Page 78 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

"No special occasion, Tiny. I cook what I feel like. And right now, among other things, I could eat my body weight in fresh steaksand mac soon; that's all." Saint grins again, making my heart race. "Does that sound good to you, Tiny?"

"Sure does, Cinnamon. But for tomorrow, right? I still want pizza," I return his grin, re-lacing our fingers as we walk toward the checkout lane.

"Duh, now that you've said it a few times, I also want pizza. How do you feel about stuffed crust?"

"I feel amazing about stuffed crust," I repeat, just as we get to the checkout. Saint unloads the basket quickly, jogging over to replace it in its little holster at the entrance, while I merely place the steaks down.

Saint and the employee working the checkout lane chat back and forth as the employee scans our items and deposits them in a brown paper bag. I admire their various piercings and bright purple hair.

"Have a nice day, folks," They say, holding the receipt.

"You too, I love your hair, by the way!" I reply, taking the slip of paper and Saint's hand again after he lifts the bag of items.

Once we're back in the Jeep, groceries safely placed in the backseat, seat belts buckled across our chests; I ask, "Where to next?"

"I recall promising you replacements for your scraps of lace," Saint drawls as he puts the vehicle in reverse, backing out ofthe space and then navigating the roads of Timber Hollow once more.

"That is true you, did do that," I simper back, wishing the ground wasn't wet so I could tuck my feet under myself on the seat. But alas, slushy snow is just about everywhere today.

"What's wrong?" Saint asks when he catches my grimace.

"I hate snow," I whine, lifting my wet boots to indicate the source of my lament. They're wet.

Saint laughs and practicallyhowlswith it. It only takes a moment for my laughs to join his.

And then, altogether too soon, we arrive at a little boutique, set in the central square where the buildings are all just about as old as the town, smushed together in a long strip with big window fronts. Saint pulls into one of the open spots in front of the building, as indicated by the sign out front.Freyja's Closet.

"How long has this store been here?" I ask, trying to remember what had been here when I'd been in school.

"Don't know. Maybe a few years?"

"Wolves?"

"Cats, actually. Some type of Norwegian shifter. They gave me the recipe for Kagecreme, which you liked so much."

"Well, then, I must make friends!" I chirp before prowling towards the bright pink door that is decorated for the season. The entire storefront is lit up with pink glowing lights and tinsel twinkling in the dusk. That specific shade of pink also decorates the door of one Agnes Hunt. Immediately, I knew she would have helped the shifters settle in the Hollow.

Saint's laughter follows me into the cozy boutique, shaking snowflakes from his hair as he enters. Almost instantly, the pretty feminine store feels too small for Saint and his aura.

We make it only a few steps into the store when an employee greets us in a cozy-looking pink long-sleeved dress. The tag on the dress indicates her name, Sigrid, and her pronouns in small parenthesis.

"Welcome to Freyja's Closet. Is there anything I can help you find?" she asks with a broad, friendly smile.

I'm about to wave her off in favor of wandering the sore by myself when Saint speaks up. "Actually, yes, it seems I owe my girlfriend a few new pairs of lacey bits," he says, slinging his arm across my shoulders.

That's it. I'm evaporatingimmediately.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I jab my elbow into his side in retaliation. A satisfying grunt leaves his mouth on contact. "Underwear, specifically," I rush to speak before Saint can open his mouth again.

To her credit, the woman merely smiles and guides us over to a corner. Various garments are displayed on the walls and in a circular display. "Do you have any particular styles in mind?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to look at what you have," I answer, giving her a small smile.

Sigrid takes the hint and replies, "Well, let me know if you have any questions or need any additional sizing. I'll be just over there."

When she walks away, Saint snorts, leaning against a nearby pillar. "What's the matter, Tiny?"

"Just wasn't expecting you to tell a stranger that you like to rip my underwear,Cinnamon," I fire back, looking through the piles of lace and cotton. "Unless you know her?" I add on, and he shakes his head.