She turned to find a huge redheaded werewolf sliding onto the barstool beside her. He was all lean muscle and easy charm, with amber eyes that glinted with mischief and a smile that probably made hearts flutter across three counties despite the flash of fangs.
“Adrian,” he said, extending a hand. “And you must be Sara.”
“Guilty.”
His fingers were warm as they wrapped around hers, holding on just a beat too long. “I’ve heard so much about you. My nephew Peter can’t stop talking about the pretty new teacher with the magic brownies.”
“They’re not magic. Just chocolate and butter.”
“Same thing, in my experience.” He leaned closer, close enough that she caught his musky scent.
“Adrian,” Varek said, a note of warning in his gravelly voice.
“I’m just being friendly.”
“You’re being a nuisance.”
Adrian flashed that charming smile again. “Can’t I be both?”
She laughed despite herself. There was nothing serious in Adrian’s flirtation, nothing that made her stomach flutter or her palms sweat. He was handsome, certainly, and charming in an obvious sort of way. But when she thought about a velvet voice in the moonlight and strong arms shoveling snow, he didn’t even come close.
I’m in so much trouble.
“So tell me,” Adrian said, propping his chin on his hand and giving her his full attention, “what brings a lovely little female like you to our little corner of nowhere?”
“Fresh start. New job. The usual.”
“The usual is boring. Give me the good stuff.”
“Maybe I’m hiding from the law.”
“Are you?”
“No.” She grinned. “But wouldn’t it be more interesting if I was?”
Adrian threw back his head and laughed—a genuine, delighted sound that drew looks from nearby tables. “I like you. You should come around more often. God knows we need someone who can keep up.”
“She doesn’t need to keep up with anything.” The voice came from behind them, low and rough and achingly familiar. “And she’s had too much to drink.”
She spun on her barstool, her heart doing an absolutely ridiculous flip in her chest.
Ben stood just outside the kitchen doors, still wearing his apron, his arms crossed over a chest so broad it looked like it couldbench press her car. His blue eyes were fixed on Adrian with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly charged.
“I’ve only had three drinks,” she said. “That’s not too much.”
“Four.” His gaze flicked to her, and something electric shot down her spine. “The bartender’s been keeping track.”
“Since when is that any of your business?”
“Since you’re sitting here letting this idiot—” he jerked his chin towards Adrian, who was watching the exchange with obvious glee, “—flirt with you in public.”
“Last I checked, flirting wasn’t illegal.”
“It should be when you’re in no condition to handle the consequences.”
She slid off her barstool, the room tilting only slightly, and glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of handling anything that comes my way. I’m a kindergarten teacher. I wrangle five-year-old’s for a living.”
“Five-year-old’s don’t have fangs.”
