters kidnapping you would have been better after all. You want to die of shame.
Without being able to ignore your visible discomfort, the detective sets his hat straight, then brushes some hair on his nape. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I never wanted to get stuck in my wolf form, but I was too weak to get back to the agency…”
Right. You have to remember that you were just helping out an injured animal, and that it wasn’t his fault. What you can do now, however, is press him for all those answers that have been nagging at your brain since yesterday.
“It’s okay,” you reply, taking a sip from your mug. Oh, he already made it the way you like it. How did he know that? A chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m happy that I got to help you out, detective.” Then, your smile turns into a cheeky grin. “Your hair is very fluffy, you know that?”
Again, a blush spreads on his cheeks, and he stutters for a few seconds before he gives up trying to refute you. It’s what he deserves for not even trying to be decent when you got undressed before him. Instead, the detective sets his mug down and takes your hand, and you feel both leather-clad fingers and metal digits gently curl around your palm.
“Thank you kindly, dear,” he hums, eyes and voice soft, thankful. “Not many would have helped out a dangerous beast down in the dumps.”
You huff. “I could never leave someone bleeding out on the street. It wouldn’t be right.”
Besides… It was nice to help him out, really. It reminds you that, even if the IPC rules everything now, and even if people are often selfish and lonely and isolated, we can all do sonething small to make the world better.
“I must say I’m impressed: you didn’t panic, and you were not only extremely efficient, but also well-prepared to treat a patient,” he comments, letting your hand go and taking up his mug again and shooting you a curious look. “You must be a nurse? Or a doctor, even?”
“Nope. Just saw that this apartment had quite a low rent because it was in a sketchy neighborhood, and I’m honestly happy preparing for worst-case-scenarios as long as I can stay here.”
Ashveil chokes on his coffe. Money does make the world go round, huh?
“I- In any case,” he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, “I’d like to repay you for everything you’ve done. I’m not exactly… rolling in credits,” he mutters, before straightening up. “But! If there’s anything you need help with, I’m more than happy to do so! Noisy neighbors? Excuses so you don’t have to go to work? Having someone do groceries for you? I’m your guy.”
Flashing those sharp canines of his, you can’t help but think he’s just as adorable as he was yesterday.
The detective reaches into his coat pocket and hands you a red business card with the contact details of the agency. And though you can’t think of anything that requires your attention at the moment, this wolfish detective has caught your attention.
On the wall, the digital clock show it’s shortly past ten.
“Well, my favorite bakery opened a short while ago. How about you join me for a proper breakfast?” You tilt your head with a smile. “I’d love to hear about how you got yourself stranded on my doorstep in the middle of a rainstorm. My treat.”
Ashveil chuckles. “Sure, but the tab’s on me.”
He just hopes he has enough to get you those pastries you didn’t get to enjoy yesterday.