“She’s an only child, isn’t she?” I said as the sound of her heels was lost on the carpet.

Trent blinked, his lips parting. “Yes, she is.” Then he gestured for me to sit. “Please.”

Not really sure I wanted to eat with the two of them, I gingerly sat on the chair opposite Trent. My gaze went to the fake window spanning the entirety of the wall that the small, nearby sunken living room took up. It was just after eleven according to the clocks I had seen, and it was dark with no moon. “Sorry,” I said, my gaze flicking to the archway to Ellasbeth’s rooms.

His jaw tightened for an instant, then relaxed. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“Sure. That would be great.” I was almost faint from hunger, and the heat of my bath had drained me. I looked up with wide eyes as a matronly woman in an apron made her unhurried way out of the small kitchen tucked in at the back of the room. It was partially open to the seating arrangement, but I hadn’t noticed her until now.

Giving me a smile that encompassed all her face, the woman set a mug of that heavenly scented coffee in front of me before topping off Trent’s smaller teacup with an amber brew. I thought I could smell gardenias, but I wasn’t sure. “Bless you,” I said as I wrapped my hands around it and breathed in the steam.

“You’re welcome,” she said with the professional warmth of a good waitress. Smiling, she turned to Trent. “What will it be tonight, Mr. Kalamack? It’s almost too late for a proper dinner.”

As I blew on the surface of my coffee, my thoughts went to the different schedules of witches and elves, thinking it interesting that one of our species was awake at all times and that dinner happened about the same time for both of us.

“Oh, let’s make it light,” Trent said, clearly trying to ease the mood. “I have about three pounds of Ohio River sitting in me somewhere. How about a breakfast instead? The usual, Maggie.”

The woman nodded, the white hair clipped close to her head not moving at all. “And how about you, dear?” she asked me.

I glanced between Trent and the woman. “What’s the usual?”

“Four eggs over easy and three slices of rye toast done on one side.”

I felt myself blanch. “That’s eating light?” I said before I could stop my mouth.

Trent arranged his jammies’ collar, peeking from behind his robe. “High metabolism.”

My thoughts went back to how he and Ceri never seemed to get cold. The temperature of the river, too, hadn’t affected him. “Um,” I said as I realized she was still waiting. “The toast sounds good, but I’ll pass on the eggs.”

Eyebrows high, Trent took a sip of his tea, eyeing me over the rim. “That’s right,” he said, his voice unaccusing. “You don’t tolerate them well. Maggie, let’s go with waffles.”