Green Valley Shifters Collection 1

by Chant, Zoe

“I’ll flip the breaker on my way out,” Andrea whispered as she crept for the front door, her bra stuffed into a pocket.

  Then she was gone, and after only a moment, the lights sprang back to life.

  Chapter 16

  It was odd to have Shaun on her porch for once, and Andrea had to stare for a moment.

  He was so handsome in the afternoon sun, with his neatly trimmed blond hair and gray eyes. He had clearly not shaved that morning; a dust of stubble made Andrea want to reach out and stroke his perfect jaw.

  “Your flashlight,” Shaun said, handing it over. “We... ah... left it on last night, so I replaced the batteries for you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Andrea protested.

  “You didn’t have to buy me a fuse,” Shaun reminded her.

  “Daddy!” Trevor’s voice was happy and demanding from across the wide yard. “Come push me more! I’m going too slow!”

  Andrea had to laugh.

  Shaun managed to look both pleased and put upon. “I swear, the kid never gets tired of the swing. I should tear that rusty old thing down.”

  “You’re loving every minute of it,” Andrea accused him.

  Shaun’s smile, slow and sheepish, was all the admission he needed to give.

  “Dadddddyyyyyy!”

  “Better go,” Andrea said with a smile of her own that she knew must look foolish. “Dinosaurus Trevorus is calling.”

  “There was one other thing. I meant to ask last night, but... ah...”

  Shaun was not the sort of guy that Andrea would expect to see blushing, but she was glad that she’d been able to witness the adorable phenomena. Even the tips of his ears were pink.

  “Ah, indeed,” Andrea said with a grin.

  “Dinner,” Shaun said desperately. “I wanted to make you dinner. A real dinner. To prove that my culinary talents are somewhat above boxed noodles in primary colors. And to thank you for your help.”

  Andrea’s heart was in her throat. Not a date, she reminded herself. It wasn’t a date. “I’d love to,” she said, feeling shy. “My next night off is Thursday.”

  “Thursday,” Shaun said, pouncing on the word. “Yes, Thursday. Are you allergic to anything? Vegetarian?”

  “I’m easy,” Andrea said, then sorely regretted her choice of words. “I mean... ah... anything sounds good. My own culinary talents are pretty much limited to boxes and sandwiches, so I won’t be picky.”

  “Daddddddyyyyyy!”

  “Thursday,” Shaun repeated.

  “Thursday.”

  She watched him walk away across the lawn, his gait a graceful stride that called Andrea to follow.

  She was stroking the flashlight in her hands reflexively. But it wasn’t just Shaun’s glorious body that she found herself desiring.

  She wanted to sprint after him and push Trevor on the swing, to romp with both of them across the grass. She wanted to laugh and play with them in the front yard, not caring who saw them. She wanted Shaun to kiss her in sunlight, to hold her hand, to push her hair back from her face...

  Andrea bit the inside of her cheek.

  Shaun wasn’t wrong, she reminded herself. Trevor was in a fragile place, so recently abandoned by a mother that Andrea had never thought was particularly good at the role anyway. Shaun was fighting an uphill battle to win the little boy’s trust and find his footing as a father, and she could only complicate that bond right now.

  Her hawk muttered in her ear, discontent.

  I know, she agreed with it.

  Rather than continue to stare out of her window after him, she resolutely turned back into her house, where she spent several long hours looking ineffectively at her laptop keyboard, listening longingly to the laughter from the yard next door.

  Chapter 17

  “What are you making, Daddy?” Trevor was in full-on superhero dog mode, a red cape draped over his back as he crawled into the kitchen with his nose in the air. “It smells like gardens.”

  “I’m making spaghetti,” Shaun told him. “Miss Andrea is coming over for dinner, remember? I hope you like spaghetti.”

  “I like spaghetti,” Trevor said skeptically. “But I don’t like sauce.”

  Shaun stopped stirring. “How can you like spaghetti if you don’t like sauce?” At least he hadn’t protested Andrea’s inclusion in the meal.

  “I like the noodles,” Trevor said, as if it was obvious. “And I like cheese sprinkle. But not sauce.”

