“No juicy tidbits shall go un-texted.” Calla raised her right hand in oath, even though her stomach plummeted with another round of nerves. “Swear it on my next porterhouse.”
Putting her hands on Calla’s shoulders, Winnie gripped them and forced her friend to look at her. “Seriously, Calla. I hope tonight is everything you want it to be, but more importantly, I hope whatever it is that troubles you about this final step, and I know something does, someday you’ll trust me enough to tell me about it. Until then, Denny Parks, incoming—with our frontrunner Cowboy Nash hot on his heels.”
She blew Calla a kiss before gathering up Ben and Lola and threading her way through the tables toward the door, waving and smiling at Nash.
Crap. Calla cringed, but not before she smoothed her apron and fluffed her hair.
Denny and Nash were like Donald Trump and Clint Eastwood in the same room together, duking it out for her affections. Two polar opposites.
One had a deeply rooted sense of manly-man and all the perks that went with that, like integrity and honesty, and the other thought he could purchase whatever manliness he lacked.
Which usually meant she had to be their referee.
She mentally put her whistle to her lips and was preparing her next move in order to avoid conflict when Ezra stuck his head back out of the kitchen doors.
“Man the decks, Gus, my friend!” he bellowed, his white hair sticking up along the sides of his head, his face covered in flour. “Fancy city slicker on the loose!”
Chapter 2
Denny entered first, his smile almost too glossy, his clothes too clean. He was a bit of a douchebag, and a werewolf who didn’t approve of her relationship with Nash, who technically was outside their species. Most weres bristled at the idea of mating with anyone other than their own kind, and Denny was no exception.
Rich and entitled, he’d set his sights on her ten seconds after she’d hit Paris, and no amount of discouragement made it through his thick skull to the spongy matter one called a brain.
The bell on the door of the center jingled as it closed, jarring Calla. Yet, everything melted away when she saw Nash saunter in not far behind Denny.
Dark, roughly hewn, full of thick-corded muscle, Nash winked a fringed green eye and tipped the brim of his Stetson at her as he slid inside, making her heart race and her knees wobble.
Denny strode toward her, his steps confident, his expensive soft-leather shoes a hushed whisper on the floor. “Mornin’, Calla-Lilly,” he drawled.
She hated that he knew her middle name and used it as if it was some sort of intimacy between them.
“Morning, Denny! Kirby’s got your aunt all ready for pickup. Gotta run!” she called out, scooting around him and heading directly toward Nash.
She grabbed his wide hand and pulled him back out the glass front door into the never-ending heat of the day, dragging him down the sidewalk until they were at the corner of the row of buildings, before her feisty seniors could get their hands on him.
Ducking under the awning of the drugstore, she wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed against him. “Thank you for saving me,” she said on a happy sigh.
He smiled that warm, delicious smile that made the grooves in his cheeks deepen. “Was that old coot Lenny chasing you around the shuffleboard court again? He’s a crafty one.”
“Hah! No. Lenny’s the least of my problems. Though he did ask for conjugal visits with Hester-Lynne.”
Pulling her tight against him, he said, “You don’t have conjugal visits. It’s a recreational center, not a prison.”
She shook her head on a chuckle. “Exactly what I told Lenny. But I think sometimes he feels like coming to Hallow Moon is like a prison sentence—which breaks my heart. Oh, sure, he hides behind all that sexual innuendo and Casanova charm, but no longer having powers as sharp as he once did is really hard on him.”
“You want me to beat him up after school?”
She poked his chest playfully. “Who are you kidding here? Lenny could totally take you. And I meant thank you for saving me from Denny.”
Nash chuckled, his voice low when he pulled her in even tighter. “You know, wouldn’t it just be easier to tell Denny you’re my woman and he’d better keep his hands off of you or I’ll rip them off?”
Calla shivered at his possessive words, despite the oppressive heat. “No limb-ripping. And your woman, huh?”
“Yep. Mine,” he murmured against her ear, nipping at it. “You took the girlfriend oath when I gave you my class ring. There’s no backing out now.”
“That wasn’t your class ring, it was the tab on a can of Pepsi.” One of the sweetest, most romantic gestures she’d ever shared with a man over some grilled hotdogs and beans he’d made for her all by himself on an open fire, bar none.
Her heart still skipped a beat when she remembered how he’d looked across that campfire, his eyes glowing, his skin bronzed from working his ranch.