"Mama, it’s one o’clock, the shop is open, and I can’t eat a hot meal at the register."
"You can eat a hot meal anywhere if you’re the owner. You’re still the owner, right? Is there something you’re not telling me? How is business?"
"Busy," I answer, rolling my eyes and getting away with it, since she can’t see me.
"And your personal life? Anything new on that front?"
"My personal life is fine."And personal, I mutter… very, very quietly under my breath.
"You’re so alone. Your father and I worry."
"Really, my father is worried? Maybe I should call him and tell him to stop." She tuts, but drops it after I’ve called her bluff. I picture his face creased with concern. A step above worry, butstill. Neither of them can help it; they met and mated at nineteen and have had nothing but bliss since. "Mom, I promise you. When he shows up, I'll tell you."
"When he shows up." She sighs. Four years of that sigh, and it still hits its target. "Star. Your aunts are asking."
"My aunts are always asking."
"Your Aunt Niecy told me she met a very nice beta for you. Very respectable. Works for—"
"Mom."
"—an excellent bank. She showed me a picture. He's handsome. I couldn't tell about his butt though, the picture was from the front."
"I'm so embarrassed to know you sometimes."
"Doesn't matter, the rest of the time you love me." A beat. "He looks good on paper, baby."
"I know." The words come out softer than I mean them to. I cover it. "I'm not interested in paper. I'll wait for my alpha."
She’s quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, it's in her careful voice — the one she saves for things she knows I don't want to hear. "I know you're waiting. I just don't want you waiting alone when you could beliving."
"I am living."
"I know you are." Softer still. "I had to try. Niecy will be disappointed."
"Send her my love."
"I will send her your regrets." A warmer pause. "You ate yogurt. Please eat something with iron."
"I love you."
"I love you. Eat beef."
She hangs up.
Paula comes back as I’m hanging up, unwraps a sandwich at the counter, takes one look at my face, and gives me the side-eye. "Your mother?"
"Yep. My aunt found me a beta. I should meet him, check out his butt."
"I love your mother."
"Everyone loves my mother."
I grab a quick bite of the salad Paula brought me as she goes out on delivery runs. She’s done for the day, but I still have work to do.
I don’t have to wait for our next customer to turn around to know he’s got a great butt. How could he not, when everything from the front is so prettily perfect? Except pretty is the wrong word. He is six-two, maybe six-three, with wide shoulders and a muscular chest. A chest his perfectly fitted, dark suit doesn't bother to camouflage. His dark hair waves into an effortless precision cut that my fingers curl to keep from mussing. He steps through the door and does not look around the shop with a mix of wonder or relief, the way people usually do. Instead, he looks like a building inspector — taking inventory, reaching conclusions, already unimpressed.
His eyes find me. Do not soften.
