Chapter 66
**VLADIMIR**
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The little old lady, the one who looks like what you’d picture a grandma to look like. Hair as white as snow cut short and permed, wearing cute little spectacles and standing at least a foot and a half shorter than you. She had crinkles around her eyes which were now a dull blue, but her smile, her smile could still light up an entire room. And currently, she was smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“Why hello there, handsome. What can I do ya for?” Asked the elderly woman, who I can only assume through my research is Betsy.
“Pleased to meet you. I'm looking for an old friend. I hear she works here. Her name is Myra.” I reply, my words oozing with charm.
“Oh, yes, the lovely Ms. Myra definitely works here. Although she isn't in now, I'm afraid.” Betsy replies, chewing on her bottom lip. I can see her mind frantically working as if trying to devise a scheme. “Although, I doubt she’d be opposed if you waited until she returned. Here have a seat in the back booth. I’ll bring you a brownie and a glass of milk. Are you a corner or a center man? Ah, you look like a center man. I’ll be right back.”
I chuckle to myself as I walk to the back of the quaint little bakery. Pink and red hearts cover every inch of the small building, along with white streamers weaved around the hearts. As I pass by, I notice how each table has a little candle placed meticulously in the middle and a poem about love printed on the front of the menu. If this is how the store owner decorates on Valentine’s Day, I can only imagine what Christmas Day would look like.
Before long, I make it to my seat in the back. I slip into the plush seat of the booth and throw my arms over the back, relaxing and inhaling the sweet scent of chocolate and my mate, her scent unique from anything I’ve ever smelled. To try and put it into words is impossible. The smell is Myra. I close my eyes, picturing my mate and what her reaction might be when she sees me. Will she hate me for not coming sooner? Will she burn with rage at the fact I’m here now? Has she gotten over her hatred of Vampires? So many thoughts are running through my mind that I don’t realize the darling little shop owner is standing by the booth.
“Boo!” She shouts, causing me, a vampire over a century old, to jump. “Hah! Gotcha.” She smiles while putting the plate and glass down in front of me.
“Funny, I thought today was Valentine’s Day, not Halloween.” I retort, gazing down at my brownie, embellishing in its delicacy.
Each corner is oozing, chocolaty, gooeyness, and scattered throughout the brownie are chocolate chips and what appear to be macadamia nuts. Then I catch a whiff of cinnamon and hazelnut, and instantly, I’m captivated, a slave to this baked good. If Myra rejects me, I might have to marry this little lady so she can continue to make me desserts that are fit for a God.
“Oh, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. I can kiss you on your cheek if it helps your poor, bruised ego. I can’t imagine how a big tough guy like yourself must feel about being scared by little old me.” She states her even larger than before.
She’s witty and spunky too.
“Are you sure it isn’t your lips that wish to find themselves upon my cheek?” I ask, winking, causing her to blush.
“Oh fooy.” She states, pushing me in jest. “Well, I best start closing down the shop. Holler if you need anything. Oh, and the name’s Betsy, by the way.”
“Thank you, Besty.” I reply, “You’ve been most accommodating.”
“Anything for my Myra.” She replies as she walks toward the door to flip her sign from open to close.
I relax back into the soft plushy cushion once again as I sink my fork into what I can only refer to as a slice of Heaven. As soon as I put the brownie into my mouth, my tastebuds erupt with pleasure. It is the best brownie I’ve ever tasted. As I’m immersing myself in one of the world's greatest pleasures, I can hear the squeal of a little girl as she shoots toward Betsy.
“Nana,” the little girl hollers when she’s engulfed in Betsy’s embrace, “Mommy said we can make angels.”
Her smell hits me before I see her. Myra’s here. She’s finally back. I turn my head toward the entrance, but I can only see one person. The woman who just walked in with the child. Myra must be down the street; when the door opened, the wind most likely wafted the air filled with her scent into the bakery.
I watch as the woman takes off her jacket and hangs it up. Myra’s scent intensifies with the movement. I take in the lady’s appearance. Her hips are wider, her body fuller, her beautiful mahogany hair cut shorter, but there is no doubt in my mind that this is my mate. This is Myra.
My heart hurts as I turn my attention back to the tiny little creature. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize her as Myra’s child. She looks like a miniature version of my mate, except her hair is fairer, more like a honey brown than mahogany. The little one appears to be around three, maybe four years old. She’s an animated one, and I can see how happy she makes Myra. The little girl indicates that Myra’s moved on with her life, and a small part of me is envious of that. The other part, a much larger part, is happy for her that she finally has a family. I go to slide out of my booth, ready to leave, until I feel her eyes on me. Her emerald green eyes meet my cerulean blue, and I watch as she says the word I’ve been waiting for over a decade to hear.
“Mate.”