by T. S. Joyce
A selfie came through. In it, Leslie had a bright blue face mask on, a giant smile, her hair all piled on top of her head again, and a bright teal tank top. Her tits looked perky and grabbable. Sexy girl.
He took a picture of himself, frowning from his bed, squinting at the phone. He sent that and a Glad you aren’t dead text.
She sent him a picture they’d taken together tonight at the dinner table. Her mom had griped at their manners in front of everyone, and when Leslie put her phone down and withered under her Mom’s glare, he’d squeezed her hand under the table to comfort her. She’d held it for a while before she finally relaxed and started having fun again.
He’d liked that he knew what to do to steer her back in the right direction that kept a smile on her face. Leslie was really special. Happy little hearts like hers were meant to be protected, not broken down.
In the selfie, they were both leaned into each other, all dressed to the nines, their cheeks resting on one another. He was smirking, and she was openly grinning. God, she was a stunner.
He saved the picture just as another text came through.
Good luck yelling at those spruce tree people tomorrow. Give ’em hell!
Be ready at six pm tomorrow. Dress warm. For real this time. Sleep tight, ya weirdo.
I might not wear pajamas for our holiday adventure tomorrow. But knowing me, maybe I will, just to keep you on your toes. See you tomorrow, Sexy Otter.
He laughed and shook his head, his cheek making a scratching noise against his pillow. What would she do if she found out what he really was? The smile fell from his face. What would she do?
If she found out he lied, would she pull back?
If she saw his real animal, would she be scared?
He set the phone on the table and stared out the window into the dark. Outside, the moon hung low in the sky, and snow fell steadily. He had to keep the window blinds open so his animal never felt trapped in the bedroom.
What if she found out what kind of shifter he really was and stopped smiling?
Chapter Nine
Leslie handed the little girl a refill of the sparkly red color for her to paint a ceramic mitten. The girl’s mother thanked Leslie, who winked at her and told her, “Oh, it’s my pleasure.”
All three tables in her shop were full of people decorating ornaments for loved ones for Christmas. She stayed busy all year long, but the holiday season was especially chaotic.
She was the owner and had only one other employee. Miranda was rushing around refilling paints and answering questions. Since she’d had the day off yesterday, Leslie was trying to catch up on the kiln today. She was pushing her last set of ornaments through and then would be able to call the people who had made them to let them know to come pick them up. That, or she’d ship them to the recipients.
The day had passed in the blink of an eye.
The bell above the door jingled, and she looked up with a ready smile to greet last-minute customers. It wasn’t a customer who stomped their boots on the mat at the door, though. It was a tall, handsome, blond-haired shifter she recognized.
Kieran was in her shop.
“H-hi!” she said, wringing her hands.
He looked around at the shelves of ceramics the customers had to choose from. “The sign outside says Leslie’s Make-Your-Own Pottery. You own this place?”
She shrugged. “Yeah?”
“That’s badass.”
Okay, that’s not usually the reaction she got to owning a pottery business. It was long hours of being splattered in paint and clay, so the uniform was just comfort clothes and an apron. It wasn’t the sexiest of jobs, but it made her happy.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until six,” she said.
“I got off early.”
“Got off or you were fired?”
He snorted. “Your dad can try, but he would have trouble replacing me. Nah, I handled the spruce problem and got back in town earlier than I thought I would. Kinda wanted to stop by and see what you do.”
“So, you were missing me.”
“Settle down, I was bored.”
“Uh huh, sure.” She looked the three families working on ornaments, who seemed to be fine, plus Miranda was organizing the penguin ornaments and available if they needed help. “Do you want a tour?”
“Hell yeah.”
Today he was wearing black canvas pants and a long sleeve gray shirt, no jacket, and his blond hair was all mussed like he’d been running his hands through it all day.
Here is the painting room for my customers,” she said, sweeping her hand grandly across the room. “And down these stairs are the registers.” She jogged down the stairs and pointed to a door in the back. “There’s an office behind it, but that’s boring—it’s just a desk and paperwork. “But through here,” she said, pushing a swinging door open, “are my two kilns, which bake the pottery. I run these on a pretty tight schedule.”
She lifted the lid of one that was done and showed him the pottery stacked inside of it.
“Where did you learn how to do all of this?” he asked softly, studying the ornaments.
“Art major right here. My parents were so thrilled.”
He laughed and nodded. “That major suits you. I don’t think you would find happiness in a cubicle.”
“No. I love talking to the customers, too. And the kids? I like helping them pick and make the perfect piece of pottery. That moment when they walk out of here feeling accomplished and with big smiles on their faces, it’s special, and I get to be a part of that.”
He was searching her face, studying her, and she grew a little self-conscious. “What?” she asked.
“You’re just different from what I expected when I read your ad in the paper.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? “Um, do you want to make some pottery? If you have anyone on your Christmas list to buy for, it’s a good present. A personalized one.”
