Chapter Three

Three Days Later

January 31st

CHANNON

Halfway down aisle three, where Channon was contemplating types of flour for a Dnaran recipe, Iron Maiden’s “The Number of the Beast” blared from his pocket. He ignored the call, glad he’d set a distinctive ringtone or he may have accidentally answered.

“Off-duty?”

Channon spun at the familiar voice, smiling as Waylan approached with a trolley. “Hi. Off-duty?”

Waylan’s smile wavered as he gestured to Channon’s jeans. “You’re ignoring the call and not because your hands are full,” he said, though Channon was holding three different bags of flour and a basket loaded with various baking ingredients. “I’ve seen you carry four trays of food, two shopping bags over each arm and shove your phone between your shoulder and ear all without losing balance.”

That was a quirk of kalou agility rather than personal skill, but Channon appreciated the compliment. “Yes, I’m ignoring the call, but it’s not work.”

Waylan cocked his head, curiosity entering his eyes.

Channon was curious what Waylan would say to the awful truth. “I gave my ex his own ringtone to remind me that he’s the devil and to stop me accidentally answering his calls.”

Mouth pursed as if to hide a smile, Waylan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“He’s Dnaran.”

Waylan didn’t register the importance, and Channon supposed he shouldn’t. He never spoke about his personal life with Waylan, afraid to get too personal or open up for fear he’d let his crush develop into something more serious and harder to ignore. The whole reason he’d been dating Tad, the bastard, was because he’d been growing more fond of Waylan and had been tempted to date him.

“I don’t, uh, believe you were dating long,” Waylan remarked, offhanded and curious, but Channon hoped the fact he knew that much was a good sign.

“Right.” To answer the unspoken question of why they’d broken up, he reluctantly confessed how lax he’d been. “We’d been dating about two months, and then I found out he’s married with three kids.” Channon couldn’t fathom how he’d failed to notice. He hadn’t been as invested in the relationship as he should because he was fighting his growing feelings for Waylan. Tad had been a distraction, nothing more, and burned Channon because he was a brutal reminder of the past, a reminder Channon wasn’t enough.

“I’m so sorry.” Waylan looked genuinely upset, touching his arm in consolation. “It must be awful to realise he wasn’t the man you thought.”

Channon was grateful for his understanding and that he didn’t ask how Channon had failed to notice. “He never wore a ring and worked construction, surrounded by both Dnarans and Vihaans, which made it impossible to differentiate scents.”

Waylan looked disappointed. “Dnarans make difficult partners because we Vihaans can detect lies and who they’ve been with. They lie so easily and are unaware that we know every time.” He shook his head, explaining exactly how Channon felt. For a man who’d been born kalou, a pure kalou for half his life, he was the most eloquent person Channon had ever met.

“What about you? You have a lot of food for a man who barely eats,” Channon said, indicating his overflowing trolley.

Waylan laughed, a sound that always made him smile for the indelicate snorts he never tried to suppress. “You’d be surprised. I do enjoy food, but this isn’t all for me.” He looked ready to say more but a woman slipped between them, and Waylan stepped aside to leave her plenty of space, offering a pleasant smile when she muttered an apology for butting in. “Anyway—” Waylan glanced at the retreating woman, pushing his glasses up his nose. “—I should go. I need to return to the clinic after dropping this at home.”

“I’ll let you go.”

“It was nice to meet away from the truck,” Waylan said, a flush across his cheeks suggesting the accidental meeting had been as pleasant for him as for Channon.

*

AT HOME IN his cabin, baking brownies while his homemade bread rested on the counter, Channon cursed his loose lips. He always spoke freely with Waylan but talking about his ex-boyfriend to the man he wanted to date was ridiculous.

Shaking his head, he resolved to change his ringtone and remember to keep a tight lid on his personal life. There was a reason he didn’t tell Waylan much about his life. If Channon risked a relationship, he didn’t doubt it would be long-lasting and he didn’t have the time, energy or will to get into anything permanent. He imagined Waylan didn’t either, considering his latest work dilemma had him locked in the hospital for more hours than was healthy.

His mobile rang, sitting on the dock on the counter, blasting a suitable “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton for a work call. Channon pressed Accept and Speaker with a floury finger. “Hello. This is Channon,” he said in his most professional voice.

“Oh, hi.” A female voice rang through his kitchen, vague noises of activity in the background. “I got your number from a friend. This is the right number for the A Taste of Home food truck, right?”

He wished every phone call didn’t start this way. “Right. How can I help you?” He added the final flourish to his brownies as he waited to discover if this was a phone call worth the interruption.

“My husband adores your food and it’s his fortieth birthday in two weeks’ time. I was hoping we could have you cater the party.”

“Sure. Let me check my diary. What date would you need delivery?” he asked, grabbing a towel to dust his hands on. His work diary always sat beside his phone when he was at home, so Channon flipped the cover open and skipped two weeks to the date she had in mind. “I’ve got a morning and late evening event, but I’m free from three o’clock.” Channon had signed onto a night shift at the shelter and had catering for a children’s party for a Vihaan caly in the morning, neither of which he was prepared to reschedule or cancel.

“Three.” The woman sounded hesitant. “The party starts at six. My husband works in construction, so he’ll be home by five thirty. Would you come by around six and prepare everything so we’d be eating by seven?”

The request wasn’t unusual. Dnarans liked their food hot either upon delivery or made for them. They expected a one-man food truck to cater their parties in the same way a big catering firm would—by staying to prepare, cook and serve the food—but that wasn’t how Channon worked.

“I can bring the food to you around half six,” he suggested, his brain niggling at the mention of construction. How typical that he’d think about Tad then someone in his same line of work became a client. Talk about thinking something into being.

“Oh. You wouldn’t stay to cook?”

“Ma’am, I’m a single person with a food truck. I don’t have the capacity to prepare and store the food your event would need. I cook to order, as stated on my website. I’m not sure I’m the right choice for your party if you want someone to be present the entire time. You might be better with a catering company,” Channon explained, as he always did when he got calls like these. “I’ll need two hours to prepare and cook food for around twenty people.”

She was momentarily quiet on the other end. “The guest list is closer to fifty.”

“I’d need the entire day, after my morning appointment, to prepare and cook the food for your event,” he said, reasoning out the timeline for her, as she clearly hadn’t asked questions of the friend who recommended him. “I’m sure your friend told you the menu is set. I make what I have the ingredients for, unless you pay me upon booking, and I have time to source the other ingredients you need. I’d need to consider fifty guests, presumably more to include yourself and your husband.

“The cost would be twice my usual fee, to justify spending four or five hours on your event, when all I’ll do is deliver trays of food that can be laid out buffet style, cooked and ready to eat.” This woman obviously hadn’t bothered to look at his website where there was a page that explained his process. Sometimes he wished the Mother’s magic that protected his truck and kept it invisible worked even for the internet.

“I see. Tad won’t be happy.”

“Tad?” he asked, sure he was imagining the connection.

“My husband. He’s the one who suggested we hire you. Not that he knew about the party, but he’s mentioned your truck,” the woman said, clearly irritated. “I’m afraid you aren’t the right place for our party. I’m sorry for taking your time.”

She hung up before he could comment but Channon didn’t care. If she was married to Tad, then he’d dodged a bullet. It would be a cold day in hell before he catered his cheating ex-boyfriend’s birthday party, paid for by his wife.