And speaking of pheromones, he got to work, greeting now this customer, now the other, taking orders, refilling coffees. To his surprise people remembered and had missed him.
"Hello, Tom," one of the women who came by before going to work at the warehouses said. "Were you sick?"
"Yeah," Tom said, and smiled at her. She was spectacularly homely—with a square face and grey hair clipped short. But she seemed to treat him with almost maternal warmth, and she always tipped him indecently well. "Touch of something going around."
"You guys should be more careful," she said. "Just because it's warm, doesn't mean that you can't get sick. Working nights, and you probably don't sleep as much as you should. I abused my body like that when I was young too. Trust me, it does send you a bill, though it might come twenty years down the road."
"Well, I'm all right now. What will you have?" He leaned toward her, smiling. And felt a hand pat his bottom lightly.
He believed in being friendly to customers but this was ridiculous. He turned around ready to blast whoever it might be, and saw Kyrie, leaning against him to talk to the customer. "Is this big ape bothering you, ma'am? Should I remove him?"
The customer grinned. "My, you're in a good mood. I guess your boss's hot romance makes things easier, right? He's not on your case so much?"
"Hot romance?" Tom asked.
"Oh, you don't know?" the customer said. "He's been sitting there all the time holding hands with that woman who bought the castle. The one he's been seeing off and on. Now she's here all the time."
"I meant to tell you," Kyrie said. "But I didn't want to talk in front of people. They spent yesterday necking over the counter. It was . . . weird. Poor Anthony had cook all the meals. Slowed us down to a crawl."
"Well, Anthony is a nice boy," the woman said. "But not like Tom."
"Ah, so you wouldn't want our big ape removal services," Kyrie said, and smiled at the woman, then at Tom, and flitted away to go take the order of the next table.
She left Tom quite stunned. Had Kyrie smiled at him? And had Kyrie really patted his bottom? Forget pheromones. What were they pumping out of those air-conditioners?
"Well, have you asked her out?" the woman said.
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh, don't play stupid. Have you asked Kyrie out?" the woman asked, smiling at him with a definite maternal expression.
He felt his damn all-too-easy blush come on and heat his cheeks. "Oh, I wouldn't have a chance."
The woman pressed her lips together. "Don't be stupid. She might have talked to me, but that entire little display was for your benefit. You do have a chance."
Tom hesitated. He could feel his mouth opening and closing, as he failed to find something appropriate to say, and he was sure, absolutely sure, he looked like a landed guppy. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not anyone's prize catch."
"So?" the woman shrugged. "No one is. You don't make babies start screaming when they see you. You'll do."
He had to get hold of this conversation. And his own unruly emotions. He and Kyrie had things to do. Far more important things. The Pearl had to be returned. They had to stop whatever scary beetles were trying to kill them both. This was no time to go all googly-eyed at the girl. "Yeah, well . . . anyway, what will you be having?"
"The usual. See if you have apple pie. I don't know if Frank baked yesterday, he seemed so distracted with his girlfriend. Apple for preference, but cherry would do. And a coffee, with creamer and sugar on the side."
"Sure," Tom said and beat a hasty retreat around the edge of the booths and back to the counter. There was apple pie in the fridge. He knew the customer enough to put the pie in the microwave for a few seconds' zap to chase the chill away. He got the coffee and the little bowls with cream and sugar and put it all on a tray.
And turned around to see Frank and his girlfriend—and he almost dropped the tray.
There was something odd about Frank and his girlfriend, both, and Tom couldn't quite say what it was.
He'd seen them before together, but usually when she picked Frank up or dropped him off. Now, they were holding hands over the counter, quite lost in each other's eyes. They weren't talking. Only their hands, moving infinitesimally against each other seemed to be communicating interest or affection or something.
With such an intense gaze, you expected . . . talk. And you really didn't expect people their age to be that smitten.
He realized he was staring fixedly at them, but they didn't even seem to have noticed. They continued looking at each other's eyes.