Paloma, her heavily pregnant patient and neighbor, stood beside her at the long, plastic-covered table. Holding her hands to the small of her back, she noted, “Well, at least we didn’t getallcookies. Look, there’s mac and cheese! And Laura brought biscuits.”
Antonia stared at the sad spread with resignation. “It’s all desserts,” she muttered, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what happened, Paloma.”
“Well, what’d you tell people to bring?”
“I… said to bring a dish,” she answered, counting the trays of sweets again, just in case she’d hallucinated the first time.
Paloma made a knowing sound. “Is thatallyou said?”
Glancing at her patient who’d quickly become a friend, she replied, “Yes? Why?”
“Ah.” Paloma laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a good, pitying pat. “You made a rookie mistake. See, if you don’t tell people explicitly that they need to bring an entree, everyone chooses store-bought dessert. It’s potluck 101, Antonia.”
“What? Sincewhen?—”
“Where’s all the meat?” A playful, lightly accented voice came from behind her.
By the time Antonia had turned to see Artem, the dragon had already swooped in on his mate. His long tail wrapped around Paloma’s heavy belly with a possessive stroke as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re early!” Paloma exclaimed, half-turning to grin up at her mate. “I thought your meeting?—”
Artem, dressed in a fine suit of navy velvet with gold trim, stroked his mate’s cheek with the back of a claw. “Not even elves can say no to wrapping up early when I explain I have a pregnant mate waiting for me,” he rumbled.
“That’s nice,” Antonia butted in, “but did you happen to bring an entree with you?”
Artem glanced between her and Paloma, his horned brow furrowed with confusion. “No, Healer Belton. My mate said she was bringing brownies.”
Throwing up her hands, Antonia groaned,“Everyonebrought brownies! Or cookies! Orlemon bars!”
The hair rose on the back of her neck a moment before a low, amused voice murmured in her ear, “Then it’s a good thing I decided on ham, then.”
A full-body flush rolled through her, entirely involuntary and unwanted, as she whirled around to find a golden-haired shifter hovering behind her.
Jack gave her a slow smile. Dressed in a leather jacket with his hair perfectly wind-swept, he carried a massive covered platter in his gloved hands.
Her heart leapt, and if she pretended it was because he’d probably rescued the potluck, then that was fine.
“You brought ham?” she gasped, already reaching for the platter.
Jack swung it up and out of her reach effortlessly, showing off that notorious shifter strength. “Careful, Healer. It’s hot!”
“Well, put it on the table,” she ordered, already turning to move the many plates of sweets out of the way. “Come on, before anyone sees!”
Laughing, the shifter leaned around her — a little too close — to set the platter down with a theatrical flourish. “What happened?” he teased. “You didn’t let everyone decide for themselves what they’d bring, did you?”
Exasperated, she hissed, “How was I supposed to know everyone would bring sweets?”
“Coulda asked me for help,” he whispered, that charming half-smile still on his lips.
Antonia sniffed. “Really? Because last time I checked, you don’t answer my calls.”
His smile dimmed, but Jack was no less handsome when he was serious. In her experience, shifters were always magnetic. It had something to do with the raw energy they possessed. Even when they were the worst people you’d ever met, they were hard to look away from.
And Jack was hardly the worst person she’d ever met. He just happened to be entirely full of himself.
“That’s business,” he argued. “Now, if you want to talk about personal things…”
“A potluck isn’tpersonal.”
