by Desiree Holt
Heck, of course I’d a date here or there in the past. I was latent, not dead. But in the world of a shifter, being latent means one thing: you’re a booty call. No one wanted a broken shifter, no matter how powerful her family was, and my family was powerful. I was the eldest child of the pack alpha.
When I first started dating as a teen, I thought it was no big deal. My dad was the freaking alpha, after all. I might not have been able to shift yet, but I came with a name and prestige, something most shifters in my pack coveted. It turned out I was dead wrong, and I was just “getting laid” material and nothing more. After college, I gave up my attempts at finding a mate, my latency official since wolves shift before twenty-one or not at all.
Now here I was, pushing thirty and dipping my toes into the dating pool. I wasn’t looking for a mate. That ship had sailed, but I hoped that just maybe I might find myself a nice human to marry and have human babies. On the fluky chance our children were shifters, well that was a road I’d cross when I got to it since the whole dating, marriage, and babies needed to come first.
Looking up at the monitor, I answered the first question. It was an easy one: my favorite color. I typed “blue” and continued. The questions were odd and in no particular order from what I could tell, from favorite animal to years of education, adding what book you would take to a deserted island and then to my age. It was the most bizarre array of questions, missing the things I thought would matter. For instance, nowhere did it ask if I was looking for marriage or just someone to have fun with. If I hadn’t read the testimonials, I wouldn’t have believed Ms. Maggie had matched anyone successfully based on the criteria she was using, but she was the “Matchmaker Extraordinaire.” I was going to give her crazy methods a go.
Bzzzzzzzzzzz.
I gave up and grabbed my phone. Sure enough it was Camille. Every message on my screen said: How about now? I scrolled up to the first message of the day and had to laugh. Her insistent tirade began with: Did ya do it yet?
I hit the call button, and it hadn’t even rung before she picked up.
“I knew you’d cave.” I always did. There was something about my friend Camille that always made me bend to her crazy ideas. Internet dating was, unbelievably enough, not her craziest.
“I filled it out, yes.” I scrolled to the top of the questions on my computer.
“You didn’t hit submit though, did you, Ruby?” Her singsong tone told me she already knew the answer.
“No. But to be fair I wanted to ask you your opinion on my answers.” I grabbed my iced tea and drank the weak remains, the ice long melted.
“Why would you want that?” I heard her car engine start. Dimes to dollars, she was on her way to my apartment.
“Ummm, so I don’t get a serial killing freak.” I walked the empty cup to the sink and grabbed my wallet, knowing I would need my credit card to submit my final answers. “And where are you going?”
“Out, and it’s not the topic at hand.” She was so on her way to my tiny apartment to make sure I followed through on the final step. It was almost as adorable as it was frustrating to have a friend as stubborn as Camille. She would’ve made a great wolf. Not that she even knew of our existence. It was a lie by omission I hated to repeatedly make with her, but the rules were clear: the only humans who could know about us were our mates. While she was my best friend, she was far from my mate.
“If I help write your answers, you’d get matched with someone who wants me instead of someone who wants you with all your glorious curves.”
Leave it to Camille to bring up my insecurity over my weight while trying to give me confidence. She wants my curves, as she politely refers to my rolls, and I would kill to be able to buy my clothes in the regular sized clothing department like she did. But that just wasn’t how we were made. Five years ago it used to bug us both. With time and the deepening of our friendship, we became more confident in ourselves. Not perfect, but better to be sure.
“You’re pretty fabulous and would attract all the men,” I teased her, but it was true. She’s fabulous and smart, with a career most would envy. She was a catch and a half. Not that I was less of a catch, at least in human terms.
“Not the point.” I ignored her reply and scrolled to the first question I was unsure of.
“So you don’t want to hear my responses?” Sitting back at my desk, I was ready-ish to share my less than deep responses. If they had asked crazy things like fantasies and sexual experience, I would’ve been nervous beyond belief, but the questions were benign enough I was pretty confident I didn’t sound like a complete loser. Not that Camille would judge me half as much as I judged myself.
