by Lynn Marie
Had to open the bakery and didn’t want to wake you. Last night was amazing. See you later ;)
It had warmed him as well as put a goofy grin on his face.
“Just… distracted. Chill out, Trip. You don’t have to hound me—everything will get done. I always pull through, don’t I?” Michael shoveled a spoonful of cheerios into his mouth. He stared down at the drawing he’d just finished, trying to picture it in 3D in his mind.
He’d wanted to be an architect since he could remember. As a boy, he’d preferred building the skyscrapers out of building blocks to the part where he and Trip were giant monsters, tearing them down. It was a dream he’d had since before he’d realized at age 16 that his future was in Pottsville, right smack dab in the middle of his father’s shadow.
He’d enjoyed his years at Cornell both for the degree and as an escape from the inevitability of his own life. Getting out of Wisconsin had changed his perspective big time. When he was younger and more impetuous, Pottsville was nothing more to him than the town suffocating him with its smallness and crushing sense of duty. Being in New York and seeing some of the world outside Wisconsin had made it feel that much more like home when he’d returned. Being a wolf without a pack was a disorienting, lonely experience.
And how perfect was it that his best friend had become a civil engineer? Unlike Michael, Trip hadn’t had to come back after college. Trip wasn’t being groomed to be Alpha, so he could do whatever he wanted. And he’d chosen to come back home and start a small but profitable business with Michael. With an architect and a civil engineer, they had the credibility they needed. Mostly they did small jobs for the county, contracting workers from the nearby towns.
“So where were you last night? I didn’t see you at the Watering Hole.”
“Had a date.”
“Who with?”
Michael felt his face stretch into a smile. “The woman who rented Wendy’s space. I’m telling you, man. She’s… something else. I’ve never seen a female like her.”
Trip’s eyebrows came together in a confused frown. “Wait, we’re talking about the human? The blonde? Evelyn something-or-other, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You think so? Really? I mean, yeah she’s got a great rack, but I don’t know if I’d call her something else.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed and his hands fisted unconsciously as his body tensed. “What? You’re kidding.”
“Tall for a human, which is nice, I guess. Average, looks-wise, I’d say. Kinda thick, which I didn’t realize you went for.”
Average? Thick? It was obvious to anyone that she was no dainty flower, and he had to approve; she looked like she’d been built strong and tall. He didn’t like a girl who was straight up and down, or one who looked like she’d break from a little rough lovin’. Trip didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He felt his hackles rise and couldn’t control the faint growl in the back of his throat.
Trip, hearing it, looked shocked. He eyed his best friend with apprehension. “Are you cool, man? You’re acting weird.”
Realizing what he’d been doing, he sat back in his chair and tried to look busy over his drawings. What was wrong with him? “Sorry.”
“Almost like…”
The long pause made Michael look up. “What?”
“Like… a bonded wolf.” Trip shook his head. “Forget it. Now that I said it, it sounds crazy. You just met her, right? So it’s totally crazy. And you couldn’t bond with a human, of all things.”
Right. Exactly. It was crazy—he wasn’t a bonded wolf. They’d gone out once. At the same time… imagining Evelyn with anyone else made him want to tear something apart with his teeth.
But he was just being territorial. Wolves got that way, even when they weren’t bonded.
“Anyway, I’m going to bring some of this home and work on the books. Finish the drawings, wouldja?”
Michael flashed him a distracted smile. “Will do.”
As Trip gathered some papers from the table, Michael dug his spoon into his bowl and picked up his pencil. But as he lowered his hand to the tracing paper, he just set the pencil back down. His mind drifted back to the bakery and the new owner… He wondered what she was doing.
He looked at his watch. Almost lunch time. Maybe he should grab a sandwich and check in on her.
