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I jolt.

“Breakfast first,” he says. “Haunted graveyard after.”

Pepper laughs into my chest. I would burn the rest of the loaf for that sound. Mercifully, I get the third round of toast right.

We eat at the kitchen table with Pepper tucked beside me and Ezra across from us with one foot hooked around my ankle.

The fog thickens while we eat. It presses against the windows and makes the cemetery look wrong. The shed slips too far back. The live oak grows too close in the glass. The reflected porch boards stretch dark and wet like dock planks.

Pepper watches it over the rim of her mug. “Is that normal?”

“Yes,” I say, then look again when the oak seems to lean closer behind her reflection. “Mostly.”

She accepts that too easily. That says a lot about this town.

A dark shape rises at the edge of the ditch.

Pepper freezes with her mug near her mouth. “The Deacon is practically on the porch.”

“He does that.”

Ezra leans back in his chair. “He likes to remain involved.”

“He sits in the ditch,” I say.

Pepper watches him turn toward the graves. “In Sweetheart Haven, those aren’t as different as you think.”

“He’s wild,” I remind her. “Do not go near him.”

“I retained the alligator safety briefing. I didn’t forget the rule no petting the graveyard gator.”

Ezra lifts one eyebrow.

Pepper points her fork at him. “Don’t look at me like I lick mysterious stones for fun.”

“You did touch one.”

“For research.”

“Right. That makes it okay.”

Her cheeks pink. “I am a woman of science who occasionally succumbs to enthusiasm in the field.”

My purr starts again.

Pepper cuts her eyes to me. “You smell smug.”

“Pleased.”

“My nose can’t tell the difference.”

I laugh at her expressions, and she returns it with a smile.

The Deacon slides lower into the ditch until only his eyes show through the fog. He faces the graves, quiet and patient, keeping his post.

After breakfast, I bring the boxes to the table.

“You were busy this morning.” Pepper says.