Thankfully, they didn’t ask any questions about my past relationships or experiences. Camille didn’t know about my past with boys—they weren’t men if they were willing to treat me that way—and I hoped to keep it that way. If she had, I’m sure she would have understood my apprehension. It was yet another lie by omission. There was no way I wanted her to know I had been treated that way—that I allowed myself to be treated that way.
“Of course I do, woman. I’m just not giving you any pointers.”
I laughed and began to read all of my responses. She already knew I had three sibling and liked the color blue, but she insisted in hearing them all in order, as if it would give her some fabulous insight. In the end, she agreed with me, the questions made pretty much no logical sense. Goodness, they never even asked anything about looks, and while we all know it’s what’s on the inside that matters, I preferred to know ahead of time if I was meeting someone six-foot-six-inches tall with purple hair. I’d still go, but I’d sport my heels and practice my game face.
“Remind me again why I’m doing this if you aren’t willing to do the same?” I asked as she slammed her car door. I immediately went to and opened my apartment door, knowing she’d be knocking at any moment.
“I will when the time is right.” She walked up with a smirk on her face and a bag of take-away in her hands. Best. Friend. Ever.
“Meaning?” I snagged the bag from her and plopped it on the counter as she followed.
“Meaning …” She grabbed two plates from my cabinet as I unpacked what I discovered to be Chinese, giving her time to answer. When she paused it was usually something good, so I had learned not to rush her. “I have a date on Saturday with a dentist, and I don’t want to jinx it by planning past him before we even get to dessert.”
I was so happy for her. It had taken a lot for her to agree to even think about a date after her last assmunch of a boyfriend. Actually having one was huge.
We spent dinner laughing as she regaled me with the story of how she met Christopher after he stepped in a mess left by her sweet and very naughty poodle, Snookie Pie. Somehow, poop on his fancy loafers had led to a dinner date at the new steak house across town. Camille’s past was filled with an array of bad boys, so I was pretty impressed she said yes to a guy she described as a nice nerd. In any case, it was the perfect distraction after spending far too long hemming and hawing over my answers.
I brought the now very empty plates to the dishwasher just as my phone began to ring. Normally, I’d ignore it since the only person I talked to on the phone was in the room. But it was my night on call at work. If it was them, I’d be written up for hitting the ignore button. Not that there would be any true emergency. I wasn’t a nurse or anything important. I was a waitress, and when I was called, it was because they were unexpectedly crowded or someone quit—usually the later. People either stayed forever or didn’t make it a month. I was of the stay forever variety.
I wasn’t even sure why I kept the job. Sure, it paid well and got me out of the house once or twice a week, but I’d had plenty of graphic design work ever since my business had started to really take off. My mom said I kept it because my wolf needed to be around people. What she really meant was that my job functioned as a surrogate pack and she wanted me to come home. She might have had a point, but I was so not going back.
There was nothing for me there.
“Answer it already.” Camille pulled me from my thoughts as the phone kept ringing. Why hadn’t it gone to voice mail? It should have gone after four rings. Darn thing never seemed to work right. At least this time it was for my benefit.
“Hello?” I answered without looking. It was a rookie mistake and I was taken aback by the voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello, Ruby?” I nodded as if the woman could see me. She sounded as if she were in her twilight years, her voice warbling just the tiniest of bits. “This is Ms. Maggie, and I have great news for you.”
“Okay?” I wasn’t sure what else to say. The only Ms. Maggie I knew of was from the dating service, and I hadn’t even submitted my responses yet.
“I just got your assessment, and I have the perfect match for you. Can you meet me in my office for an in-person interview tomorrow at three so we can formalize things? Protocol, you understand.”
No, I did not understand. Not at all.
