Page 21 of Full Moon Frenzy

“Never been fond of being the victim of a cat in that scenario.” This was a game he knew how to play, having perfected it with his parents for years — play along and establish what they knew before giving anything of value away. “More of a dog person, to be honest.”

The chief and the others at the firehouse that morning had been sympathetic, listening to his story and clapping him on the back. Trapp hadn’t bothered to hide that his first instinct had been to hit Cambric Creek’s nightlife and lose himself at the bottom of a bourbon bottle, and he hadn’t needed to. After all, his relationship was over, his now-ex on her way out of town for good, and he was single.

Xenna had been most sympathetic when he’d told her the news about Julia leaving, ensuring he was the first to do so, as he picked up coffee for the firehouse. Damage control meant getting out in front of an issue before it became a problem. The sheepwoman’s mother-in-law had passed away not that long ago, and he knew she’d be sympathetic to his tale of his ex’s decision to return to her hometown for caretaker duty. For his part, he simply couldn’t walk away from his own family and the department that needed him.

“Well, I understand why you both made the decision you did, but I’m sorry you had to. The firehouse is so lucky to have you, Trapp.”

In addition to being the busiest and most successful business in town, the owners of the Black Sheep Beanery were also the arbiters of who was worthy of admiration and support in the downtown area. They traded in gossip like it was a stock market, and their opinions could make or break someone’s reputation.

It was a fact his own father acknowledged. The night Trapp had pulled into his parents’ driveway, having been invited over for dinner by his mother, only to find Grayson and Jackson’s cars already there, he knew he was walking into a trap. His brother’s election had been right around the corner. Grayson’s face had been smug, Jackson’s strained, and their father had wasted no time once Trapp had joined the table.

“We need the coffee shop.”

Trapp understood immediately that he was meant to deliver it. After all, he was the Hemming everyone admired. He was the Hemming everyone saw. He was helpful and friendly and well-liked, and there was more power in that than either of his elder brothers recognized, but their father did.

“Okay,” he’d agreed, tucking into his mother’s chicken marsala.

It had taken just under a week. A week of smiles and banter, interspliced with reminding Xavier and Xenna what his brother’s campaign stood for, and what his victory would mean for the future — inclusiveness for all nonhuman residents; not just who City Hall deemed worthy of protection. Grants for the businesses that funded their excellent public schools. And perhaps more valuable than anything else — points with the most influential werewolf in the region.

Xavier had put the Hemming For Mayor sign in the Beanery’s window on the sixth day, and that was that. He and his sister influenced more than the town’s caffeine addiction, and everyone knew it.

Getting his story out in front of Xenna early was crucial. He was feeding his own well, confident that his version would become the official one by the end of the business day. And that’s how we get in front of a problem.

The week passed methodically, days slipping away as they always did. Smiling through a visit from the daycare, allowing two dozen pre-schoolers of every species to climb through Engine Three, pretending not to notice the little reptilian boy who tried to chew a reflective sticker off his turnout coat. A werebear suffering from cardiac arrest, a call to an Oldetowne property in the middle of the night, when the trollish owners woke to the slight smell of natural gas.

His first night off was spent at the Pickled Pig. He’d overheard several different versions of his own breakup, just standing at the bar, each one contradicting the last with enough confidence that none of them could comfortably survive beyond the sidewalk. Trapp hadn’t corrected a single one. He didn’t need to. If he stayed visible, smiled at the right moments, and continued showing up exactly where everyone expected him to be, the details would sand themselves smooth. They always did. Keep busy. Keep moving. Keep smiling.

He’d reminded himself that the worst was past him and he was single, leaving with an Elvish employee of the carriage house who flirted with him every time he came by for the yearly fire inspection, slipping out of her condo early enough that he was able to catch the last trolley of the night.

He slept through the majority of his three days off, going back to Grayson’s house for dinner the night Vanessa stayed in the city, a dinner that was mostly spent on a video chat with Lowell. Their chaotic younger sibling had spent the entirety of the call talking a mile a minute, in between slurping up a bowl full of noodles, telling them he’d fallen halfway down a mountain the previous week, having lost his footing initially and then been dragged down by his camera gear until a llama had broken his momentum.

“I’m going to need a comprehensive list of everything I’m not allowed to say in my speech at the reception,” he added, punctuating his words by flicking a bit of broth on the phone lens as he slurped. “Am I allowed to share my own news? Slide shows of embarrassing photos I have of you? You’re not going to hold something against me forever if I didn’t even know it was off limits.”

Trapp snorted, nearly choking on his steak. Lowell was the sort who would absolutely announce during someone else’s wedding that his girlfriend was pregnant and also he’d started a crowdfunding effort to buy the llama he’d injured and would be coming around to the individual tables to collect.

Grayson’s laughter was a rough scrape, shaking his head. “Lowell, I truly can’t emphasize this enough, but no one — fucking no one — is giving you a microphone at my wedding. For any reason. To be honest, you’re lucky you’re invited at all.”

Once he was back at work, no one mentioned the break-up, and he was content to let the four years with Julia disappear into the horizon with the rest of his past away from Cambric Creek.

There was a series of fender benders on the highway, a catwoman in heat who’d required coaxing off the roof of the adult toy store, crowd control at the Makers’ Mart, and then, the last night of his shift, a car accident at the edge of Greenbridge Glen, the orc on the side of the road needing to be cut from his truck after being side-swiped on his way back to the commune in the neighboring hamlet. His leg was in bad shape, trapped beneath the crumpled dashboard, and by the time the vehicle had been cut open and separated, the helicopter from Healers had already been dispatched.

He liked the adrenaline rush that came with this part of the job. He hated seeing anyone hurt, especially children, but Trapp couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love the rush of chemicals to his brain, leaving him amped up and jittery for hours afterward.

It was dawn by the time he left the hospital, and the coffee shop was just opening.

Trapp parked in the same spot he always did, whenever it was available, a slight bounce in his step, still keyed up from the fraught helicopter ride to the hospital. Muscle memory was enough to carry him into the coffee shop on its own, as comfortable and familiar as turning the key in his own front door.

They had only just unlocked the door, he realized, the churn of voices not yet competing with the hiss of the espresso machine enough to make conversation impossible.

“There he is.” Xenna’s voice sounded exactly as it should, Trapp’s coffee shop smile already curving his mouth, eyes sparkling. “It’s been, what? Three days? I was beginning to think you’d found another coffee shop.”

Her smile was there, and if he were anyone else, Trapp might not have noticed that it didn’t quite touch her eyes. A piece out of place, off-script, the universe tipping. Something in him tightened ever so slightly.

“Oh, you guessed it. I’ve been seeing other cafés on the sly.”

His smile widened, waiting for her to catch his delivery, to say her line, keeping to the script of their daily lives . . . but she didn’t. Another smile, slightly thinner.

“That sounds about right, doesn’t it?”