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“Imagine if a floral print had a baby with a crime scene.”
“I’ll bring a jackhammer.”
We sat with that for a moment, the easy silence of two people who didn’t need to fill every space with noise. Blade sipped his latte. I turned my own mug between my palms, enjoying the warmth against my fingers, the low hum of the espresso machine cycling down, the faint creak of the building settling around us.
“So,” he said, setting his mug on the table with a soft clink. “You going to tell me what’s got you somewhere else today, or do I have to guess?”
I looked up. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at that door like it slapped you since I walked in.” Blade tilted his head, studying me. “What’s going on?”
Damn. My brother had always been too observant for his own good. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the pull of muscle there, and let out a slow breath.
“I think something’s going on with my mate.” It felt strange and incredible to say the word out loud. Motherfuck. I wanted to say it a hundred more times. Shout it to the world. Show Phineas off to my pack. I just had to figure out what was going on with him first.
Blade’s mug stopped halfway to his mouth. For a full three seconds, he just stared, lips parted, brow furrowed, like I had announced I was moving to Neptune.
“Hold on.” He set the mug down hard enough that coffee sloshed over the rim. “Back up. Rewind. Your wolf chose a mate, and you open with coffee talk? You should’ve led with that, you absolute—” He broke into a loud and disbelieving laugh, earning a glance from the crossword man. “Bro. Holy shit. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t help the wide grin, even with the worry gnawing at me.
“When? Who?” Blade leaned forward, elbows on his knees, all traces of his earlier lounging gone. “Give me some deets.”
“His name’s Phineas. Human. He came into the shop yesterday for the first time. Returned this morning.” I paused, choosing my words. “My wolf chose him this morning. When I was teaching him how to make croissants.”
“Phineas.” Blade tested the name like he was tasting wine. “And? What’s he like?”
“Shy. Gorgeous. Sarcastic in a way that sneaks up on you.” My gaze glided to the counter where Phineas had stood, fingers wrapped around that first cold brew like it was an anchor. “He’s also scared of something. Or someone.”
The humor drained from Blade’s face. “What makes you think that?”
“He flinches when I get too close. Not a startle. A flinch, like he’s bracing for contact that’s going to hurt.” I turned the mug in my hands, watching the coffee swirl. “He jerked his hand away when our fingers touched at the counter. Panicked when I leaned in during the baking lesson. Apologized like he’d done something wrong just by standing near me.”
Saying it out loud made my jaw tighten, a low heat building behind my teeth that had nothing to do with caffeine. My wolf wanted to hunt, wanted to eliminate the threat. It had killed me to let Phineas leave knowing something had the guy on serious edge.
“He’s also wearing makeup over a bruise on his face.”
Blade was quiet for a beat. Then he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Could be nerves, man. You’re not exactly a small dude. You’re what, six-four? Built like someone who bench-presses furniture for fun? Maybe the guy’s just intimidated.”
“I bench-press appliances, not furniture. Get it right.”
“My mistake. The point is some people are jumpy. That doesn’t mean—”
“Told you, he apologized for almost being close to me, Blade. Not for bumping into me. For existing in the same space.” I set my mug down, no longer interested in drinking.
Blade’s teasing expression faded. He scratched his beard the way he always did when he was thinking hard and didn’t like the conclusion.
I didn’t like it either.
Chapter Five
Phineas
I arrived home at exactly the same time I pulled into the driveway every weekday evening. Except today I’d spent the last two hours wandering the aisles of Cat Nip pet store, fawning over the gerbils and getting insulted by a parrot. It called me an asshole. The guy who worked there—introducing himself as Spencer, even though I could see his nametag—apologized. Said he was trying to rehabilitate General Patton but it wasn’t looking promising.
Spencer showed me around the store, steering clear of the snakes. I didn’t blame him. They also reminded me of Ben.
As nice as he was, even letting me play with a puppy, my mind kept getting stuck on flour-dusted countertops and greenish-amber eyes. And the way Drift’s voice had curled around the words slow down like they were a gift instead of a command.