“Ummm, I didn’t send …” A kick on my shin followed by Camille mouthing an apology had me seeing clearly. My friend had decided to meddle, which was no shocker, but a bit of a warning would have been nice to prevent me from stumbling on the phone like an idiot. “Yes, that would work, I guess. Will you be taking pictures and such?”
“Goodness no. Whatever for?” She sounded legitimately taken aback by my question. “I told you I already have the perfect match. I just need to meet you in person because my business model is all about the personal connection, and I can’t advertise what I don’t plan on delivering.”
“Won’t he want to see my picture?” The last thing I wanted was to meet my date and endure him reacting all jerk-like because he didn’t know he was getting a curvy girl. With my luck, I would end up with one of those people who fat-shamed their blind dates on social media after the fact. I so didn’t want to invite trouble where it wasn’t needed.
“That’s not the kind of service I run.” The confusion I heard only moments ago was gone and she sounded miffed. “If it were, it would be all about superficial hook-ups, and that is not what you are looking for if you come to me. People can do that all on their own using one of a hundred free apps out there.”
“I’m glad you are not that kind of service.” I was kissing her ass, but it was true. Trying those apps would have gotten me the same place dating in my pack had gotten me—booty call to nowhere. “I’ll be there.”
“Excellent. And bring your appetite. I’m making cookies.”
I hung up before I could either chuckle at the cookie comment or back out. In my core, I tend to be a chicken head when it comes to interpersonal risks. I walked the worst neighborhoods at night with no fear, but things like this terrified me.
“So what’d she say?” Camille gave me a wink. She’d heard it all and wanted me to squirm as I retold the tale. It so wasn’t going to work tonight.
“She told me I have a nosy friend who’s going to help me pick out my interview outfit for tomorrow and let me repay her for the cost of the enrollment.”
“Dressing you I can do. Paying me back isn’t even a thing. It was free.” She grabbed my hand and started me in the direction of my small bedroom.
“By free you mean bring my checkbook tomorrow?” As I reached the closet and pulled the door open, I was reminded as how meager my “nice clothes” section was. Looking at the items before me, it would be a short dress-up time. I worked at home in my pj’s or at the bar in uniform, so I needed very little actual clothing.
“No, it said you qualified for free … something about … oh, I don’t remember.” She started yanking things from my closet and throwing them on the bed. It looked like playing dress-up might actually take a while since she pulled out pretty much everything I owned. Most of the dresses still had tags, waiting for an event to wear them to.
Dressing up might be fun.
“Let’s not worry about it and get your clothes all picked out for your interview instead.”
Wait, Did I Sign Up for the Gingerbread Man?
I stood outside the front door of 225 Miller Lane wondering how I possibly got the address so very wrong. It wasn’t a part of the city I normally ventured, and while the address matched the paper in my hand, the Grand Opening sign told a different story. Instead of the small office I expected for a matchmaker, I had somehow managed to stumble upon a bakery, one that smelled amazingly decadent.
Pulling out my phone, I called Ms. Maggie with the hope of rescheduling and finding out how I went so terribly wrong. It took me a long time to muster the courage to go this route, and once I decided something, I was ready—well, ready-ish anyway. I was going to find myself a nice human husband. A husband who would never have to notice just how broken I was.
“Hello, Grammy’s Bakery. Maggie speaking. How may I help you?” It was the same name and voice from the night before.
“Ms. Maggie?”
“Sweet child, I was getting worried about you. Are you lost?”
I held in a chuckle. This matchmaker extraordinaire didn’t stop to think that clients might be confused showing up at a bakery.
“No, I thought I was though because I’m standing right outside a bakery, and I assumed I was looking for an office.” The door gave a little ring as someone came out, holding a cake box. I skootched out of their way, mumbling an apology as I did so.
“I told you I was baking cookies.” She did, and I ventured to guess that I wasn’t the only one who would assume that meant in her kitchen … at home. “Now, come on in.”
