The sun is definitely still out, he reminds himself as Devorah stretches, and even if it wasn't he doesn't know if he'd care or not. He is aware that it remains none of his business, that it never was any of his business, and that Devorah is clearly not a little girl in need of protection from a ravaging beast. According to Beatrice, Jacob St. Croix hasn't recently eaten any babies, which is about as high a comment as she can give about vampires.
"Then you know how much it costs. Hand it over."
What all of this boils down to, he thinks, going through the familiar motions of drink making after he punches her order into the till, is that he shouldn't be worried.
"And don't take any more early shifts," he adds, "It makes you complain too much and I hate putting up with it."