Don't Get Between a Dog and His Cheese, page 1
Don’t Get Between a Dog and His Cheese
By
Gretchen S.B.
Copyright © 2024 by Gretchen S.B.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact :
GretchenS.B.author@gmail.com
http://www.GretchenSB.com
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Don’t Get Between a Dog and His Cheese
About the Author
Want the latest news on Gretchen's books as it happens? Then click HERE to join the mailing list and receive a free novella. | Turn the page to find out more about Gretchen’s other series.
Kenny’s Diner Series
Anthony Hollownton Series
Jas Bond Series
Each book has different main characters, though the members of the community keep popping up in other books. The heat level is low, there is some on the page foreplay.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my editor Lacie at Pelican Proofing, you made this book readable for everyone.
Thank you to T.M Franklin for giving this book such a wonderful cover.
As always, thank you to my friends and family who cheer me on as I work toward my dream of being a full-time author.
Last of all, but not least, is the Hubster. Although he hates to be mentioned, he deserves credit for all his support.
Dedication
I am dedicating this to my own dainty rottweiler, who is herself a cheese fiend.
Don’t Get Between a Dog and His Cheese
"A biker gang? You're telling me that whole fight was because that group is a biker gang? You're not going to tell me why a biker gang would pick a fight with you or that table of two vamp–patrons?" I asked Mac, my hands on my hips as I frowned over at him.
We only had one table of customers two nights after Mac’s supposed biker gang started a fight and I had to press the purple button by the office that called some official sounding people here extremely fast, but I still didn't know who they were. Mac gave me nothing, big surprise.
He took a large tray of rolls out of the oven. "Yes," he grunted.
"Mac, that wasn't a biker gang. What was really going on?"
Mac finally turned to me and lifted one eyebrow, taking off the oven mitts at the same time. "Have a lot of experience with biker gangs, do you?"
Scowling, I huffed at him. "No, but I recognize weirdness when I see it. And ever since I started working here, all I see is weirdness. That was more than the usual amount of weirdness."
Watching me thoughtfully, Mac blanked his expression. I wasn't sure whether I’d pushed too many buttons or if he would genuinely answer me. However, I would remain oblivious since the bell above the diner door jingled.
"Looks like you got some more customers." Mac grunted, then turned away from me.
Scowling deeper, I rolled my eyes and dropped my arms from my hips. Ensuring a customer service smile covered my face, I pushed open the kitchen door and glanced towards the front of the diner. It was a group of eight teenagers. Nothing about them seemed strange or otherworldly, which happened occasionally, teenagers looking for a place to hang out.
"Feel free to sit anywhere. Though I'd recommend taking up two booths, as I don't think all eight of you will fit in one." I slowly started grabbing menus after I spoke.
The entire group seemed to follow one kid in a letterman's jacket for a high school I didn't recognize, and they moved to the right, skipping the first table nearest the door and taking up the next two booths.
I put four menus in each hand so when I walked over, I could slide them on the tables without showing preferential treatment. I took two steps back so they could both see me and looked between the eight of them.
"Do you guys want me to take drink orders now or would you like me to wait?"
"I think we’re ready." Letterman jacket apparently spoke for all eight people.
When I got all eight drinks, I passed them out and took their food orders. Once they were all attended to, I checked on our existing customers. They looked like fairly normal older women. However, there was something about them that made me take a second glance. I didn't see any glamour like I might with some of the cryptids that came in. Something about these women told me crossing them wouldn't be in my best interest, not that I planned on crossing any customers that came into this place. Not only was it bad for tips, but I couldn’t imagine it would be good for my health either.
"Is there anything else I can get for you ladies?"
They both looked up at me, slightly scowling. I seemed to have interrupted a tarot card reading the slightly older one was doing for her friend.
"No, we're okay, thank you," sniffed the older one.
Nodding, I backed away. Once I’d moved a good three or four steps, they went back to hushed tones and ignoring me. Which honestly, I preferred to the eerie stare they'd given me.
Briefly surveying the three tables once more, I stepped back into the kitchen to bother Mac.
"Convenient how fast that order came in, since you want something," he grumbled at me as he dropped a massive order of fries into the fryer.
"It is not my fault that it's slow today," I responded before putting my hands on my hips again. "Explain to me again how that was a regular old biker gang and nothing weird happened." I raise my eyebrows.
I wasn’t sure why I was being extra nosy today. Several weird things happened in the three and half weeks I'd been here, and I hadn't pushed Mac much about any of it. But if I intended to stick around—which I did because the pay was really good—and I wanted to believe I didn't scare easy, I needed a better understanding of our clientele.
Mac sighed at me as he dropped five burger patties on the grill. "Look, I promise if and when there is information you need to perform your job, I'll pass it along to you. For now, it's best to not ask questions about people you don't need to know. In fact, the less you know about Alastair and his cronies, the better off you'll be." He turned away from me again. Honestly, I wasn't sure I believed him. Because having more knowledge was better than less. However, he possessed a greater understanding of the situation than I did. Maybe Alastair wouldn’t be happy with me meddling in his business. Nobody would know since I was only asking Mac in the back of the kitchen, and I didn't get that they were super close or anything.
