Fangs for Sharing (Supernatural in Seattle #1)
Page 18
His rich brown eyes narrow on mine. “Very funny, Bird Girl,” he says, the nickname making me grin even wider. “Are we saving the peach cobbler, or can I pack up what’s left for the staff?”
I glance over at the warming pan to see only a few inches of untouched cobbler. “Go ahead and wrap it up for the staff. You’re going to make Carrie Ann’s day. She lives for an excuse to have dessert for breakfast.”
“Amen!” Carrie Ann, my right-hand woman, cruises by with an arm full of dirty salad bar dishes bound for the kitchen. Her blond bob is still safely secured under her hairnet and her face is makeup free, but she looks as adorable, a real-life pixie with a mischievous grin that always lifts my spirits. She flashes it now as she says, “Make mine a big one, Kite. My legs are jelly from that hike around the bay. I need sugar to restore me. Lots of it.”
I keep my grin in place, refusing to feel envious of my friend or the others who were able to make the hike around the new beach line today, exploring the places where the rising ocean has intruded and where Seattle’s manmade barriers to the overflow are holding strong.
Yes, I would have loved to spend hours out in nature with Kite, absorbing his teachings on native flora and fauna, interspersed with the always fascinating stories passed down from his grandfather—former chief of the Samish Indian Nation—but I learned a long time ago not to waste energy feeling sorry for myself.
Besides, Kite will fill me in on our way to the train. He always does. My newest hire is not only a gentle giant with a heart of gold and a knack for winning over even the surliest street kid, he’s also patient, generous, and thoughtful.
And gorgeous, a wayward voice whispers in my head.
I avert my gaze, pretending great interest in the chafing dishes as Carrie swoops in to grab the empty green bean container near my elbow. I’m not ready to let Kite see how much appreciation I have for his sculpted features, silky hair, and big, burly, and completely snuggle-perfect body. I have as many fantasies about curling up in Kite’s arms and going to sleep with my head on his chest as I do about other, racier things. Maybe it’s a side effect of being so tired all the time—nap fantasies are totally a thing for sicklies like me—but I don’t think so.
I think it’s a side effect of him being absolutely adorable.
“You need vegetables,” Kite calls after Carrie as she scoffs and continues about her business. “For a grown woman, you’re eating habits are shameful.”
“Good thing I’m not done growing yet,” Carrie Ann shoots back as the kitchen door swings closed behind her.
Kite turns to me with a sigh. “Someone needs to teach that girl the basics of good nutrition.”
“I’ve tried,” I say, turning off the warmers beneath the stew. “But she’s set in her ways. Sugar, caffeine, and sliced deli meat are her three basic food groups. Maybe she’ll rethink things when she’s older. She’s only twenty; she has time.” I reach for the edges of the chafing dish, engaging my abs as I prepare to lift the metal container. It’s half empty and can’t weigh more than ten pounds, but I still struggle to work it free, sweat breaking out in the valley of my spine as I slide it to the edge of the counter.
“Here, let me.” Before I can protest, Kite claims the meat dish in one hand and lifts the leftover tofu stew free with the other, making it all look as effortless as plucking a couple of summer cherries out of a bowl.
“I could have done it,” I say, but Kite is already headed toward the kitchen.
“Just wipe down the serving line, boss,” he calls back. “Let your minions take care of the heavy lifting.”
He’s clearly trying to dismiss my struggle with a joke, but it isn’t funny. It’s demoralizing, and the way my arms are trembling as I finish cleaning the serving line is enough to make me want to grind my teeth in frustration.
By the time Carrie Ann sidles up beside me, clutching her Tupperware container of cobbler, I’m fighting tears.
Like the sweetheart she is, she puts a hand on my back and reminds me, “You don’t have to do any of this, you know. Kite, the others, and I are happy to do the grunt work.”
I shake my head. “But I hate that. I feel like such a diva.”
“Oh, please.” Carrie laughs her bright, musical laugh, making a few of the kids seated nearby glance our way with smiles instinctively curving their lips.