Evelyn had known it would be difficult to get the people of the town on board with new management at their favorite bakery. Wendy’s had been an institution, and its owner a life-long Pottsville, Wisconsin resident. Only her daughter’s new baby on the heels of her son-in-law’s tragic accident could drag her away from the town. A year later, she’d been so desperate to sell the place that Evelyn had gotten it (and all the equipment!) for a price that bordered on pitiful. As Wendy was handing over the key, she’d imparted some wisdom and a warning.
“Most of us in Pottsville are set in our ways, so it may take ‘em a while to warm up to you. We don’t much like change. My advice is to start with Elizabeth Morley—she’s the leader of the social pack and that woman sure does have a sweet tooth.”
So she’d bought some baskets from the grocery store and this morning she’d christened the industrial oven in the bakery with her famous (well, they’d always sold out first at Sweets ‘N Treats) blueberry muffins.
“Why, thank you,” Elizabeth Morley had said, and though her voice was sweet as honey, it didn’t disguise the sour look on her face when she scanned the contents of the basket. “So thoughtful. But we don’t really need any of those. See, I brought in my special rhubarb pie and we’ve got to be careful of the blood pressure around here.” She gestured to her half-empty pie dish.
Evelyn wasn’t sure whether or not the pie had made it to the rest of the staff at the town hall or not… there was a smudge of that red filling on the corner of Elizabeth Morley’s mouth.
Luckily, the rest of the baskets had gone over better. Mr. Wilson the grocer had welcomed her to the town, Mrs. Bascomb in the salon had offered her half off the first cut (and had laughed when Evelyn asked if she’d meant her hair or the price), Mr. and Mrs. Donato at the diner took the basket but eyed her warily, and the two baskets she gave to Dr. Wildemore made him laugh, but she hadn’t realized he was both the dentist and doctor and she’d already made them separate baskets.
You win some, you lose some.
Her last stop was the hardware store.
She grabbed her last basket from the kitchen and started to make her way across the street. But as she exited her store, a giant lumbered by. He stood well over six and a half feet. From his height, he may not have seen her even if his nose hadn’t been in the air. As it was, he almost bowled her over, and would have if she hadn’t backed quickly, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her muffins, however, didn’t make it out alive.
The basket broke as it hit the ground and the muffins tumbled out, scattering into the street.
“Hey!” she called, when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to stop and apologize. Had he not noticed, or was he that big of an asshole?
He stopped on a dime—good reflexes—and threw her a look over his shoulder. She stiffened. In the light, his eyes had looked almost… yellow? Unexplainable anxiety flared low in her stomach. He was big, and he looked mean.
“Yeah?” he snapped.
She looked down pointedly as a blueberry muffin rolled towards his shoe.
He followed her gaze, then glanced up at the new sign in the window, reading “Evelyn’s” where it had once said, “Wendy’s.” His eyes cut back to her and he scanned her body with the same vacant expression.
“Oh, sorry.” His tone was lazy and dutiful, like a sullen teenager apologizing so his mom wouldn’t yell at him for being impolite. Almost to complete the childish image, he kicked the muffin back her way.
Her blood boiled at his casual dismissal, but when he looked back up with a smarmy grin she had to check herself to keep her cool. It hadn’t just been a trick of the light. His coloring was da
rk—his skin was tan from working outside and his hair was almost black—but his eyes really were a startling, pale yellow.
It was totally unnerving.
She bit down on a rebuke. As much as she wanted to tell him off for what now seemed likely as assholery, she was a new small business owner. She needed customers, not a reputation, and everyone knew small towns liked to talk.
“Grand opening this weekend. Be sure to drop by—free muffins.”
“Yeah,” he snorted, turning to leave, “sure.”
Jerk. She shook her head at him as he continued to lumber down the street. He was handsome in a brutish kind of way with a square face and hard angles everywhere, but obviously he had a very high opinion of himself in a way that was decidedly unattractive. Also, his earring was way too much—he looked like a giant, angry pirate.