The bakery was small with only a few tables for people to enjoy their goodies. The display case had a few pies, a couple of cakes, and a whole lot of cookies. I wondered if baking was Maggie’s true love more than a business plan, because even if they sold out of the current baked goods, I doubted if it would be enough to pay the rent.
“May I help you?” a young woman with teal hair asked from behind the counter, her smile contagious.
“I have an appointment with Ms. Maggie.”
“You’re so lucky. I want one, but she keeps telling me now is not the time, and I need to be patient.” The woman began making a plate of assorted cookies without removing her eyes from mine.
“So, umm, where should I go?”
“Sorry, I should have mentioned that.” She put the plate onto a tray and folded a cookie box before she seemed to catch the fact that she still hadn’t answered me. I couldn’t tell if she was ditzy or just had a ton to do. “You’ll just go through the door to the left, but be careful.” She shook her head with a slight smile on her face. “It swings both ways and Aunt Maggie doesn’t think to look before she pushes it open. You would have thought she would have learned after the pizza fiasco.” She let out a small chuckle before going back to the cookies she was boxing, the memory apparently amusing her.
“You make pizza too?” I looked around looking for evidence of yummy, cheesy goodness with no success.
“Oh goodness no.” She rolled her eyes, but it didn’t feel like she was rolling them at me. “We closed Maggie’s Pizza two businesses ago. We only have sweets now.” She swooshed her hand to the left, indicating the case of sticky sweets before tying up the box of cookies she just made and starting a new one.
“Two businesses ago?” Surely I had heard her wrong. Who starts business after business, especially when they already had, what by all accounts, was a thriving matchmaking business?
“Yeah, my aunt’s a free spirit, shall we say.” She placed the now half-filled box on the counter and pointed to a different finger as she listed off the places it had been. “This place has been a pizza parlor, a bookstore, a bead store, an art gallery, a brew pub … honestly, it hurts my head trying to remember them all. I keep trying to tell her to slow down. She promises she will when she’s gone.” She shrugged and let out an exasperated sigh as she picked up the box of cookies once again.
I felt awkward, getting in the way of her getting her work done, yet my fe
et were stuck in place. It was about to get real. I was going to leave here with a date, a date that meant I had officially moved on and was no longer going to dwell on my faults. A date that meant I was going to find my happily ever after even if it wasn’t with a true mate or, for that matter, a shifter. This date meant I was going to embrace the cards that had been dealt to me instead of living in sorrow over it. Who knew? Maybe I would be truly happy with a marriage instead of a mating bond. However it ended up, it would be better than collecting cats and housecoats.
“Did you work at any of the other businesses?” I knew I should let the poor woman, who I had yet to even learn the name of, work, but my feet were still glued. Only a few more minutes and I would put on my big girl panties. At least that was what I was trying to convince myself. I was firm in my decision. It was so unlike me to get stuck like this once the choice had been made, yet here I was.
“All of them, except the matchmaking.” She whispered the last word as if sensing my indecision in that moment. “That has always been her baby. Here, take these with you or else I’ll hear it all night.” She pushed the tray with the plate of cookies at me just as the bell over the door rang.
“Thanks.” I walked toward the door she had indicated earlier as a group of high school aged kids walked in and started ordering mass quantities of cookies. The door opened again before I even made it to the swinging door. Taking a deep breath, I took the final step and walked into the kitchen.
“Ruby dear, did Melanie talk your ear off?”
I was pretty sure the woman before me had been snagged from a nineteen-fifties sitcom. She was in a dress with a frilly apron over the front and was covered in flour. And when I say covered, I mean covered. It was all I could do to hold in a chuckle.
“Melanie?” I knew Melanie had to be the woman with the teal hair, but I needed a moment to compose myself. Laughter tended to come out of nervousness with me, and the last thing I needed was to make Maggie think I was laughing at her, even if the scene before me was a bit comical. If it had been any other situation, I doubt I would have done more than give her a passing glance.