"Mac, a fight broke out. And then you didn't want me to talk to whoever those professionals were that came when I pressed that purple button Ruth said was for emergencies. You have to admit that’s sketchy."
His brows furrowed, but he didn't look at me. Since I started here, Mac tried his darndest, to not mention the paranormal world I was pretty sure we served. There were men and women who drank things that smelled of blood. Creatures who appeared different out of the corner of your eyes then head on. It'd taken some getting used to and some minor freakouts, but I’d come to terms with the fact they were not human. I was also quite sure Mac wasn’t either. But I wasn't about to broach that topic, as I was pretty sure he would clam up even faster if I stated those observations.
"I won’t let anybody hurt you or put you in danger while you're on shift here," he said quietly.
He meant that to be reassuring, and to a certain extent, it was. But I didn’t like being in a situation where someone would have to make a promise like that. Instead of trying to yank out more information, I decided to head up front and do a quick scan of my tables and some cleaning. On my way out of the kitchen, I picked up the box of sugars and creamers from the small closet/storage cabinet on the other side of the door.
I might as well refill all thirty booths while I am thinking about it.
I’d gotten through three when the bell above the door rang and I glanced up and gave my customer service smile.
"Welcome to Kenny's. Please seat yourself. I’ll be right with you."
It was a man in a long black coat, a little on the thin side with shaggy black hair and a large rottweiler, not on any kind of leash despite having a harness and there was the jingle of tags.
We’d seen a couple of working dogs come in, but not any pets, and none of them unleashed. I place the box of creamers and sugars down before walking into the kitchen. I stepped close enough to Mac so he heard me over all the sizzling.
"Mac, a guy just came in with a dog off-leash. It doesn't appear to be any type of service dog."
Mac muttered a curse and leaned forward to look out the food window, then cursed again. "In this case, it's fine. You need to not freak out. The guy gets skittish when people point out his dog’s not on a leash."
"Do you mean the dog gets skittish?" I asked, concerned I already knew the answer.
"No, out of the two of them, the dog is the levelheaded one."
At first, I wanted to be offended on the guy's behalf, but it was also a weird statement, so I
"What can I get you all to drink?" I asked as I slid a menu in front of each of them.
I say each of them because the dog was sitting in the booth, very prim and proper, just like a human would, across from its owner.
They apparently didn't need time to think about it, as the man pointed down at the menu for a cup of decaf. When I acknowledged that, he moved his hand to our waffle platter. He pointed to the sides he wanted. Odd, but not the weirdest way I had someone order. It made me wonder if he was a Sasquatch. As the Sasquatches—I assumed they were Sasquatches—I helped, didn't seem to talk outside of grunts either.
"And does the dog want anything?" I was pretty sure we didn't have dog food, but maybe he wanted his dog to have a steak or something.
"Oh yes," chirped a bright, cheerful voice from the other side of the booth.
My head whipped to the source and my eyes widened as I looked over to see the panting rottweiler facing me, a doggy smile on his face. I'm not sure where on the dog the voice was coming from, but the mouth didn’t move with his words.
"If you could bring me a bowl of water, that would be fantastic, preferably with no ice. And I would like a double cheeseburger with fries. I would greatly appreciate an extra cup of cheese, like a large cup of cheese. And I would like cheese sauce over the fries, I would really appreciate it. Thank you so much." The upbeat voice didn't seem phased by my staring at him open-mouthed.
It's a talking dog!
A few months ago, I had seen a man turn into a wolf in the parking lot. I’d had a mini freakout about that. I'd seen tiny creatures hover above the booths. For some reason, none of that seemed to shock my system as much as a talking dog.
With Mac's cautionary advice about the human freaking out fresh in my mind, I shut my mouth and proceeded to write down the dog's order.
"How would you like the burger cooked?" I asked as politely as I could manage, though my voice wavered a little.
"Oh, rare please and if Mac left off the bun and all the vegetables, I would appreciate it." The dog continued to smile at me.
Worried I'd get the order wrong because of my shock, I repeated it back.
"Decaf and a waffle platter with sausage and eggs. As well as a saucer of water with a double cheeseburger, hold everything but the cheese and meat with cheesy fries, with a cup of cheese on the side? Did I get all that?"
The man nodded and the dog’s tongue stuck out a little further, making him look pretty darn cute, or it would have been, had it not been a talking monstrosity. "That sounds perfect. Thank you so much."
"All right, I will be right back with that." I was impressed with myself for how calm I sounded.
I turned around, schooled my face, and I let out a breath. I entered their order into the machine before I strode into the kitchen to get a large bowl to put the water in for the dog.