  Shaun wondered if this was the sort of parenting battle he should pick. Surely most of the nutrition was in the sauce. But noodles and ‘cheese sprinkle’ at least had good protein, and Trevor seemed to do a good job eating his vegetables most of the time. Sauce was probably not a hill Shaun needed to die on.

  “No sauce for Superdog,” Shaun agreed, stirring the sauce again carefully. “In fact, no spaghetti for Superdog. Only little boys at the dinner table.”

  Trevor sat back on his heels and gave a little roar. “What about lions? Can I be a lion at the dinner table?”

  Shaun’s blood ran cold and he stopped stirring again. “No,” he said swiftly. “Not at the dinner table.” Would he have to cancel his dinner at the last moment? Pack Trevor up and retreat to the city to find a preschool that specialized in shifter children? Was there even such a thing?

  “How about a horse?” Trevor said, neighing.

  Shaun tried to take comfort in the fact that he was clearly cycling through animals to pretend to be. Probably he wouldn’t shift again. Probably. It was just a coincidence that he’d picked a lion.

  “Nope,” he said as lightly as he could, giving the sauce a careful stir.

  “A cow?” Trevor mooed convincingly and giggled.

  “Not a chance,” Shaun said.

  Trevor continued to moo until there was a knock on the door. Shaun felt his chest seize.

  “I’ll get it!” Trevor cried, rising to his feet and scampering away.

  He had no reason to be so nervous, Shaun told himself. It wasn’t a date. It was just a neighborly dinner, nothing more.

  “She brought pie,” Trevor called from the front door.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Shaun said, coming to the kitchen door and stopping.

  Andrea was dressed convincingly casually, in a checked country shirt with rolled up sleeves and blue jeans with knees worn white. “Gran had one leftover last night, and I shouldn’t eat it all myself!” She chewed on her lip and gave a shy, crooked smile.

  Shaun had never seen anything more gorgeous or perfect.

  “She brought pie!” Trevor repeated rapturously.

  “My one baking failure,” Shaun confessed as Andrea brought the pie into the kitchen. “I can bake bread, and make a decent cake when the circumstances demand it. But pie has always eluded me.”

  “You made bread!?” Andrea said joyfully. “I thought I smelled it, but decided I was delirious. And oh, the spaghetti smells heavenly. You, Mr. Powell, are quite the catch, let me tell you.”

  She said it lightly, teasing, but clearly recognized at the same time that Shaun did the danger of the statement. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, eyes full of conflicted longing.

  Trevor, looking between them suspiciously, quickly said, “I want Miss Andrea to come see my new shelves. Not you, Daddy. Just Miss Andrea.”

  “I’ve got to watch the sauce,” Shaun said gruffly, turning back to the stove. “It will be about thirty minutes, still.”

  “I’d love to see your shelves,” Andrea agreed, taking Trevor’s hand and disappearing up the stairs with him.

  Listening to them play was a terrible mixed joy. Andrea’s clear laughter, Trevor’s non-stop chatter, just far enough away that he could hear the sound of it but not make out any words, filled the house.

  It sounded like a home.

  It sounded like his home.

  “It’s not a date. It’s not a courtship. It’s just a dinner,” Shaun reminded himself fiercely as he cut open the package of spaghetti noodl
es. “A neighborly dinner.”

  Trevor liked Miss Andrea, but he clearly didn’t want his father to have more to do with her than he already did. Whether he remembered the promise he had coaxed from Shaun or not, his preference was clear, and Shaun was trapped.

  Chapter 18

  “Oh, Trevor, your room looks amazing!”

  Shaun had clearly spent some time cleaning and organizing, and a stack of new shelves with fabric cubes had absorbed a massive amount of the clutter. Andrea suspected that there had also been judicious use of trash bags.

  The play house had been re-assembled in a new, larger configuration. “That’s Daddy’s seat,” Trevor pointed out, indicating a pillow inside the tent. “You can sit there.”

  “Are you going to sell me stuffies today?” Andrea prompted.

