I’ve spent a lot of years imagining what I’d say to my fated mate when I finally found her, but I expected her to be a wulver like me! Now I have to break the news to a human. Does she know anything about wulver mating? Has she evenseena knot before?
Part of me hopes she has…and the other part isveryhopeful that she hasn’t. I want to be her first. I want to be her everything.
I debate the drink order for a minute. It’s October first, and that means it’s technically hot-drink season, but this afternoon is sunny and could pass for summer. I decide Julia would probably like something refreshing after a long workday, so I order us both iced lattes with a fifteen-minute delay and find a table tucked in a private corner to wait for her.
To pass the time, I flip through the baby books she recommended. They’re incredible. They don’t have any text, but the stories are told through these black-and-white woodcuts. They’re bold and graphic at first glance but incredibly detailed the more you look at them. I’m not familiar with the Korean folktales they depict, but I can follow them easily via the artwork and get totally sucked into the stories, so much so that I don’t notice Julia come in until she walks up to my table.
“What do you think?”
I look up, and she’s standing in front of me, one hand clutched around the shoulder strap of her purse. Her apron and nametag are gone, so I can see the loose, pumpkin-colored top that skims her shape. Her cheeks are just as pink as they were in the bookstore, like a ripe peach.
Juicy, lickable, bitable… I really have to stop this train of thought.
“I love them. You nailed it,” I say honestly, scrambling to my feet so I can pull out a chair for her. “I already ordered us some drinks. Lattes. Hope that’s okay.”
“That’s so nice of you.” She takes a seat shyly, looping her bag over the back of the chair. “I know they’re not exactly bedtime story material, but they’ll love them. My girls did when they were babies.”
She has kids. More than one kid. With someone else. Damn.
Okay, so she had children already. That’s fine. That’s not too unexpected given that neither of us are exactly young. I can stepdad with the best of them. And she’s still ripe. I can smell how fucking lush and fertile she is across the table.
I realize she’s staring at me, and I haven’t said anything. Thankfully, I’m saved by the barista who shows up with our drinks.
Julia grabs the sugar bowl and puts a couple heaping spoonfuls in her latte, the ice in the tall glass chiming musically as she stirs it in. My mate likes her coffee sweet.
“Want some?” she asks, pushing the bowl toward me.
“Ah, no thanks. Wulvers don’t have big sweet tooths.”
Her eyebrows jump above the rims of her glasses. “Wulver…that’s what you are? Sorry if that’s a rude question, but I was wondering.”
I chuckle at her over the rim of my cup. “Let me guess. You thought maybe Vulpine. We get that a lot because of the ginger thing. Not all wulvers are gingers, but my brothers and I take after our dad. You can tell the difference by the tip of our tails. Vulpines have a white tuft. We don’t.”
“Yeah, I thought maybe fox or werewolf,” she admits. “There’s a full moon tonight.”
“Werewolf?!” I guffaw. “You shouldn’t let a changed werewolf take you on a coffee date. That’s not safe.”
Her face falls.Shit.What did I say?
“Date?” she asks hesitantly, eyes darting to the baby books spread out across the tabletop. “I thought…”
I’m fumbling this so hard. “No. Right. It was a figure of speech. I didn’t mean—”
“Of course not,” she cuts in quickly, her cheeks reddening even further. “You wouldn’t want that with someone like me. I was just caught off guard by the phrasing, sorry. So, um, bedtime books for Uncle Ian.”
I frown as she rattles off some book suggestions. What does she mean,I wouldn’t want a date with someone like her?
“You can probably get most of them at the library. It’s a little sacrilegious to say that since I work in a bookstore, but you never know what kids are going to like. So my recommendation is to check them out from the library first, and then buy their favorites after you’ve read them together.”
“Good advice, thanks.” I sip my drink, trying to work up the courage to break the whole we’re-fated-mates news. Why am I being such a coward?
“Do you want me to write down the titles?” she asks, already rummaging in her bag for a pen.
That’s when I have a stroke of genius. “Why don’t you text them to me? That way I won’t lose them.”
“Oh. Sure. That’s smart.” She hands me her phone, and I put in my number, full name, address, and birth date in her contacts. I snap a selfie and add it to the profile before giving the phone back. She’s cracking up, her bubbly giggle fizzing through me.
“What?” I give her my most innocent look. “I don’t want you to forget who I am.”
