Page 109 of Howlin’ For You

“Why don’t I order for us so you can keep doing...” I open my eyes to see him gesture with his hand to me. “Whatever it is you’re doing?”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “Enjoying myself.”

“I wouldn’t dare interrupt that. Your usual?”

He has my order memorized after knowing me for three short days? My own mother doesn’t even know my tea order, and she’s known me for twenty-nine years.

I’m not prepared to know how to respond to someone actually paying attention to me, so I just nod and close my eyes again. If he’s noticed how much I must be blushing, he’s kind about it and doesn’t say anything.

Eventually, I snag our table in the corner with the plush chairs and wait. Nick stands in line, casually chatting with the person in front of him while Georgie makes faces at him.

Have they ever dated?

The thought comes from seemingly nowhere, but I can’t shake it. It sticks like glue. Georgie didn’t mention Nick once last night, just in the morning. She spoke with enough familiarity that I assumed they knew each other, but I haven’t questioned how well yet.

Are they still dating?

Georgie is beautiful and kind. Why wouldn’t they get together?

Jealousy is a green, ugly giant. I don’t think I’ve felt like this before.

Not until now.

Not until I watch with my own eyes how comfortable Nick is as he walks up to the front of the line and how Georgie’s eyes light up when he speaks.

I’ve walked into a town with its own lore. I’ve walked into lives that are already in full swing—connections that I haven’t been part of.

Oh my god, I’m acting like such an idiot. Why do I feel this strange sort of…claim on Nick? He’s not mine. I only met him three days ago!

As if sensing my gaze, he turns slightly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern at whatever he sees on my face. He’s working with a lunatic.

I give him a weak wave—trying desperately to convince him I’m not on the verge of some sort of psychotic break—and then lean down to get my notebook out.

Work. I have to focus on work. Not on Georgie. Not on Nick.

Work.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NICK

Something is wrong with Izzy.

I caught a whiff of faint embarrassment—tangled with attraction—initially as I walked away from her, but it slowly soured into something I don’t recognize. Something wrong.

Without even collecting our orders, I stride to her side—my only thoughts about how my mate needs me.

Her gaze lifts from where she was staring at her notebook, cheeks again bright red, and I squat down so I’m eye-level with her.

She gasps quietly, as if she never expected me to get this close. But I can’t help it.

“Are you okay, Izzy?” I whisper into the small space between us. Her normally perfect cinnamon vanilla scent is almost burnt, like someone left a pumpkin spice cookie in the oven for too long.

Her eyebrows raise. “I’m…yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t smell fine.

“Did someone say something?” I continue. “Or did you get some bad news?”