"Mac! It's a freaking talking dog! A talking dog!" I hissed at him as soon as the door shut behind me.
Mac grimaced and nodded. "Yeah, it kind of is. It has a sort of translator that works better than any of us would like it to."
"A translator? You're telling me a translator can go from dog thoughts to an extra cup of cheese?" My voice starts to sound a little thready.
"Technology is weird, Kathy, people come up with all sorts of things." He didn’t sound fully convincing, but for my own sanity, I decided to go with it.
I grabbed a small mixing bowl and filled it with water before walking back out of the kitchen and pouring the human his decaf. I set the drinks down in front of them, the dog calmly bent over and started lapping from the bowl like a furry gentleman. Part of me found it absolutely adorable, the other part of me reminded myself the dog talked, and I knew it wasn’t because of some technological advancement.
"Your food should be out in a couple of minutes." I smiled at both of them.
As I started to turn, Mac rang the bell next to the window, informing me that the orders were out. He didn’t always hit the bell, sometimes he yelled for me. I didn’t know the reasons behind either choice. I grabbed the first table of teenagers’ food and passed them out.
"Do you guys need any sauces other than the ketchup and mustard that are on the table? Or refill on your drinks?"
The teenagers had gone quiet when they noticed me approaching. It was not the usual anticipatory quiet people had when their food approached, which made me wonder what they were up to. But they were polite, and I took care of their requests before I returned to the window and grabbed the last four plates. When I set the plates down on that table and asked the same question, I got a different response this time.
"Is that dog sitting in the booth?" asked the blonde girl who looked to be seventeen years old.
"He is," I said with a sigh. I was not about to explain the dog situation to the teenagers. I didn't really comprehend it myself and I didn't know if I was even supposed to talk about it with regular humans. I was an ordinary human, and I still didn't understand why I was permitted to have the information that I did. Even though I'd never been expressly told so, I was fairly certain no one wanted me to share the sort of things I saw with the other humans that came in.
"That's so cute. He looks so polite with his little head there," she crooned. "I wonder if he'll let me pet it."
Knowing that for the bad idea it was, I cringed. "Probably not. It's an extremely well-trained service dog, and he’ll be eating. I can't imagine the dog would appreciate your hands being anywhere near him when he’s eating." It was the best I could do off the top of my head and I was relieved it seemed to be enough of an answer for her, as she looked a little deflated.
"Yeah, I wouldn't want to upset him while he’s eating."
Relieved that seemed to be over, I asked again if they needed anything else and when they said no, I restarted re-filling the coffee accompaniments. Since we hadn't seen a lot of customers, it took little time to refill them. Around the time the human and dog's food was ready, I was putting the box back in the closet.
Carefully, I grabbed all four plates and strode around the counter over to the table where the rottweiler and the human sat in silence. I had no idea what they were doing. They appeared to hold a conversation, with neither of them talking.
"All right, here you go." With some maneuvering, I slid all four plates onto the table.
"Do you need anything else right now?" I looked between the man and his dog.
"We are absolutely splendid, thank you," responded the dog cheerily.
I looked at the human and he nodded, picking up a fork.
"All right, holler if you need anything." I cringed as I said it. We didn't need the dog hollering in front of the human teenagers. But it would be weird to take that back now.
As I stepped back, I continued to watch, truly curious how the dog was going to eat those beef patties and fries.
I was not disappointed when the dog lowered his head and began gobbling the items on the plate. Mac seemed to have known how the dog ate because this plate curved on the sides so as his snout moved, the food around it didn't go sliding onto the table or the floor. The dog was even making happy snorting noises as he ate.
Tearing my gaze away, I swung back to the two older women only to get scowled at again. As I headed back around the counter, the bell jingled again and I looked up, plastering on a smile.
"Welcome to Kenny's. Sit anywhere you like, and I'll be right with you," I called out at the group of three small creatures who had been here two nights earlier, the night the shifter group, at least I assume they were shifters, started a fight with Mac, an eight-on-one fight, that he had been winning when authorities arrived.
I'd see about six or seven of these little androgynous beings. They always left some weird glitter residue on the booth they sat in. I would vacuum everything up, then wipe it all down with cleaner, in order to get most of it up. I couldn’t fathom what the day shift did, but by the time I clocked in the next night, whatever was left would be gone.
The three of them chirped a hello at me and headed to the booth they had last time. This put them at the back of the man with the rottweiler.
I glanced over at the teenagers and several of them were staring wide-eyed at the three small creatures. I knew the three-and-a-half foot, delicately built beings had some kind of glamour, a lot of the beings that came in here did, but for whatever reason theirs did not make them blend in with the humans, they still would appear to anyone who saw them as not quite right. I wouldn't be surprised if their glamour hid wings. One blessing was the teenagers couldn't see their faces. Their irises were completely black and when they smiled, they showed off a mouth full of sharply pointed teeth, capable of ripping flesh from a bone with little effort.
