Page 27 of Wishing for a Werewolf
I brace, waiting for Pepperpot to kick him out for violating a ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ policy. Should have known better. She’s fae. A little casual nudity doesn’t even make her blink.
She grins up at him. “Wolf, it’s about time you visited my store. What can I get you?”
“Wait a minute.” Disbelief courses through me. I spin to point at him. “How the hell have you lived in Ferndale Falls for a month andnoteaten anything from here? Pepperpot makes the best breadever, and don’t even get me started on the pastries.”
“I’m not used to this kind of food.” His lips press into a thin line.
“Human food?”
“Bipedal people food of any kind.” He waves a hand up and down his body. “I’m still learning.” That last bit comes out as a murmur.
Oh, god. Is he embarrassed? I didn’t mean to do that. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to suddenly have a man’sbody after years of living as a wolf. Slipping my hand into the crook of his arm—his very warm, very muscly arm—I tug him toward the counter.
Looks like someone’s watching more forearm porn tonight, horny Autumn murmurs inside my head.
Shut up, I hiss at her. We’re in public.
She just laughs.
“Lesson one is bread.” I say, my voice extra-chirpy, like I get when I’m flustered. “We’re having butternut squash soup tonight, so we want something that will go well with it, maybe with a sharp cheddar melted on top.”
“We?” His intense golden eyes catch mine.
“We,” I repeat with a definitive nod. “Operation Television starts tonight. Now, how does a crispy baguette sound? Or the multigrain rolls full of nuts and seeds? Those are super yummy.” At his puzzled look, I hurry to add, “You know what? We’ll get some of each. That way you can see which you like.”
His gorgeous smile catches me off guard once again, my heart leaping against my ribs like a bird taking flight.
I open the oven door, and the rich smell of melting cheese billows out to blend with the delicate scent of the soup, faintly sweet and spiced with nutmeg, a dash of ginger, and just enough garlic to add complexity.
Rune watches avidly from where he leans against thekitchen island, Babybelle looking smaller than ever cradled in his huge arms.
We stopped by his house so he could get another shirt, and he came with me to the farm, where we walked through the pasture to visit the herd. I expected the goats to be frightened of him, but the opposite was true, especially when I let him dole out the acorns we gathered from the woods. Cheddar and Gouda swarmed him, and anyone smaller than Rune might easily have been knocked over. Once we got to the cottage, I offered to let him start watching TV while I cooked, but he insisted on staying in the kitchen.
As I ladle the soup into bowls, he says, “So you do this all the time? Mix various things together to prepare food?”
“She does!” Babybelle butts her head against his hand for more pets. “She makes me cookies!”
“Yep.” I grin over my shoulder. “It’s what you do if you want to eat well. You either cook, or if you’re rich, you get someone to cook for you. You can also buy prepackaged meals. Those are good if you’re in a hurry, or if you’re not a good cook.”
“You, however, are an excellent cook,” he says.
“You don’t know that. You haven’t tasted anything!”
“I don’t need to.” He taps his nose. “I have an excellent sense of smell, and your soup smells delicious.”
I turn back toward the stove, hiding the pleased blush heating my cheeks.
Rune grunts in surprise, and I spin around to find the mini-goat chewing on his collar.
“Babybelle! No chewing in the cottage.” I point the wooden spoon at her. “You promised!”
“But Rune doesn’t live here!” She turns her big eyes on me, trying to look innocent. “He’s visiting. He doesn’t count!”
“We agreed you wouldn’t chewanythingin the cottage, little missy. And where is Rune?”
Her ears droop as she mumbles, “In the cottage.” When I lift an eyebrow, she adds, “Rune counts.”
“She’s promised not to chew your clothes,” I tell him. “Let me know if she ‘forgets.’”
