Page 18 of Fat Arranged Mate
The image is absurd enough to almost make me smile. Almost. "Weapons stay concealed but accessible."
She hesitates, then extends her hand. "Deal. But I’m not using them."
I stare at it momentarily before taking it. Her fingers are warm from the coffee mug, smaller than mine but surprisingly strong. The contact lasts exactly two seconds before we both pull away, the agreement sealed.
"I'll get dressed," she says, retreating toward her room. "Be ready in twenty."
Exactly nineteen minutes later, we leave the cottage, emerging into spring sunshine that belies the tension humming between us. The neighborhood is quiet, just a few humansvisible—an elderly man gardening, a woman walking a small dog, a child riding a bicycle in lazy circles.
Sera slips her hand into mine as we reach the sidewalk; the gesture is so natural that it takes me a moment to register it as a performance. Her fingers lace with mine, warm and unexpectedly right.
"Smile," she murmurs. "You look like you're marching to an execution."
I force my features into something less severe, conscious of the neighbors watching with casual interest. Sera's answering smile is brilliant, transformative. If I didn't know better, I'd believe she was actually happy to be holding my hand.
"That's better," she says, her voice carrying just enough for potential eavesdroppers. "Should we check out Main Street first, babe?"
The endearment slides off her tongue with practiced ease. Two can play this game.
"Whatever you want, sweetheart." I adjust my grip on her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles in a gesture that makes her eyes widen slightly. "Lead the way."
Pinecrest reveals itself slowly as we walk. A typical mountain town with a main street of small businesses, a diner, a community center, and plenty of outdoor equipment shops. Tourists come for hiking in summer, skiing in winter. Locals survive on their dollars year-round. Nothing immediately suspicious. It remarkably resembles Silvercreek in some ways. In others, it’s unrecognizable to me.
Soon, we reach Blackridge Outfitters. I couldn’t miss it if I tried.
The store sits at the far end of Main Street, larger than the other businesses, with a prominent display of hunting equipment in the window. What catches my attention isn't the expected rifles or camping gear, but the small section devoted to "Predator Control”.
Silver-tipped ammunition. Specialized traps. Something labeled "Predator Deterrent Spray" sets off alarm bells in my head.
"Let's check it out," I murmur against Sera's ear, using the intimacy as cover for reconnaissance.
She nods, leaning into me with practiced ease. To anyone watching, we're just an affectionate couple window shopping. Not two wolves investigating potential threats to our kind.
Inside, the store smells of gun oil, leather, and human sweat. A bell jingles as we enter, drawing the attention of a bearded man behind the counter. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes us in—strangers, city clothes, holding hands. The suspicion is subtle but unmistakable. There’s a sharp silver streak in his hair.
"Morning," he offers gruffly. "Help you find something?"
Sera steps forward with a smile that transforms her entire demeanor. Suddenly, she's bubbly, slightly nervous, completely human. The performance is flawless.
"We just moved in! Down on Pine Ridge Circle?" Her voice rises at the end, a questioning lilt that invites conversation. "My husband's always wanted to try hunting, so we thought we'd look around."
The word'husband' jolts through me, foreign and intimate,despite its role in our cover. I manage what I hope isan enthusiastic nod, playing the city boy eager to embrace rural hobbies.
"Never too late to learn," the man says, his posture relaxing slightly. "Rick Dawson. Own this place going on thirty years."
"Dylan Winters," I offer, using our cover name. "This is my wife, Sera."
"Newlyweds?" Rick asks, glancing at Sera's hand where a simple band gleams. Another prop from Silvercreek's thorough preparation.
Sera blushes convincingly. "Three weeks. Still getting used to saying 'husband'."
Rick's face softens marginally. "Well, welcome to Pinecrest. What brings you folks here? Not many young couples settling down these days."
"Work," I answer smoothly. "Remote tech job. Wanted somewhere quiet after city life—somewhere calm and safe to start a family."
"Can't blame you for wanting to get away." Rick gestures around his shop. "Feel free to look around. Hunting season's coming up. Good time to learn."
I nod gratefully, guiding Sera toward the displays while maintaining casual conversation. "Any recommendations for beginners?"
