true,” Finn argues, jerking a thumb at Eyesore Esmerelda. “Lucan will show you the perfect place. Harper, ya wee sweet, you’re handling yourself well. Good garl,” he praises soothingly, and I realize that Harper is not boldly gazing around like Rory and even Liam are. She’s hunching her shoulders and looking ready to drop on the sidewalk in overwhelmed terror.
“Harper, you’re a submissive?” I reach out and gently brush back her hair—and encounter wolf’s ears. She’s in danger of Changing from stress. “You’re always so self-assured,” and active, like a livewire, “you poor baby. I never noticed. Is this your first time away from the dens?”
She latches onto my legs, nodding with her head smashed to my thigh, looking pitiful. I never realized until this moment when she’s so out of her comfort zone that I’ve never seen her eyes. She’s always smiling big and bouncing around and zooming by; there’s never been a chance to know she’s not a baby alpha.
“Aww, honey,” I croon, squeezing her to my leg in a hug. “You’re going to be fine. In a second, you’ll be playing with Maggie and Ginny and Charlotte. You’ll do great.”
Finn steps back, moving quickly to his car and catching the handle, finally giving the permission Lucan needs to leave.
Lucan makes a grumbling chuff of sound and hops out. He trots up to me and slides around Harper, dragging his fur against her back and legs. She reaches out for him, leaving me in order to cling to him, burying her hands in his ruff. Her wolf ears relax, shifting to an upright position and losing some of their triangular shape.
“There’s a garl,” Finn murmurs, patting her shoulders. To all of us, he orders, “Let’s get you mutts inside.”
“Finn,” I whisper—although I don’t know why I bother. Everyone here has werewolf hearing but me. “I’ve been on my feet all day. If we show up at the dens, we’ll be there half the night visiting which will leave me driving us home exhausted. I—”
“Pfft, we can all bed down at your house as wolves and watch your brood. That way, you can stay the night at the dens and drive home when you’re fresh tomorrow. Or if you want, load the garls up in my car and you can all spend the weekend with us. It’ll be deadly,” he declares, and he ushers the kids, Lucan, and me into my own house.
(Deadly, I learned when I first started working at the pub, is Irish for ‘awesome.’ Basically the exact opposite of what the word means just about everywhere else except maybe Australia.)
Rooker has set up the pizzeria on the island, the boxes slid out of their heat-saving bags, plates from our cupboard in a stack, and the cranberry juice (the only drink besides milk that we stock in our fridge) is out and ready to be poured into glasses. He’s even gone ahead and made a small stack of paper towels.
“Let’s call the rest of the pups in from playing so we can eat. And Susan, you should know this is a fully balanced meal, depending on which pizza they grab. You’ve got your cheese topping—there’s your dairy. And every one of them has a good half pound of chicken or hamburger. Great protein. Some of them have broccoli and pineapple. That’s fruit and vegetable servings on imitation Italian cuisine—you can’t beat that kind of healthy.”
“Wow,” I say, feeling really maneuvered, but strangely not annoyed by it. “Does that last option even taste good?”
All three men—Lucan in creature form included—make exaggerated groans that manage to be strong wordless affirmatives, and move for the food like they’re starving. Liam has wandered to the back door where he can probably hear the girls, and when he opens the door, he doesn’t have to call them in. Maggie cries, “LIAM!” and there are happy yips coming from my kids even though they’re human (with Ginny in human form, that is).
Lucan scarfs down a couple slices of pizza that Finn tosses to him before he heads to the basement to Change and get dressed. When he rejoins us, he polishes off the rest of the slices in his box.
I try the broccoli and pineapple. It’s good. I’ve never eaten the pizza at the pub before, and it’s probably a good thing. I’m pretty sure I can feel the carbs sinking straight onto my butt.
As long as I can still fit into my tiny work shorts? It probably won’t hurt tips.
The girls are