She laughs. “Maybe I should have gotten a job there instead. Would have saved us both a lot of trouble.”
I reach over and take her hand, bringing it to my lips. “I found you exactly where you were supposed to be.”
I pull into the parking lot of Cozy Corner Furnishings, a big brick building with wide windows displaying living room sets and bedroom furniture. Imani’s eyes go straight to the front window, searching, and I know she’s looking for the green chair.
“It’s still there,” she breathes. “I was worried someone else would buy it.”
“It was waiting for you.”
We get out of the truck, and I take her hand as we walk toward the entrance. The automatic doors slide open, and we step inside.
The store is warm, smelling of wood polish and new fabric. Furniture is arranged in little staged rooms throughout the space. Living rooms, bedrooms, dining areas, nurseries. Everything a person could need to build a home.
A sales associate spots us immediately. She’s young, maybe mid-twenties, with a bright smile that falters the second she gets a good look at me.
I see her recognition. The way her eyes widen, the way she takes a small step back. She knows who I am. Everyone in this town knows who I am.
She turns to whisper something to her coworker, a middle-aged man stacking pillows nearby. He looks up, sees me, and his face goes pale.
“Is that him?” I hear the woman hiss. “The grumpy bear shifter?”
“Just stay calm,” the man whispers back. “Don’t make eye contact. Maybe he’ll leave.”
“I heard he tore up his own cabin once. Ripped the door right off the hinges.”
“I heard he threw a couch through a window.”
“Should we call the manager?”
Imani clutches my hand. Through the bond, I feel her irritation rising, sharp and hot.
She drops my hand and strides toward the two employees, who freeze like deer caught in headlights.
“Excuse me,” she says, her voice pleasant but firm. “Are you going to help us, or should I take my money somewhere else?”
The woman blinks rapidly. “I... we... of course we can help you, ma’am. We just...”
“You just what?” Imani crosses her arms. “Were too busy gossiping to do your jobs?”
“No, ma’am, it’s just...” The woman’s eyes shift to me nervously. “We’ve heard stories about...”
“About my mate?” Imani’s voice goes cool. “Let me tell you something about the man you’re so scared of. He carried my car through a blizzard to get it fixed. He cooks me breakfast every morning even though he burns the eggs half the time. He held me while I cried about my past and didn’t ask for anything in return.” She steps closer to them, and both employees lean back. “He’s the kindest, most loyal, most protective man I’ve ever known. And if you can’t treat him with basic respect, we’ll be happy to spend our money elsewhere. I’m sure the furniture store in the next town over would appreciate our business.”
The employees exchange panicked looks.
“That won’t be necessary,” the man says quickly. “We apologize. Please, let us help you. Whatever you need.”
The woman nods vigorously. “Yes, absolutely. We have a wonderful selection. Can I show you anything specific?”
Imani glances back at me, and I’m still standing there like an idiot, frozen in place by what just happened.
No one has ever defended me before.
Not like that. Not with that kind of fire in their eyes, thatkind of certainty. I’m the one everyone in town gossips about. The shifter no one can stand. The grumpy asshole who drives people away.
But Imani just looked two strangers in the eye and told them I was kind. Loyal. Protective.
She believes it. There’s no doubt, no hesitation. She actually believes I’m a good man.