  “No, I’m not a seller today,” Trevor said cheerfully. “Today I’m a super dog. We’re hiding out from the bad guys and looking for clues.”

  “Oo,” Andrea indulged. “What kinds of clues should we look for?”

  His imaginative play required a great deal of earnest explanation and complicated backstory, and Andrea gave it half her attention as she tried to figure out why the new shelves made her feel so hopeful.

  “Oh!” she said suddenly.

  “Right!” Trevor said eagerly. Apparently her revelation had been timed well to his conversation. “It’s a clue! Now we know where the secret base is!”

  “That’s awesome,” Andrea told him, in part as an answer, in part in response to her own realization.

  If they were really moving at the end of the semester, in just a month, was it likely that Shaun would be buying new shelves and storage? Or had he reconsidered?

  Had he reconsidered because of her?

  Maybe she just had to be patient, maybe her hawk was right, and they were meant to be together, just not yet.

  She could wait, for a guy like Shaun, for the relationship she was sure they could have.

  “Five minutes!” Shaun called from downstairs.

  She could wait five minutes, she thought and had to laugh, even though Trevor didn’t understand why.

  “Okay, Daddy!” Trevor called, but when he prepared to launch back into their play, Andrea stopped him.

  “Don’t you think we should clean up a little and then go set the table?”

  Trevor considered this skeptically, then reluctantly agreed. They dumped the toys that had migrated out back into their fabric boxes and tromped together down the stairs.

  “I want to set the table,” Trevor announced at the kitchen door as if it was his own idea. He gathered up carefully counted handfuls of silverware as Shaun dumped a large pot of steaming water and noodles into the sink where the colander was waiting.

  “Can I help?” Andrea asked, lingering behind.

  “The bread can go to the dining room,” Shaun suggested. “And the butter is there.” He gestured with an elbow.

  Andrea gathered both up, inhaling a deep, appreciative whiff of the fragrant bread, and took them to the dining room.

  “I want you to sit there,” Trevor said, indicating a chair at the end. “And Daddy sits here. I want to sit beside you.”

  Andrea raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t you think your dad ought to sit a little closer? He can’t reach the bread from there.”

  “He has long arms,” Trevor said breezily.

  “Let’s put him across the table from us, instead of way down at the end,” Andrea suggested. “It will make it easier to pass things.”

  “Okay,” Trevor said agreeably.

  He was moving the silverware down to the newly allotted space when Shaun came in with the pot of spaghetti.

  “I didn’t want sauce!” Trevor wailed, wide-eyed in alarm.

  “No worries,” Shaun said quickly. “I put aside a bowl of noodles for you before I mixed the rest up. I just didn’t have enough hands to carry it all at once.”

  “Wouldn’t your dad look funny with more hands?” Andrea suggested.

  Trevor giggled.

  Andrea tried not to think about what Shaun might do with more hands, and helped Trevor set out the napkins while his father got another load of food and dishes from the kitchen.

  “This is the most amazing spaghetti I’ve ever seen,” Andrea said, doing her best not to sound flirtatious as he dished it up. “What brand is this sauce?”

  Shaun scoffed, “Brand? I made these from fresh tomatoes and onions.”

  “I hate onions,” Trevor added, sprinkling a small mountain of Parmesan cheese onto his bowl of noodles.

  “Good to know,” Shaun said.

  Andrea half-wished that she’d left him in the seat Trevor had originally picked for him. It was too easy to gaze across the table at him.

  Shaun, on the other hand, was able to watch Trevor, who was making a production of the long noodles.

  The bread was as amazing as it smelled, with a thick, chewy crust and a soft, pillowy center. Andrea closed her eyes and sighed at the perfect texture and flavor.

  “You know, that’s one thing Green Valley just doesn’t have,” she said with regret. “A decent bakery.”

  “I’m going to have to make you—” Shaun stopped himself.

  Andrea wondered what he’d meant say, but Trevor jealously tried to get her attention as he slurped a noodle from his bowl. “Look at me, Miss Andrea. Look at me!”

