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“I’m in the same boat, so I get it.” Quinley returned to her seat. “Things will eventually settle.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t at least asked you to cut back on your work hours,” said Aspen.
Quinley crossed one leg over the other. “The thought has probably crossed his mind, especially since he doesn’t particularly like my job. But if so, he’s fought the temptation to ask.”
Havana’s mouth curved again. “Yeah, I heard about the pamper day package. I must admit, I’m seriously tempted to try it.”
“You should,” Quinley told her. “The salon isn’t exclusive to my old pride. Any shifter can enter. Lots do. The scents, smells, and lighting are designed to accommodate our enhanced senses, so it really is relaxing.” She hoped to eventually treat Isaiah’s cat to her usual pampering treatment, but she knew it wouldn’t happen in a hurry.
Aspen stretched her legs out. “Surely there are some shifter species where you’re like, hell no, I’m not touching their animal.”
Quinley had occasionally considered it, but… “I’ve never turned anyone down.”
“What breeds have you groomed?” asked Havana.
There were too many to count. “Everything from minks and badgers to lions and hyenas.”
Aspen blinked. “So you don’t have a sentimental attachment to your hands, then?”
Quinley snickered. “Honestly, the animals most likely to get nippy or scratchy are the smaller ones.”
Bailey cocked her head. “Would you turn away a snake?”
“Nope.” They rarely got fang-y. “I mean, most don’t require me to groom them in any way. But they like to sit in the mini hot tub with the heated lamps bearing down on them.”
Bailey’s face went all soft. “Oh, that sounds amazing.” She looked from Aspen to Havana. “We should definitely go.”
The Alpha gave an enthusiastic nod. “We could make it a girl’s day out. And then we’d also get to see where Quinley works—I’m nosy enough that I want to check the place out.”
“I half-expected Isaiah to try sending you all there every day after the Zaire incident.” Isaiah had made the entire pride aware of it, passing around Zaire’s photo and asking that they keep a look out for him.
Havana’s nose wrinkled. “Isaiah might have suggested you have a personal guard, but I pointed out that you’re in no physical danger from Zaire. He seemed mollified by your later promise not to engage with the guy if he reappeared.”
Quinley knew about the whole suggesting a guard thing; he’d told her about it afterward. She’d said exactly what Havana herself had seemingly said to him. He’d actually conceded that they were both right; hadn’t tried pushing anything on Quinley. But it had been clear that the thought of Zaire returning to the salon had concerned him.
She understood that his emotional reaction was massively driven by the insecurities existing between them due to their lack of a bond. It was a visceral thing that neither of them could quash, not even when they knew their thoughts or reactions weren’t entirely rational.
Since she wouldn’t much like Lucinda approaching him and didn’t want Isaiah feeling all knotted up inside, she’d given him peace of mind by swearing that if Zaire did reappear—which was highly unlikely, in her opinion—she’d retreat to the rear of the salon and call Isaiah straight away. He could then make his way there and have a chat with Zaire.
Hearing her cell beep, she dug it out of her pocket. Speaking of Isaiah, she had a text from him: Where are you?
Apparently, he was home. She typed: Hello to you, too. I’m next-door.
With the unholy trinity?
You know, they like that you all call them that.
I do know.
“That Isaiah?” asked Havana.
“Yes, he’s home.” She pocketed her cell as she pushed out of the chair.
“That doesn’t mean you have to leave,” said Havana.
Quinley felt her nose wrinkle. “No offense, but I’ve hit my social limit.”
Aspen chuckled. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t hit it sooner.”
