Page 32 of A Bear's Journey

“Do they make those anymore?” asked Olivia. She’d spent three months catching up to the world, and whether they still made a specific model of car hadn’t really been on her radar.

“Oh, god no,” said Craig. “That thing was twenty years old at least way back then. Had a stick shift on the steering column. Almost impossible to drive, but that front seat was nice.”

Verynice.

“Craig was a big stud in his glory days before we met,” Jasper teased.

“I didn’t say that,” Craig said. “And besides, my glory days are yet to come.”

“Sure,” said Jasper, grinning.

Craig mock-frowned, then looked over at Olivia.

She looked mostly amused, though also a little curious.

Hey, she’s not horrified, thought Craig. I’ll take it.

“I’m just saying, they should make shifter date cars,” Craig said. “They can be short and squat. Three seats across the front and a trunk. Like a very wide sports cars.”

“That sounds like the world’s ugliest car,” said Jasper.

Olivia nodded.

“Sure, take his side,” grumbled Craig.

He was rewarded when her mouth twitched upward into a smile.

* * *

At the restaurant,they showed up and were seated right away, even though they were a few minutes early for their reservation.

As he looked around, Craig felt relieved. It had crossed his mind that, even though they weren’t near the wolf parts of Cascadia, wolves could still show up and freak Olivia out.

Hell, Buck himself could show up, though Craig didn’t consider himself above ripping out the other man’s throat, breaking his neck, and then stomping on his —

“Welcome to L’Aubergine,” the waiter said. He was an older man — human, by the smell of him — and he looked like he’d worked long and hard to perfect the proper snooty face for a waiter in a French restaurant.

“Would you like to hear our specials?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Jasper said.

As his mate listened attentively, Craig let his mind wander. Specifically, he let it wander to Olivia, who was watching the waiter with a slightly baffled look on her face.

His eyes caressed her shoulders, the way they curved down into her slightly plump arms, supple and muscular at the same time, and then her bosom, which filled out her dress so lusciously every time she took a breath—

“And you, monsieur?”

Craig blinked, and then looked up to find the waiter looking at him.

“Sorry?”

“What will monsieur be having to drink?”

Craig looked down briefly at the menu.

“Red wine, please.”

The waiter just stood there, his eyebrows slightly raised, his lips slowly drawing into a look of disapproval.

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