“All I have to shop for is Burke, and I don’t think he needs another ornament that says, ‘Fuck you, man.’”
She laughed. “Such sweet siblings.”
“Well, he’s a pill. You’ll meet him someday and see what I mean.”
“Really?”
He frowned and leaned against the wall. “Really what?”
“I’ll meet Burke?”
“Woman, you just introduced me to all ninety-seven people you know last night. Yeah, you can meet my brother. Don’t get all excited, though. He’ll probably tell a fart joke as an icebreaker.”
She tossed her head back in a laugh. “Perfect.”
“You look cute.” His voice was all deep and gritty, and he was doing it again—holding eye contact with her. “Just so you know.”
Leslie looked down at herself. Paint-splattered apron, check, overalls and tank top, yep, and art shoes all layered with dried paint and clay water, definitely. “Boy, you need your eyes checked.”
“My eyes are fine. Shifter genetics, remember? I’m gonna go grab some stuff from the sawmill. I’ll be back to pick you up in a couple hours.”
“Okay,” she uttered breathlessly. “Hey, Kieran?” she asked as he made his way to the narrow stairwell.
“Yep?” he asked.
“I liked that you texted me last night just to check up on me.”
A crooked, handsome smile took his lips.
“I like your facial scruff, and I like that your eyes change colors when you’re happy or mad, and I like that you laugh at me but not in a mean way. Like you think I’m funny, not annoying.”
“You’re not annoying, Leslie. Whoever made you feel that way? Fuck ’em.”
“Yeah. Fuck ’em.”
He ran his fingers down his chin. “You like my scruff?”
“Like…a lot,” she said in a weird robotic voice.
“Maybe I’ll grow it out then.”
“Great. I’ll stop shaving, too. I can grow my leg hairs out for you.”
“No
. Nope.” He walked up the stairs. “No, Leslie.”
She cracked up to herself and shut the door of the kiln.
Kieran was fun and easy to joke with.
She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she was growing a teeny, tiny, microscopic, no-big-deal, amoeba-sized crush on him.
Chapter Ten
“Come in!” she called, grabbing her winter jacket from the storage bins under the staircase that led to her bed in the loft. It was a bright red puffer jacket with a fur-lined hood.
Kieran opened the door but brushed snow off his shoulders outside before he came in. “Weather is turning,” he murmured. “Hey, you look cute.”
She liked that if he thought something nice, he said it out loud.
“You’re going to give me very high self-esteem with your compliments if you don’t watch it.”
“Good. You should have high self-esteem.” He opened the fridge and studied the contents.
“Looking for beer?”
He snorted and shook his head. “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and the animal gets a little rowdy when he’s hungry.”
“What do you even like to eat?”
“Meat.”
“Otters like meat?”
He straightened and told her, “Put your jacket on and let’s go. We have to pick up food on the way.”
“Wait, tell me what you like to eat, and I’ll keep it in the fridge this week.”
His blond brows drew down. “What?”
She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears. “What do you want in the fridge?”
“You don’t have to stock your fridge for me.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m going to the store tomorrow on my lunch break anyway. Just tell me. If it makes you feel better, you can put a few yogurts in your fridge for me.”
“That’s what you eat?”
“It’s my favorite snack. Oh, and honey oat granola mixed up in it. Cherry flavored yogurt.”
He slid a glance to the fridge. “I like spaghetti with extra meat in the sauce.”
“There, now was that so hard?”
“Don’t go to any trouble, though.”
“Should I wear this beanie or this one?” she asked, holding up a black one with a brown snowball at the top and a pink one with no snowball.
“Black. It matches the red jacket and your leggings better.” He dragged his eyes up and down her legs to her snow boots and back up. “You’re very shapely, and I like it.”
Shapley. Huh. She liked that. So she struck a pose with her butt poked out and told him, “Permission granted to my pretend-boyfriend to pat my butt when he feels like it tonight.”
His laugh sounded downright naughty. “Don’t grant permission unless you’re ready to get manhandled.”
Manhandled sounded fun.
“What are we doing tonight?” she asked excitedly. “Caroling from door to door? Hot cocoa and ice skating? Window shopping for Christmas presents?”
“Nope, nope, and also nope. We’re finishing my workday together.”
“Oh. Well, we’ll make your work fun either way.”
His smile was slow and soooo handsome. “I knew you would be up for it.”
Outside, his truck took up the whole parking lot on account of the massive trailer of Christmas trees he pulled behind it. Spruces, to be exact. “You got the rest of your order.”
“Yep, and they won’t be shorting us again.”
“Were they scared?”
The sneer on his face was answer enough. She liked that he was tough and didn’t roll over on business. It’s probably why her dad trusted him with the sawmill.
He opened the passenger side door for her, then made his way around the front of the truck and climbed behind the wheel. The drive was short, just ten miles to a Christmas tree lot in the middle of downtown.
