“You’re good at reading people,” I tell her. “Feel them out and only share what you’re comfortable with, okay?”
She sighs and nuzzles her head a little deeper into my chest. “Okay.”
My eyes sting at the memory of her doing this as a wrinkly baby when she was hungry, then as a toddler when she needed comfort. I know there will come a day when she no longer needs these kinds of hugs, and I’m desperate for that day to be decades from now. My sweet, perfect pumpkin.
She releases me and spins toward the freezer, grabbing two ice cream sandwiches and dropping one in my palm before heading back to her room.
I take mine back to the couch and resume my scrolling. As the first bite settles on my tongue, my phone buzzes.
Dominic the Beefcake: I’ll get to meet the famous Jules? What’s her favorite kind of soda? Or does she drink juice? I’ll make sure we have some.
Why is he so excited to meet a kid he’s only heard maybe three sentences about? And eager to ensure she has her favorite drinks, as if we’d spend the majority of our time at the bar. It’s as odd as it is endearing.
No need. She just reminded me she has a two-day sleepover planned with her cousin that weekend. I’ll be flying solo this time.
Dominic the Beefcake: That’s too bad. Some other time, maybe. I’ll let Vyla know how soon you’ll be back. She’ll be thrilled.
And because I can’t resist the urge to flirt a little…
Only Vyla will be thrilled? No one else?
Dominic the Beefcake: Maybe others are thrilled, too. But maybe those others are trying to play it cool because they don’t want their excitement to freak you out.
I chuckle as the blood rushes to my cheeks and moves down my neck. As much as I loathe dating, flirting is what makes it fun. I suppose I’ve missed that part of it.
Acting “cool” is not hotter than being openly smitten, just FYI.
The dots appear and disappear a few times, making me question not only my last text, but also every decision I’ve ever made. My anxiety doesn’t ease as the minutes pass, so I put my phone beneath a pillow and turn up the volume onGilmore Girls.Lorelei is just getting into a heated argument with Emily when I feel the buzz of his reply.
Dominic the Beefcake: Then consider me a smitten kitten.
Beneath the message is a selfie of him with his elbows on the bar and his large hands beneath his chin. He’s added heart emojis over each of his light blue eyes and illustrated cat ears atop his head.
This man is officially a menace, and I fear I might not hate him as much as I wanted to.
Chapter 5
DOMINIC
“You lost, Riz. Fair and square.” Vyla holds out her hand with her palm facing up toward Rizlan when I emerge from the stockroom with a fresh jar of olives. It’s quiet for a Sunday night, though the forecast said we’re supposed to get a few inches of snow before morning, so perhaps people of the town have chosen to hunker down in their homes. Seems unlikely, considering how many residents could simply shift and fly here.
Rizlan shakes his head at Vyla. “Bullshit. We only heard three slurps. There was never a fourth.”
“What’s this bet about?” I ask Natalie, who’s smirking at her coworkers while mixing a Fuzzy Doug mocktail for Tilda, an elder werewolf and Mapletown’s only cab driver.
“Dead Fang Debbie just left,” she explains. “Vyla bet Riz they’d hear her slurp her pint of AB negative four times before the glass was empty. Riz bet on three. Now they’re arguing about what counts as a slurp.”
“Come on. That last sip.” She turns toward Natalie. “You heard it too, right? That was the fourth.”
Natalie holds up her hands in surrender, saying nothing.
“That was a gulp, not a slurp,” Riz clarifies.
Vyla slaps her palm on the bar. “Are you kidding me right now? Why even make the bet when you’re just going to weasel out of it? Her dead fang has a big-ass hole. That’s why she’s always slurping. It’s audible. There’s no mistaking that sound for anything else.”
As with most of their spats, I let their voices fade into the background, knowing they’ll either work it out or start throwing drink garnishes at each other until they get tired. That’s usually how it goes. They always clean up after themselves, at least.
“Are you excited for Lindsay’s visit?” I ask Natalie after she delivers Tilda’s drink.
