Page 8 of Chasing Stripes

“The place looks good,” he conceded, changing the subject. “Might be our best location yet.”

Pride flickered across Haavi’s face. “Should be. We’ve sunk enough capital into it to buy a small mountain. Though, I suppose we already own one of those back home.”

The joke, referencing the Western Mountain Tigris Pride’s territorial holdings, pulled a reluctant half-smile from Bartek. “What’s on the agenda today?”

Haavi swiped through screens. “Specialty hops shipment arrives around ten—six varieties including that experimental Cascade hybrid you wanted.”

“The one with heightened magical properties when brewed under a waxing moon?”

“That’s the one. Cost a fortune, but the brewmaster says it’ll be worth it.” Haavi scrolled further. “Sign installation happens at dawn tomorrow. Weather forecast shows clear skies, so we should be good there.”

SEVEN

Bartek nodded, trying to focus on Haavi’s report, but the restlessness beneath his skin intensified with each passing minute. Something tugged at his awareness—a magnetic pull urging him to turn toward the large front windows. Toward the street. Toward...

“Freezer installation is complete. Health inspection scheduled for Thursday.” Haavi paused, narrowing his eyes. “The flying monkeys will arrive at midnight to redecorate in hot pink and chartreuse.”

“Sounds good,” Bartek murmured distractedly.

“And I’m actually a fairy princess in disguise.”

“Make sure the— What?” Bartek’s head snapped up, golden-brown eyes narrowing.

Haavi snorted. “Just checking if you’re still with me. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the last minute.”

Irritation flashed across Bartek’s face, directed more at himself than at Haavi. “I heard you. Sign tomorrow, health inspection Thursday.”

“And the part about Mimi inviting you to dinner this weekend? The twins have been asking about their ‘Unca Bartek’ nonstop.”

Guilt squeezed Bartek’s chest. Between managing the pride and launching the new bar, he’d barely seen his nieces in weeks. Lily and Jade, with their mischievous grins and half-formed tiger growls, had wormed their way into his heart from the moment of their birth.

“Tell Mimi I’ll be there.” The words emerged gruffer than intended.

Haavi continued scrolling through his tablet, but a knowing smile played at his lips. “She said to remind you that playtime with the girls is mandatory. No discussions of pride finances allowed.”

“My sister seems to forget who signs the checks that keep her cubs in those ridiculous sparkly shoes they love.”

“Pretty sure she remembers exactly who bankrolls the tiger-striped light-up sneakers.” Haavi’s eyes twinkled. “She also mentioned that her big, scary alpha brother looks adorable with glitter in his hair.”

The memory of his last visit surfaced—Jade’s insistence that Uncle Bartek needed “pretty sparkles” to match her own craft project. Even now, weeks later, he occasionally found flecks of pink glitter in his shower drain.

Before Bartek could respond, the pull toward the windows intensified, becoming nearly impossible to ignore. Something—or someone—called to him with an urgency that made his tiger stir beneath his skin.

“Keep going through the list,” he managed, fighting the compulsion to turn.

But the need only grew stronger like an invisible hook lodged beneath his ribs, reeling him slowly but inexorably toward the front of the bar. His inner tiger, normally content to remain dormant during business hours, surged forward with unexpected ferocity.

Turn. Look. See.

The imperative thundered through him with such force that resistance became futile. Bartek pivoted toward the windows, his gaze drawn like a lodestone across the street to Honeycrisp Bakery.

His tiger senses detected something unusual about the bakery’s location—the way magical currents converged beneath it, creating a nexus that other supernatural residents seemed oblivious to. His father had once mentioned something about founding families choosing their locations strategically. Perhaps there was more to the quaint bakery than appearances suggested.

Time stopped.

A woman stood on the sidewalk outside the bakery, golden hair capturing the light like living flame. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the simple movement holding the grace of wind through summer wheat. Even from this distance, he could detect her unique scent carried on the morning breeze—cinnamon and vanilla layered over something wild and green like forest after rainfall.

But beneath those surface notes lay something else entirely—something that called directly to his primal core. Magic. Fae magic, rich and intoxicating, woven through her very essence.

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