Page 6 of Ronen
Not that anyone would have really cared about a little ink, but I had an image to maintain as the library director. At only twenty-five, I was young for the position, and there were a few people in town who thought I only got the job because of my last name. Because of that, I tried to always be put together and professional. Besides, my ink wasn’t something I shared with just anyone, so I kept it under wraps until I decided to show it off.
“Good morning, Ronen,” Mason said cheerfully, placing his stack of books on the counter in front of me. “How are you this bright, beautiful winter morning?”
Tapping the placard next to the register, I repeated the same words I did every single morning. “It’s Mr. Sinclair. You may address me as such, Sheriff Caldwell.”
“Just seems weird to address you so formally, when I address your entire family by their first names. Not really a formal bunch, the Sinclairs, are they?”
Huffing, I was assaulted by the scent of his pheromones. Musk, man, and something that smelled like fresh forest and pine. For about the millionth time, I tried to ascertain what kind of shifter he was. Again, I failed. No one seemed to know for certain what exactly Mason was, besides all agreeing he wasn’t fully human.
No one had ever seen him out and about in his shifted form, at least that we knew of. Since my dad’s best friend had been the previous sheriff until he finally retired last year, I had tried to casually ask him once. Becks had given me a small smile, then reminded me that he couldn’t share personal information that might have been in Mason’s personnel files.
Mason had been hired as a deputy six months before Becks had retired, but we all figured Becks had hand picked hisreplacement. And I had no doubt that Becks knew exactly what kind of shifter Mason was.
Sweet Alps was home to a large variety of shifters–and humans–and it was just weird to me that no one knew what Mason was. Okay, I wanted to know. There I said it. And I was going to find out some way.
“Regardless, I have not given you permission to address me by my given name.”
Fucking hell, even to my own ears I sounded like a righteous prick. If anyone from my family heard me talking like this, I’d never hear the end of it.
“Mmmm,” he tapped the placard that saidR.S. Sinclair, Director, on it. “Let’s see what my guess is today for your middle name. I thought about this last night for a while.”
“I’ve no clue why on earth you would.” Sliding his return stack towards me, I began scanning them in.
“Because I love a good mystery,” he grinned. “Is it Soren?”
“Certainly not.”
“Would you tell me if it was.”
“Doubtful.” I ignored Emily’s clapping behind me. She got some kind of weird thrill out of Mason and my verbal sparring. “But it’s not.”
Why the man had gone on a mission to discover what the S stood for in my name, I would never understand.
But he’d been pestering me about it for months now. I’d already warned everyone in my family that if I found out anyone of them had told him what my middle name was, there would be hell to pay.
So far, not one of his guesses had been correct, so I could only assume they had taken me at my word.
“You tell me what kind of shifter you are, and I’ll tell you what the S stands for,” I countered, raising one brow in a challenge.
Mason laughed heartily from deep in his belly, but he didn’t divulge any of his secrets. Just made his way to the New Release shelves and started browsing. Since they were located to the left of the main door, I had an unobstructed view of his backside as he perused the titles.
“Bend down for mama,”Emily instructed, cooing.“You can do it. Show mama that luscious peach. There it is! I swear, you could bounce a quarter off that man’s ass.”
Rolling my eyes, I ignored her, instead concentrating on Mason’s open account on my computer screen.
“Makes you just want to take a bite out of it.”
A new female voice chimed in, and it took all I had in me to not groan out loud. Or turn around to glare at the newcomer. Even if I hadn’t recognized her voice, the tinkling of the many, many bangles that adorned her wrists, well for as long as I could remember, gave her identity away.
“My Walter, Goddess rest his soul wherever he may be, had an ass like that when we were younger.”
A third voice informed us, the clinking of her knitting needles clacking away.“It was the kind of ass you just grabbed a handful of and held on for the ride.”She sighed wistfully.“And what a ride it was.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed loudly. Mason looked over his shoulder at me, forehead knitted in concern.
“You okay?” he questioned, three new books in his hands.
“Perfectly fine, thank you.”
