“Are you doing something to the plant?” Flint asked, staring at the small pot of begonias that was on their table. Its leaves had been edged with brown when they sat down at the table. Now they were glossy and green.
“Oh, that. Yeah, my mother is actually not a werewolf, she’s a witch. All of my sisters got really cool powers, but I’m kind of a magical washout. When I’m around plants, they tend to perk up and grow a little faster. That’s all I got.” She frowned at the begonia, concentrating hard, and new little bud popped up.
“My mother would love you. She’s always got a million pots of herbs in our kitchen. You’ll have to come by some time.”
For some reason, the mention of his mother, and the invite to his family home, sent a sharp twang of longing through her. If only all of this were real, and not a purchased date with a bear who might change his mind at any moment and go back to dodging her phone calls.
An odd, prickly feeling swept over her, and she glanced around the room, and her stomach twisted in a knot when she saw that Melinda had just walked in the door, arm and arm with Frederick.
Even from a quick glance, Melinda’s rigid, angry posture gave her away. She had no interest in Frederick; she was here because of Flint, Coral was sure of it.
Frederick, on the other hand, looked dazzled. Coral wasn’t surprised. She had a feeling that all of Frederick’s leering and sexual innuendo was just a show, to hide the fact that he was basically an insecure geek underneath it all. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was a virgin. In fact, she’d be surprised if he wasn’t a virgin.
Flint followed Coral’s gaze, and scowled.
“It’s okay. I was just thinking it was time to call it a night,” Coral said. She scowled at Frederick, who didn’t even seem to notice that Coral was there. His attention was riveted, worshipfully, on Melinda. Melinda must have sunk her claws into him when he was taking pictures at the bachelor auction.
Coral wasn’t sure who she was more angry at. Bettina was going to be crushed, and Melinda was clearly just using Frederick to get back at Flint.
Flint sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I made the mistake of telling her where I was going, in case there was some kind of work related emergency. I didn’t think she’d show up here like this.”
Melinda and Frederick sat down at a table across the room from them. She caught Flint’s eye, and waved at him with a big smile. Then she shot Coral a look of icy disdain.
“I’ll have to have a talk with her tomorrow,” Flint said, clearly annoyed. “This is getting out of hand.”
“It’s not your fault,” Coral shrugged. “I feel kind of sorry for her. I’m sure it’s not pleasant being hung up on someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”
Flint called their waiter over and paid their bill, and they headed out. Coral could feel Melinda’s glare boring into her back as they walked to Flint’s car.
A light rain was falling, and Coral begged off the boat ride that Flint had planned for them. When he suggested they could do it the following evening, she politely demurred.
When he pulled up in front of her house, he insisted on walking her back to her front door.
Don’t try to kiss me, don’t try to kiss me, she thought. Her resolve was weak, and she didn’t want to give in to her cravings.
They reached the front door, and she paused as an unfamiliar scent swirled in her nostrils.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She tipped her head back and scented the air.
“Pardon me,” she said, and partially shifted, her face lengthening into a snout, her ears turning hairy and pointy. She sank down on her knees and sniffed at the door handle, then stood up, puzzled, and shifted back to human form, her fur sinking back beneath her skin and her snout retreating.
“What is it?”
“A human has been here today,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. The mailbox is by the curb, so it wasn’t a mailman. It’s not my landlord’s scent.” All the talk about mysterious disappearances was making her a little jumpy, she realized.
Flint reached out and tried the door handle. It was locked, just as it should be.
“Let me go in first,” he said.
“I should be fine.” She glanced at the house uneasily.
“No, I want to make sure.”
She unlocked the door for him, and he led the way into the apartment. She partially shifted again, just her head, to improve her sense of smell even more. He checked the bedroom and the laundry room and bathroom, before they went back to the kitchen/dining-room, where she stopped at the small round wooden table by the bay window.
“What do you smell?” he asked.
She picked up her reporter’s notebook and sniffed at it, then shifted back to human form so she could talk. “Someone human has been in the apartment, and they handled my notebook. It isn’t a scent that I recognize.”
“You should call the sheriff’s office and report it.”