My inner Sow chuffs inside me, paws scraping at the ground in my mind like she’s about to charge, and suddenly every nerve in my body lights up like I’ve been struck by lightning.
Mate.
The word rolls through me like thunder.
I freeze behind the counter, extra-large scoop in hand.
“Nope,” I mutter under my breath.
Absolutely not.
I try to play it cool.
Because number one—I am not in the market for a mate, no matter what that old man in the brilliant white suit might think.
Uncle Uzzi and his ridiculous magical dating app.
Of course, when I downloaded the thing earlier and that bright blue sparkly MATCHED notice popped up?
I was interested.
Okay, fine.
Maybe I did a tiny little happy dance.
Maybe.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
Because I am completely prepared to let Casanova here down easy.
Only, well, when I finally look at him?
Holy heck.
I am not prepared for what he is.
Tiger Shifter.
I scent his beast immediately—his male musk is delicious.
Like caramel and dark chocolate with a hint of sea salt.
He’s big.
Powerful.
Predatory in a way that makes the Bear inside me sit up and take notice.
He’s also—good grief.
Handsome as sin.
Golden-brown hair, the color of honey in sunlight.
Tanned skin.
Broad shoulders that stretch the fabric of his T-shirt like it’s doing the Lord’s work trying to contain him.