With a heavy sigh, she knelt to collect the ruined muffins and headed back inside. Blackwood Hardware would get their muffin basket, even if it meant another two hours in the kitchen and a shitty patch job on the wicker basket. As she returned to the kitchen, she wondered if this small town hardware was at all related to the massive franchise. Pottsville’s was a fraction of the normal size of the soulless chain hardware, but the sign was reminiscent with its bright green, cursive lettering.
As she lost herself in the catharsis of measuring and mixing, her mind wandered to Michael.
It was like he’d awakened something in her. And if the delicious tenderness in her thighs, back and core were any indication, she’d given as good as she’d gotten. Tenderly, she ran her fingers over the spot on her shoulder near her neck where he’d bitten her. The mark he’d left didn’t hurt, but it was a faint red—still visible. It made her feel… cherished, for some reason.
How weird was that? Most rational women would be outraged by the bite as something akin to abuse. After all, he had left a bruised mark on her otherwise unmarked skin.
But it wasn’t abuse, it was… a love bite. A passion bite? It was primal, animalistic, something he’d done in the heat of the moment because he’d been compelled to. And, if she were being honest with herself, there had been a few moments there when she’d been gripped with the desire to sink her teeth into him, too.
The oddest thing about it all was that she wasn’t ashamed of it. In fact, she felt the strangest desire to put it on display. It was ridiculous, like a teenager being proud of a hickey, but first picked out a v-neck shirt that didn’t quite cover her shoulders. Maturity had reigned, and now the crew-neck mostly covered the bite, especially if she pushed her hair over her shoulder.
As she bent to close the oven, the bell against the front door tinkled faintly. Her first customer!
“Coming!” Evelyn called, buzzing with excitement.
“Take your time,” a throaty female voice shouted back.
“Hi, welcome!” she waved at the older woman as she went around to the front of the store, wiping her hands on her pants absent-mindedly. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Marge Blackwood.”
“I was just about to stop in! I’m Evelyn Montgomery.” She extended her hand to shake.
The lady’s smile turned knowing as she gripped Evelyn’s hand with a warm, dry palm. “Nice to meet you. So you’re the girl my son requested my special lasagna for.”
“That was your… oh. Nice to meet you, too.” Evelyn felt her cheeks heat with shame. She’d slept with the man but hadn’t asked for his last name. Yet another demonstration of how little she’d thought about the decision before she’d made it. She’d never been impulsive before, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. It was uncomfortable—if she’d stepped back to think, she might have realized that sleeping with a man from a small town meant possible run-ins with his mother—but it was also somewhat freeing.
“Yes, it was mine,” she grinned. “Poor kid never could cook to save his life. He makes a decent burger, if you don’t mind them burned to a crisp.”
“I do actually like my burgers well-done.”
Marge chuckled. “Michael doesn’t.”
Evelyn joined in laughing, relieved by how much she instantly liked this woman. She was unassuming and welcoming, in spite of the somewhat awkward start. Marge wore the same simple jeans-and-tee getup that most people did, but managed to look years younger than what Evelyn supposed to be her age. In the better light of her shop, Evelyn could see that Marge’s eyes were framed with laugh lines, and there were a few wrinkles around her mouth (probably a concession to smoking), but other than that, Evelyn wouldn’t have placed the woman in front of her a day over forty. And with a fully-grown son, she knew that couldn’t be true.
There was also something in the way she moved. In fact, that was true of most of the middle-aged to elderly folks in this town. They seemed more… spry.
Something in the water…
The timer dinged, making both of them jump.
“I could smell those muffins from across the street and my mouth’s been watering the whole way over.”
Evelyn smiled widely. She was a sucker for compliments on her food. “I was actually just about to bring you a basket of hello muffins but I dropped it. Just let me give them a minute to cool and I’ll make you a new one.”
“Not to be rude, but now I’m glad you dropped ‘em; I’m getting mine fresh.”
Evelyn laughed as she popped back into the kitchen to take the trays out of the oven. “They really are best right out of the oven.”
