Certain.
“Mine.”
My scoop slips right out of my hand and clatters into my soon-to-be patented cookie dough waffle batter.
Tommy drops a stack of cups.
And my she-Bear?
My she-Bear stands up inside my chest and roars.
Oh.
Oh my.
Yep, this is going to be a problem.
For a solid three seconds after he says it, nobody moves.
Not me.
Not the giant Tiger of a man staring at me like he just discovered gravity.
Not Tommy, who is still holding a stack of cookie dough waffle cones and looks like his brain has rebooted.
Then Tommy blurts, “Dude, did you just call her mine?”
“Tommy,” I hiss.
The kid is a Tiger Shifter. He belongs to the local Pride.
So, he should know better than to blurt things out like that.
“What? Sorry. It’s just, well, that’s how these things start,” Tommy says, shrugging as he goes back to his station.
Tiger guy blinks.
Like he just realized words came out of his mouth without permission.
His eyes flick to me, then the counter, then the floor.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Um. I didn’t mean, uh, what?”
“Ha! You absolutely meant it,” another voice says cheerfully.
I look past him.
And there’s a second man standing there, grinning like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
He looks like Tiger guy, but happier.
Softer around the edges.
And he’s holding the hand of a pretty woman who looks like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“Hi,” the man says, stepping forward. “I’m Reg Cray this is my wife, Gretchen.”
Oh.
