Twenty minutes past closing time, Pony Joe set down the mug he’d been polishing and walked to the cafe’s door, seeing silent streetlights. He sighed, then flipped the sign to closed.
The half-hour since his last customer had left gave him plenty of time to sweep the floors, wash the dishes, and bag the day’s leftovers—save for the heart-shaped eclair sitting alone in the counter’s soft light.
He sighed as his gaze lingered over its delicate layers of chocolate, pastry, and cream. It’d become a habit to make one in case his favorite customer stopped in. And it’d make too much mess to join the bag he’d drop by the shelter on his way home.
Joe was gathering his hat and coat when the bell above the door rang. His heart leapt as a sleek black figure came sauntering in.
“Lover,” Queen Chrysalis purred. “Any news about the city’s defenses?”