The rush was just beginning as people were getting off work, and the excitement built as she and Kieran unloaded trees off the truck and set them upright against wooden pallets. She got the tiny ones, of course, and Kieran unloaded the giant trees. They seemed to weigh nothing to him. Otter shifters were very, very strong.
Holiday music was blaring on the speakers, and the owner of the lot was a friendly sort of man. He and his wife ran the lot and were helpful and cheerful.
There was one remaining tree on the back of the trailer, but it was little and knobby and ugly.
Leslie loved it.
“Are you okay?” Kieran asked as he folded the check from the vendor into his wallet.
“What do you do with the little pitiful trees?” she asked.
Kieran frowned at the three-foot misfit with the sparse branches. “Put them in the woodchipper and make mulch.”
“Can I have it?” she asked, clasping her mitten-clad hands in front of her.
His dark eyes darted to the tree and then back to her. “Of course. That tree would be perfect for the tiny house.”
“Today is the best day ever.”
“Oh, just wait,” he told her.
They walked down the street and grabbed a couple slices of pepperoni pizza from a joint on the corner, then walked slowly back, making boot prints in the new fallen snow that coated the sidewalk. And then he set out a blanket on the back of the trailer and grabbed her by the waist, hoisted her up, and waited until she was settled and comfortable to hop up and sit beside her.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now you watch.”
Watch what? She scanned the tree lot, but it was just a half dozen couples and families picking out trees. When she looked back at Kieran, he was wearing a slight grin and his attention was on a couple with a little girl, sifting through the eight-foot trees for the perfect one. “This is my favorite part of my job,” he admitted low.
So she paid more attention. She watched the smiles on that family’s faces when they found the perfect tree, and she laughed when a couple jumped up and down as the vendor put a net around the one they picked out. Her heart got all full when a woman with a little poodle on a leash picked out a small tree and the vendors offered the pup a holly-shaped dog treat.
There was kindness here.
No judgement, no veiled insults. It was just people finding a tree that would live eternally in their holiday memories of this year. And Kieran was a part of that. Even if they didn’t realize it, he was.
“You like your job,” she murmured, awed by the look of contentment on his face as he watched the families pick their trees.
“I like it more this season than I have in a long time,” he murmured.
It felt like a big admission, so she asked, “Why?”
He bit his bottom lip and looked at her thigh, all flattened out on the edge of the trailer. “I guess I’m learning to appreciate the moment more this year.”
When he lifted his lightened golden eyes to hers, Leslie’s breath got caught in her throat. “I think that’s happening to me, too.” But she couldn’t put a finger on why.
Kieran’s attention dipped to her lips. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” came on the loudspeakers. The snow was falling lightly, everyone around them was happy, and everything in this moment was just…perfect.
Kieran leaned in, and Leslie closed her eyes, waited for his lips to press to hers. But when they didn’t, she eased her eyes open again. He was hovering there, a slight frown marring his blond brows.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured in a growly voice that lifted the fine hairs on her body.
“I don’t think you can mess it up if you tried,” she whispered.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
His lips were warm and soft against hers, and the tickle of his whiskers drew a smile from her lips. The bright pink butterflies went wild in her stomach as his mouth moved against hers, and when he slipped his tongue inside? The whole world faded away, leaving only them and the music in existence. A soft rumbling sound started deep in his throat and rattled against his chest. She pressed
her hand there, just inside his jacket to hear the growl. She hadn’t realized otters growled like this.
She didn’t know how long it took him to ease back, but she didn’t care if the whole town saw them.
“That was awesome,” she whispered, inches away from his face.
His eyes were brighter than she’d ever seen them, and he looked confused. His shoulders were lifting with his breath, and his heart pounded against her palm. “I should take you back home,” he murmured.
“What? But I have another slice of pizza to eat.”
“It’s getting late, and I need to get the trailer back to the sawmill.”
“All right.” Okay, now she was confused. He hopped down and made his way to the driver’s side of the truck, leaving her to scramble down and across the icy asphalt to the passenger side of his truck.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked as he pulled out of the tree lot.
“Nothing at all.” But his tone was completely shut down. He was upset.
He drove her home in silence, and when he pulled in front of her tiny house, she told him, “I don’t understand what happened.”
“Nothing happened. We got caught up in the moment, and I lost my head.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter and stared straight ahead. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Tonight was amazing.”
“Good. Good. That’s what I wanted.”
He just sat there, choking the steering wheel, so she steadied her plate of pizza in her hand and shoved open her door, slid out of the seat and onto the snow.
“Okay, well…have a good night.”
With a curt nod, he said, “Goodnight.”
And then she shut the door and watched in utter bafflement as he drove away.
She’d just had the best, most meaningful kiss of her life, and then it had been thrown away like it was nothing.
Half an hour later, she got a text from him.
It was a simple one.
Can you send me a schedule of holiday events you would like me to attend with you?
Why was he being so formal? None if you’re gonna be fuckin’ weird. Send.
I won’t be weird. I will be completely professional as our arrangement requires.