When she returned to the front, Marge had turned her attention to the store. Evelyn puffed up with pride as she saw the older woman appraise and appreciate the changes she’d made. She’d added some flea-market artwork to the walls that she’d had for years, and an end table against the wall held a big bouquet of fresh flowers and a cupcake display she’d slaved over at six this morning in her post-coital industriousness.
“It’s really nice in here. I like the new displays and the flowers are a nice touch.”
“Thanks. Do you own the hardware store?”
“I do.”
“Just you?”
“I built the store with my husband, but he passed last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nodded in acknowledgement of the courtesy. “Franchising was his idea, and it did well enough.”
Evelyn nearly choked. Blackwood Hardware was all over the Midwest. “Is this the flagship store here?”
She nodded. “I suppose I don’t really need to keep it, since we sold the business before Charlie passed. But I like the work and I like the memories we made in the store. My son helps me out from time to time, but he’s busy in his own life. Owns a construction company, which I’m sure you know.”
Evelyn pressed her lips together. They hadn’t really gotten to talking about his work yet… “So you’ve lived here long?”
“My whole life. Born here, raised here, raised my family here, and hopefully I’ll be around to help raise the next generation here, too. That phrase ‘it takes a village’ was practically invented here.”
The comment had no overt implications about Evelyn, but she couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated. It was obvious roots ran deep in this town—in one way or another, they were all family here. It was nice, but Evelyn could imagine the added pressure.
“What about you, dear? Where are you from?”
“Oh, I’m one of those city folk. Raised just outside Madison and lived in one of those crummy one bedrooms on the south side since I graduated.”
Marge looked at her quizzically. “This is some change of scenery, then. Why Pottsville?”
“My…” Evelyn stopped herself. “Something happened in my family and I suppose it changed my perspective. I moved to be closer to my sister—she’s over in Kotestown—and it kind of felt like fate that this place came up for sale just as I was looking to move.”
“Is this your first business?”
“Yup. I’m excited, but terrified,” she admitted.
“Sounds about righ
t. Well, if you need any advice, feel free to pick this old brain. There’s probably a tip or two rattling around in there.”
“I appreciate that. My first thought was to try to get some customers in here,” she added with a sardonic smile. “I was hoping, if you liked the muffins, you might spread the word. No pressure, but now that I know you’re the Marge Blackwood, maybe you could use some of that influence…”
Marge chuckled at the transparent pandering. “Smart of you. Most of these old biddies are probably planning on boycotting on principal. We loved Wendy.”
“It’s definitely a shame that Wendy couldn’t leave on her own terms. Times do change, though, and people always need bread.” She sounded convincing, even to herself, but she honestly wasn’t so sure. She’d seen the gaggle of steely-haired women standing outside the beauty parlor, watching her through the display window. She’d waved; they’d pretended not to see.
“They’ll come around,” Marge said sagely, patting Evelyn on the shoulder.
The bell on the door tinkled again and Evelyn’s hope sprung up quickly, only to melt into a very different emotion.
Michael stood, filling the doorway, all buff and tan all over… It was like some switch was flipped in her body at the sight of him. Her muscles relaxed, though she hadn’t realized she was tensing them, and she let out a long breath, like she’d been holding it in since she saw him last. She licked her lips as a bolt of pure, raw lust shot through her, straight between her legs.
There was a faint noise and she looked up, surprised to realize that it was coming from deep in his chest. Almost like a growl. His eyes were locked on her and widened, almost in awe. As the seconds ticked by, his lower lip slowly fell, leaving his mouth agape, and she nearly started to fidget under the intensity of his stare. Tension crackled in the air, and Evelyn felt certain that something big was happening, but she didn’t understand exactly what.
His mother seemed to have an idea, though. A smile spread across her lips as she looked at Michael, then glanced over her shoulder at Evelyn. Her grin widened as she zeroed right in at the half-concealed mark on Evelyn’s neck.