Page 8 of Lycans & Lattes

I let out a groan. I didn’t need this. But I saw now that even my aunt—who was, for all intents and purposes, usually the “cool aunt”—had taken up the mantle of official pack nag.

“Maybe you should just tell Willow,” Edie added pityingly.

“Enough!” I snarled, ripping off the cape draped over me and wadding it up into a ball.

“Don’t you snarl at me,” Edie growled, and I knew she would shift just to nip at me. She’d done it before. No one messed with the matriarchs in my family. Even as pack alpha, I knew she would put me on my ass if I ever disrespected her.

“I don’t need this from you,” I muttered, rising and straightening my tattered T-shirt as if it were a fine button-down.

“Well, you need it from someone,” Edie snapped. “I’m not saying you have to end things with her, Wyatt, but it’s time to be honest with her about what’s expected of you—of her—if she wants to be a part of this life one day. She deserves that.”

My lip curled, but I didn’t reply as I stormed out of Luna’s.

I didn’t reply because she was right. Willow deserved to know the truth. But she was wrong about one thing: I couldn’t end things between us because they’d never begun.

5

Willow

I’d closed up the café hours ago but hadn’t gone upstairs yet, idling in the peaceful aftermath of a busy day.

There weren’t many calm fall evenings in Maple Hollow with the town ballooning in size, and I never took one for granted. The chairs were all upended on the tabletops, the floors were mopped, and every surface sparkled. I had a sneaking suspicion that Harlow had learned a few cleaning tricks—or charms—from Jordyn. Not only had closing taken half the time, but I’d never been able to get the espresso machine so clean that I could see my reflection in it like Harlow could.

When manual labor stood in your way of a date with a special witch, you found ways of working smarter, not harder.

Tonight, the love bats were at the movie theater for the midnight matinee of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Full glam and fishnets. Meanwhile, I was blasting Fiona Apple while I sat at my favorite corner booth and worked on the café’s quarterly bookkeeping.

The most glamorous part of running a café.

But no one wanted to get on the wrong side of a paranormal tax audit. Those zombie accountants had nothing but time, and their overdue rates were killer.

My “Criminal” singalong was cut off by the sound of rapping at the back door. I hit pause on my phone and ambled that way, hedging my bets that either Billy or Agnes was about to remind me of one obligation or another.

It had taken a couple of years—and plenty of free refills—for the mayor and vampire matriarch to warm up to me. I’d thought all my hard-won ground had been for nothing last year, when Harlow had moved to town and almost killed Agnes with a dash of nutmeg. But with a little help from Harlow’s witch girlfriend—and the two of them solving a murder case—we no longer felt like complete outsiders.

With all of that jumbling around in my head, I unlocked the back door and opened it wide, my eyeline meeting a broad, muscular chest.

“Wyatt.” Surprise lifted my voice to an embarrassing pitch. “What are you doing here so late?”

I took in his scruffier-than-usual appearance: a well-worn band tee with small tears along the collar, dark blue jeans that still had the ghosts of flour handprints around the thighs, and his signature unbuttoned flannel with the sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny forearm muscles that only came from years of kneading dough.

But I did note that his hair looked freshly trimmed and styled, and a spritz of botanical scent rose above his normal cinnamon sugar.

A typical werewolf’s schedule was already unpredictable, but add in the demand of a booming business with deliveries all over town and a line of customers out the door and I wasn’t sure Wyatt had had a full night—or day—of sleep since he’d opened Full Moon Bakery.

Wyatt pinned me with an incredulous look. “You opened the door without checking first?” he teased, but I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

I remained fixed in the doorway. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and ruefully shook his head. “I’d still prefer that you check who is knocking before opening your door at night, though. Especially in a town full of paranormals.”

I crossed my arms and popped my hip tauntingly. “Do you want me to shut the door, werewolf?”

His cheeks reddened. “No.” The crooked smile pulling at his cheek did something unholy to my insides.

“Did you need something?”

He slid his hands into his front pockets as he offered me a strained smile. “Can I come in for a minute?”