by Hydrargentium

“These your cookies?”

Tammi looked up from her book to see a tall, slender figure dressed in red and black, looming over the countertop, staring at the display. Actually, she decided, the guy was more “wrapped” in red and black than “dressed”. He looked too skinny to have a voice that deep.

“They’re my recipes. I don’t make them all myself. I have help.”

“They look good.”

She noticed that his eyes were glowing — red, of course. Still, maybe this guy wasn’t a supervillain. Maybe he just dressed like one. And acted like one. And sounded like one. And glowed red from the eyes like one. Yeah, maybe.

“Six dollars a dozen. I only take cash.”

He ran a leather-wrapped finger across the glass. It left a red trail that glowed for a moment, before fading away. Sure, she thought. Yeah, he could be not a supervillain. It’s still possible.

As if from a reverie, he looked over at her sharply. Straight on, Tammi couldn’t see the glow. Not wanting to back down, she held his gaze.

“You don’t take Interac?”

It took her a moment to process that.

“Cash only. When it gets busy, that’s the only way to keep people moving in and out. This is a small store.”

That seemed to break the spell. He looked around, clearly noting that he, with his tall frame and long arms, could practically touch the opposing walls.

“Yeah, but everyone takes Interac. Even Tim Horton’s, now.”

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