“Same! I’m already working on new dessert recipes for the harvest dinner.”
They spent the next hour discussing side dishes, and Cameron reopened his laptop to make some adjustments to his plan. He didn’t bake for himself often, as he didn't see the point when he was just one person, but he loved baking with his family. Cooking, however, he never liked.
As the night wore on, Cameron dug deep into his saved recipes folder, and Shay began reading him horrible first-liners she’d received on the dating app. After a horrid opener from Phil and before Shay could read the “truly awful” one from Charles, Cameron allowed his thoughts to drift. He let himself imagine one day bringing a mate home for Fall Harvest. He wondered if they’d appreciate his cooking or enjoy Shay’s stories. Maybe they’d help Cameron finally nail down the perfect song to go along with his parents’ mating dance. For a non-seahorse shifter, the beat was hard to keep up with, and he’d been looking for over two decades for a song to match it with.
For all his pessimism, Cameron had long nurtured a tiny kernel of hope that his life would turn out as happy as it had for his parents.
After they hung up, Cameron started getting ready for bed, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes when Shay sent him a link to set up a profile for some new dating app.
After the holidays, he told himself. He would think about this after the holidays.
Chapter Two
Emory
“Yes, Mother, I saw the invite to the party next week, but?—”
“So you’ll be going,” his mother said, using her most regal tone, intimidating even across a phone line.
Emory sighed. “No, I am not planning on going, just like I have not gone to any of the other ones.”
“And is that because you’ve decided you are in fact not taking a mate? Your father would be devastated to know that you’re past thirty and still unmated.”
Emory flicked his mouse to wake up his computer screen, hoping an urgent matter he absolutelymustattend to had come up in the past five minutes. Sadly, it had not.
“No, it’s not that I don’t want a mate, and yes, I know that you and Father wanted to see me married and with cubs by thirty, but you also wanted me to take over the company.”
The line was silent for a moment before his mom’s voice came back on, this time a little softer. “I know it hasn’t been easy on you, dear. You’ve done an impeccable job. Truly, the projections for the next several quarters are outstanding.”
Emory tried to soften his tone to match hers. “Thank you for saying so, and you’re right, the numbers are looking good?—”
“It’s just that,” she interrupted, her voice smooth as glass, “you’re not getting any younger, are you?”
Emory swiveled his chair around to face the giant, ornate bookshelf that sat behind his desk. “Yes,mother, Iknow, but I do not think that thirty-two is an age to panic over—especially since I’m not thirty-two for another four days. Could we at least wait until then?”
A very dignified-soundingharumphwas all the answer he got.
“Once I’m thirty-two, I will at least consider going to a fated mate party. Is that sufficient?”
His mother sighed, still dignified but at least a little closer to the mother he knew and loved rather than the matriarch of the family he had to deal with on a near-daily basis. “I just want what’s best for you and the family, love. That’s all your father and I ever wanted.”
Emory tipped his head back against the soft leather of his desk chair, allowing his eyes to fall shut. “I love you very much, and I’m looking forward to seeing you for Fall Harvest.”
“As am I, dear.”
They exchanged brief farewells, and his mother hung up first.
Emory turned around and hung up the office phone with as much gentleness as he could muster. It must not have been quiet enough, because not a moment later, his colleague and best friend, Christopher, poked his head into the room.
“You getting told off for not bringing a mate to Fall Harvest?” Christopher asked, straight and to the point as usual.
Years ago, they’d met as colleagues at the shipping company Emory’s family owned, and their friendship had blossomed into one of the closest relationships Emory had. As of late, their relationship had primarily been CEO to COO since Emory barelyhad enough time to breathe, let alone maintain a social life. Still, he appreciated these stolen moments more than he dared to admit.
“I’m sure you know that’s why she called, since you’re probably the one who passed the fated mate party invitation across her desk,” Emory said, and Christopher smirked at him, revealing his slightly elongated canines.
Not all shifters could shift parts of their body at will, but he and Christopher had spent years perfecting their ability to shift their tongues, teeth, tails, and, for Emory, his mane. He had shoulder-length, silky blonde hair he usually kept in a bun or top knot, but when he was feeling playful, he would let his mane out, turning his hair the colors of a golden sunset. He only let that side of himself out for close friends and family, though. Especially in the upper-elite spheres he had to travel in, it was viewed as uncouth to let your inner beast out.
For a long time, Emory had longed for a partner who would understand that, as the king of the jungle, lions were almost violently in tune with their animal side. It made rutting season difficult and had made dating challenging throughout his twenties. What had been a hopeful dream in his youth had now become yet another reason Emory wasn’t in a rush to find his mate, at fated mate parties or otherwise.
