Not needing him to finish the sentence, Seamus nodded emphatically. “A-yup.”
A squeal of laughter from the dining room drew their gazes to Penny, who Clark had hoisted up by her underarms. “I’m not a baby!” she cried, cackling madly. “You can’t put me at the kid’s table anymore!”
“You’re barely old enough to drink,” Clark replied.
“So? How dare you?—”
“And you’re my baby sister for all eternity.Andyou just tried to take my spot next tomymate, so you’re officially banished to the kid’s table!”
Nelly, who casually continued to place silverware around the table with her gloved hands, calmly interjected, “Penny, I don’t have any brothers, so I don’t know if this is normal behavior. Please blink twice if you need me to intervene. I can also deliver retribution on your behalf later. Just give me the signal. I know where he sleeps.”
“Sugar!” Clark exclaimed, giving his mate his patented puppy dog eyes. Setting his still giggling sister aside, he asked, “How could you?—”
Arching her brows, she gave her mate a look Harrison had seen his mother aim his father’s way many, many times.“Easily.”
“But I thought you loved?—”
Wiggling a shiny spoon in front of her mate’s nose, she drawled, “How quickly you forget eating the last cinnamon roll, Mr. Ortega. Would that I could forget just as easily!”
Seamus let loose a whistle. “Taking food outta your own mate’s mouth? Damn, boy, I thought we brought you up better.” Leaning forward in his seat with a big, shit-eating grin that showed off his large lower fangs, he added, “Wanna switch Wilsons, Nelly? I’d never betray you that way.”
Clark threw up his hands. “Hey! Stop trying to steal my mate!”
“As much as it pains me, I think I’m stuck with the one I’ve got.” Nelly finished setting the silverware down and sidled up beside Clark, who slung a muscular arm over her thin shoulders without a second of hesitation. In a coordinated movement that appeared seamless, she tilted her head back as he stooped. They shared a smiling kiss, like they were passing a secret between them — or perhaps like they’d already shared all their secrets.
Harrison wasn’t all that comfortable welcoming strangers into the clan, butthat…Yeah, he could see the appeal of something like that.
Pineridge Potluck
Antonia wasn’t entirelycertain how she’d been roped into organizing Pineridge’s annual Moonset potluck, but it was definitely her sister’s fault.
She liked to think that as an experienced healer, she wasn’t easy to ruffle. After all, she’d cut her teeth in the emergency ward of the largest hospital in the Shifter Alliance. Hardly a moment went by without some life-or-death emergency she was required to handle promptly and with the stoic professionalism her kind were known for.
Compared to bloody forty-eight hour shifts and sedated wolves trying to take a bite out of her backside, her new practice in Pineridge was comically easy.
Or itwasuntil her sister volunteered them for potluck duty.
“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry before you forgive me? You know how I get flustered when people start asking me for things! And I forgot I promised to bring Isabel to her dad’s parents’ this year. I swear it wasn’t intentional,” Dara sighed. She had to speak loudly into the phone’s speaker to be heard over the music of her daughter’s favorite new boy band.
Grimacing at the yellowed piece of paper in her hand, Antonia replied, “I don’t know. How many people are in this phone tree? Let me count.”
“Phone tree? What is this, this 1950’s? Has no one in Pineridge heard of a groupchat?”
Getting up to make herself something hot to drink, she snarked, “Maybe you should ask the town council — you know, since you’re such good friends with them.”
“Annie, this is a great opportunity for you,” Dara needled. “You want to get to know the community, the community wants to get to know you…”
She snorted as she set the kettle on the cooker. “Wow, thank you for the amazing opportunity.”
Ignoring her sister’s sarcastic tone, Dara replied, “You’resowelcome. Okay, we’re pulling up now. Good luck!”
“Dara—”
Antonia pulled the phone away from her ear with a groan. Watching the steam begin to rise from the kettle’s spout, she drummed her nails on the counter and tried to think of a plan.
“It’s just a potluck,” she muttered. “I’ve done surgery before. How hard can it be?”
Two weeks and approximately a hundred phone calls later, Antonia discovered that organizing a community potluck could, in fact, be harder than surgery.