That’s what Carrie’s laugh does to people, and one of the many reasons she’s the best choice for my replacement when the time comes. Other people have more education and fancier degrees, but Carrie is an upbeat force of nature who lifts the spirits of everyone she meets.
And she knows exactly where these kids are coming from. Just four years ago, Carrie was one of them, one of the shattered souls that ended up on our doorstep after the rough streets of Seattle chewed her up and spit her out. But, lucky me, this time one of the new friends I’d made stuck around to join our crew on a more permanent basis.
“You’re the farthest thing in the world from a diva,” Carrie continues, gazing up at me. “You’re the hardest working woman I know. And we need your brain and your heart more than we need your muscles. Seriously, when you come in tomorrow, sit your ass down in your office and give your energy to your counseling sessions. That’s where you work the magic. Anyone can man the serving line, Wren—even Kite, though he clearly was never taught how to properly clean up after himself.”
“I heard that,” Kite calls from the bowels of the kitchen. “It’s not my fault I have six older sisters who never let me in the kitchen.”
Carrie rolls her eyes as she leans in to whisper, “Six older sisters. Can you imagine? I bet they used him as a dress-up doll when he was little.”
“I heard that, too,” Kite says, proving his hearing really is something extraordinary. “And no, they didn’t, but I did have to wear their clothes until I was too big to fit into them.” He emerges from the kitchen, two containers of cobbler held lightly in one hand. “My mother couldn’t see the point in wasting good money on boy clothes since I was the last baby on the docket.”
Carrie giggles, and I smile as I say, “Aw. I would pay good money to see those baby pictures. You in ruffles.”
“Stay on my good side, and I’ll show them to you for free someday,” he says with a wink that sends warmth flooding through my chest. He turns to Carrie with a mock glare and adds, “But not you, Trouble. I’d never hear the end of it from you.”
“Correct,” Carrie cheerfully agrees, pressing up onto tiptoe to peck my cheek. “See you tomorrow, Sunshine. Text me if you want to chat later. I’m just hanging at home tonight, hiding from my miserable roommates and the cockroaches. No money to go catch a band until next payday.”
“Will do. Get home safe,” I say, sweet anticipation dumping into my bloodstream as she departs, leaving me alone with Kite.
It’s my favorite time of the day, the fifteen minutes it takes to walk to the place where our paths diverge on the way to our separate train stations. I look forward to it from the moment my eyes creak open in the morning.
There are days, when I wake up aching and feverish in a nest of sweaty covers and roll over to be sick in the bucket by my nightstand, when this walk is the only thing that gets me out of bed. This walk is the lifeline I cling to as I force my throbbing joints into the shower to sit on the stool Mom bought for me a few months ago when she realized I no longer had the strength to stand under the stream until my meds had kicked in.
Unless something changes, there will come a day—a day not far from this one—when I will no longer have the strength to make this walk, either. But it isn’t today. Today I am still alive and upright, and my meds are holding the pain at bay enough for me to enjoy the way my blood pumps faster as Kite rests a warm hand on my shoulder and asks, “You ready, boss lady?”
I nod, beaming up at him. “I am. Just let me grab my jacket and I’ll meet you out front.”
I make my way slowly to my office, conserving my energy, wanting to save it all for the walk through
the misty spring afternoon with Kite.
I may not have many afternoons like these left, but that isn’t a reason for sadness. It’s a reason to savor, to treasure, to soak up every minute of sweetness and pack it away for a day when I’ll need good memories more than ever.
Unleashed is out now!
About the Author
Bella Jacobs loves pulse-pounding action, fantasy, and supernaturally high stakes, mixed with swoon-worthy romance and unforgettable heroes. She's been a full time writer for over a decade and is deeply grateful for the chance to play pretend for a living.
She writes as Bella for her trips to the dark side and can't wait to take you on her next adventure.
Visit her at www.bellajacobsbooks.com
Also by Bella Jacobs
The Dark Moon Shifter Series
Unleashed
Untamed
Unbroken (Spring 2019)
Supernatural in Seattle Series
Fangs for Sharing
Hot as Howl (Leerie’s Story-Summer 2019)