As soon as they walked inside, they were greeted by a host dressed in a white button-up shirt, a bow tie, and black slacks. His polished shoes shone so brightly from the sunlight coming in through the windows that they nearly blinded them.

“Welcome to The Midnight Oil.” He bowed slightly. “If you come with me, I can show you to your seats.”

He gestured for them to follow and then made his way over to a table by the window that seated two people. Once Lola and Russel were sitting, he went over the restaurant's specials.

“We have a rustic and pleasant corn chowder with cornbread to start with,” he said. “Then we follow that with a nice entree of sizzling ribeye steaks, garlic-roasted mashed potatoes, soy-glazed carrots, and buttered rolls. The dessert course is a shareable plate of fine pastries prepared by our master pastry chef, Luc Renard. Would you care for a glass of our house wine while you await your first course? Or perhaps some water?”

“Wine will be great,” Russel said and Lola agreed. It might help dull the sting she still felt whenever she thought about Gloucester.

“Excellent,” the host said. He bowed again and then disappeared into the kitchen to have the cook staff prepare their meal.

“Fancy place,” Lola remarked, looking around. The interior was well-kept, clean, and full of gleaming black wood, posh seats, intricate centerpieces, and exquisite decor ranging from hand-carved glassware to beautiful oil paintings hanging on the walls.

“Humans do have a certain flare for interior design,” Russel admitted. “Werewolf establishments tend to favor more…rustic…decorations.”

“Sounds like…well…something,” she told him, smiling lightly.

They spent their time in the restaurant talking, getting to know each other, and even laughing. Lola realized more and more that Russel was different than what she imagined a werewolf would be. In her mind, mostly taught to her by the people she grew up around, werewolves were savage killers who didn’t care about anything but murdering humans. While Drake certainly lived up to that reputation, Russel was the complete opposite. In fact, he felt more human than some humans she’d known in her life.

“Thank you,” she whispered at one point. She couldn’t help but start to cry when she said it. “For saving me. And training me. I don’t even know if I said that yet.”

“You’re welcome,” Russel told her, feeling much the same way she did but instead of werewolves having a bad reputation, it was humans that had always been talked about with such disdain around him. Lola wasn’t a weak, petty creature full of hate and prejudice the way his father had told him all humans were. She was dazzling. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. “But you don’t need to thank me. Not for saving your life anyway. I would’ve been quite the shithead to not help a beautiful girl in distress.”

“I suppose so,” Lola laughed. “But I am glad you were there.”

Then a question occurred to her. One she hadn’t thought to ask until then. With all the running and terror and wholesale slaughter from Drake and his crew, it had completely slipped her mind.

“Why exactly were you there?”