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Daniel’s brows lifted. “What’s lake effect snow?”
“Newbies are so adorable,” I said and elbowed Connor. “Make sure he buys a good coat.”
A shifter came out of the building, clipboard in hand. “Get off my van, loafers.” This was Eli, one of Connor’s uncles.
Connor pushed off the van, nodded at him. “Uncle.”
“Whelp.” He looked at me, nodded. “Vampire.”
“Wolf,” I said, and he smirked.
“Everything loaded?”
“And ready,” Connor said. “Strange thing—I didn’t see you packing beans.”
“I’m management,” he said and opened the driver’s side door.
“I believe that’s my cue to find something else to do,” Daniel said and glanced at me. “Good to meet you.”
“And you. Thanks again for the help.”
“You’re welcome. Prince,” Daniel said again and walked back to the building.
“He seems cool,” I said, as we moved away from the van, lest Eli run us down to get the food on the road.
“Dan is good Pack,” Connor said. He leaned toward me, so I caught the scene of his cologne, woodsy and warm. “And he’s an incorrigible flirt.”
“Is that a statement or a warning?”
“Yes.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s fine. But, seriously, make sure he buys a good coat.”
***
It would take a month, I guessed, before I’d be able to wash the smoke and paprika and molasses out of the jumpsuit.
“Come with me,” Connor said when the van was gone.
“Only if you have a frosty margarita and a hot bath,” I said, rolling my shoulder.
“How is it?” he asked.
“Healing, but slowly. I’m not sure if this extra workout will keep it from stiffening up, or make it worse.”
“Then I’ll make it up to you. I don’t have baths or margaritas. But how about barbecue and a hot shifter?”
“I could probably manage that.”
“Good.” He took my hand, led me through the loading bay and into a quiet hallway lit by the glow of the tea light candles used to warm chafing dishes. Two disposable plates of food flanked the candles, their compartments filled with meats and sides.
I looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “We’re getting our romantic dinner after all.”
“I wasn’t sure how long two dogs would last you, and I didn’t want you to start biting my relatives.”
“Wrong species,” I said. “I don’t bite shifters.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he said with a grin. “Not as nice as I had planned for tonight, and none of the baguettes you were going to make from scratch.” He paused, looked at me. “I forgot to ask—did you make them?”