  Andrea turned her attention to him, exclaiming theatrically over Trevor’s noodle manipulations and encouraging him to eat them as well.

  Conversation remained light and frivolous as they finished their meals, and Andrea swept the last of her sauce up with a last decadent slice of the bread.

  “I’m going to have to get your dad to push me home in a wheelbarrow,” Andrea joked. “I’m too full to walk!”

  “Me too!” Trevor said, mimicking her leaning back in her chair. “Daddy, you have to carry me.”

  “Who’s going to carry me?” Shaun asked with laughter.

  Andrea stood as he did, and helped gather up the dishes.

  “You don’t have to help,” Shaun told her. “I’ve got this.”

  Andrea made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and her fingers brushed his as he took the plates she was holding from her.

  It was ridiculous what this man did to her calm with a simple glance and the merest touch.

  Then Trevor remembered something. “Pie!” he said, sitting bolt upright in his chair. “There’s pie!”

  Shaun raised an eyebrow at him and backed away from Andrea inconspicuously. “Weren’t you just saying how full you were?”

  “No life is too full for pie,” Andrea said. “Especially Gran’s pumpkin pie.”

  “I’m not too full,” Trevor promised. “I have an empty spot, right here.” He pointed at his side. “It needs pie.”

  Andrea sat back down beside him. “My empty spot is here,” she said.

  Her first instinct was to touch over her heart, but she caught herself just in time and pointed to an elbow instead.

  While Shaun retreated to the kitchen for the pie, she teased Trevor about eating food and letting it fill up her arms and legs. “You’ve always had a hollow leg,” she laughed, poking him on the knee and making him squirm and giggle.

  Keep it casual, she reminded herself. It’s just a thing. Twice a thing, and two dinners.

  Ours, her hawk muttered.

  She was able to keep things convincingly light-hearted as they worked through pie, and left quickly when she noticed that Trevor was flagging.

  “I want you to tuck me in,” Trevor started to whine.

  “Maybe next time, little lion,” Andrea said, and when Trevor looked like he was about to throw a fit over it, quickly stalled him by saying, “I have to find more clues on my way home so we can find the bad guys before preschool tomorrow, Superpuppy!”

  Shaun looked at her with consternation, walked her to the door, and they argued politely and briefly over who would keep the remainder of the pie. Andr
ea finally gave in and walked home with it cradled in her arms like a consolation prize.

  His door closing behind her, leaving her out in the darkness and quiet by herself, felt like all the wrong things.

  Chapter 19

  “This time, we’re going to stay in bed for good,” Shaun reminded Trevor wearily.

  Bedtime remained the greatest test to his patience as a parent.

  Some nights, Trevor fell easily asleep, giving Shaun a chance to meet Andrea as she returned from closing up at Gran’s Grit, or catch her eye through the windows that looked across at each other and wave her over.

  They kept the charade of keeping things casual, always with an excuse at hand for Andrea’s visit after Trevor’s bedtime. The aging house gave him plenty of questions to ask, and there was always the topic of Trevor.

  Shaun did not have to fabricate the many questions he had about how to deal with the boy. He had not guessed how complicated a five-year-old could be. Every time he was close to despair over Trevor’s childishness, the boy would come up with something incredibly deep and introspective that made him re-evaluate his understanding of his son. When Shaun was ready to roar into tiger form at the frustration and impatience that Trevor unleashed in him, the boy would do something so vulnerable and affectionate that Shaun could hold no grudge.

  Andrea’s advice was without fail measured and understanding, and she was sympathetic to his troubles and ready with laughter and perspective.

  And after she had listened, never showing the slightest impatience, there was a moment of tension that always ended with a kiss and scramble for skin.

  Those nights were the best.

  But most nights, unfortunately, were a battle of wills with a five-year-old that managed to be as tenacious as Shaun’s most cutthroat business associates.

  Duct tape was a tempting option.

  “Daddy?”

  Shaun’s heart sank.

  Trevor’s voice was so tentative and helpless that he could not resist turning in the doorway.

  “What is it?” he asked, trying not to sound as frustrated and conflicted as he felt.