Page 35 of Wrong Number, Right Gray Wolf

I’d take a small bite, just to taste the flaky pastry crust that shattered if you took a big one. Wiggling the tart gently, the custard filling would jiggle, making my mouth water.

My fox turned his nose up when I ate a custard tart, saying eggs were meant to be eaten raw, but he enjoyed the aroma, and when I swallowed the custard, he said his body tingled.

“Clyde, wake up.”

My mate shot up, and his eyes scanned the room. “What is it?”

“I need a custard tart, or two, or maybe three.”

“Okay.” He got up and moved zombie-like toward the door.

I followed because where was he going and did he even know what a custard tart looked like and where you could get them?

Posy popped her head out of her room. “Papa, what’s wrong with Daddy?”

“He’s getting me something to eat, sweetheart.”

She didn’t go back to bed but padded over the floor and down the stairs with me. My mate turned on the pantry light and scanned the shelves.

“Ta-da.” Both Posy and I jumped, and she grabbed my arm as her father strode out of the pantry brandishing a packet. “Success.”

“Huh?” my daughter and I said at the same time.

“It’s not a tart.” He read the packet label. “And it doesn’t say anything about custard, but look here.” He pointed to the ingredient list where sugar was the second item. “It’s sweet.”

Oh my darling Clyde. He was so misguided thinking this could pass for my middle-of-the-night craving.

“This is shortbread, love.”

He looked at our daughter who was shaking her head. My darling girl understood there was no substitute for a perfect custard tart.

“Won’t this do?” His expression was so cute because I guessed he longed to go back to bed.

“No, Daddy.” Posy tucked her arm in mine. It was us against Clyde.

Without saying a word, he slipped on his shoes and took his coat from the hook along with the car keys.

“Stay here.”

“No way. I’m coming, and we can’t leave Posy here.”

Posy put her shoes on the wrong feet and tore out behind her father, leaving me to lock the door.

As we drove through the neighborhood where everyone else seemed to be in bed, my mate pulled into a gas station. I leaned over and checked the gas gauge. Clyde leaped out and raced into the mini mart. Posy and I scrambled out, though she was having a hard time running because of her shoes.

I blinked in the bright light and cradled my bump as I walked up and down the shelves.

“Can I have this?” Posy held up a gigantic bar of peppermint-cream-filled chocolate. “My friends told me chocolate tastes different in the middle of the night.”

I gave her a look, and she replaced the large bar for a smaller one. “Please?”

“Mmmm, but you can’t eat it until tomorrow.” I scanned the shelves, getting more desperate for my craving. “We need to focus, sweetheart. Custard tarts and nothing but custard tarts.”

My mate appeared with his arms full of candy, chocolate, ice cream, and crackers. He was such a darling wanting to help, but none of those things could match a custard tart.

I was almost in tears as I climbed into the car, and Clyde tossed his purchases into the back seat. Turning my face to the window, I didn’t want him to see my disappointment.

He pulled onto the street. “There's a tiny Asian all-night bakery across town that might have them.”