Cal led Natalya back to the bakery at a dead run. She’d offered to hold her coat up as an umbrella for both of them, but he knew the rising wind would snatch it aside and soak them both for spite.
They crashed into the door together—which was odd because he’d grabbed the latch before they hit.
He tried it again as Natalya laughed about the mad race through the rain. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good; the deadbolt had snapped into place as he’d slammed the door behind him in his rush to intercept Natalya before she entered the Plover.
“C’mon, Cal. It’s cold out here.”
“Quit griping, Gnat. At least you have a coat.”
“At least one of us has some sense of self-preservation. What’s the holdup?”
“My keys.”
“What about them?”
“They’re on the hook beside my jacket in the back.”
“In the
