Page 21 of The Single Father Upstairs

And I’d ruined it when I walked Miles to his floor and he’d told me how he’d enjoyed the evening. He’d tilted his head up as if expecting a kiss, and I’d panicked and said I had to go.

With a hasty goodbye, I climbed the stairs to my apartment and spent the rest of the night thinking how I’d promised him an explanation about everyone’s reactions in the building, and hadn’t done it. What I refused to rewind was the moment when it was obvious he was waiting for a kiss and I’d run off like a frightened rabbit. Nope, I wasn’t going through that again.

“Dad, we’ve run out of milk.”

I’d never been more grateful for Indigo interrupting my thoughts and us having to traipse up and down the aisles of the grocery store. It was the sort of mind-numbing activity that would get me out of my head and thinking about menus for the next week.

My daughter studied the vast array of tuna on the store shelves, even though neither of us liked it. It was the smell I couldn’t stand, and even my bear turned his nose up. But she said Marmalade would love it.

“You know Miles can buy his own cat food.”

And that was the exact moment that the man himself rounded the end of the aisle with a basket over one arm, and he lit up at the sight of us.

“She is partial to tuna.”

I ran my mind over everything I knew about tuna so we could have a conversation that wasn’t about us.

“Miles.” Indigo’s greeting sounded as though it was amplified through the PA system.

“Hi.” I pretended to be studying the shopping list on my phone.

But as my daughter got on tiptoes and reached for the brand of tuna that didn’t snare dolphins in the nets, and Miles said he’d help her, she froze and cans crashed to the floor.

“Dad, I don’t feel right.” She gripped her wrist as she stood in the middle of a tuna catastrophe.

That was code for she couldn’t control her beast.

“Sorry, we have to run.” I flung the words over my shoulder as I left the cart and grabbed Indigo. With a hand on her shoulder, I steered her toward the exit. She was breathing hard, and when I glanced down, fur was sprouting on her hands.

“You’re okay,” I reassured her. “You’re doing great. We’re almost to the car.”

“I don’t want to do this in the parking lot, Dad.”

“Indie, are you sick?” Miles was at our heels, and despite the urgency that we get away from him and other humans, I registered that he’d shortened her name.

“No, she’s fine, but we have urgent business to attend to.”

The supermarket was the one we often frequented because it was close to the apartment and being on the edge of town, the woods were close by making it perfect for shifting.

Ignoring the car and hoping Miles would give up on the chase, Indigo and I sprinted across the parking lot toward the tree line that was just past the grocery store loading docks.

Indigo’s shoes came off because she now had paws as we headed to that patch of trees. I feared this might be her first full shift, but she was only nine. I scooped her up and didn’t look back.

“Stellan!” Miles was closer than I’d expected. I assumed we’d lost him.“Wait, does she need a hospital? I have a first-aid kit in my car. Oh dear gods, are those… where are her feet?”

“Go away, Miles! I can deal with this.”

“I am not leaving while a child is having a medical event.”

I gave up arguing and kept on running, but Miles must have been one of those humans who exercised regularly because he kept pace with us.

“This is so embarrassing, Dad.” Indigo’s voice was lower than normal. “Dad, I think I’m going to—” and she roared.

The noise startled birds on the loading dock roof, and they took off in a frenzied flapping of wings.

“What in the heck was that?” Miles squealed.

I thought for sure that would have him running in the opposite direction, but he was still with us as we reached the cover of the trees and I put Indigo down. It wasn’t a full shift, just fur, paws, and claws, or FC&P as we called it in the bear community.