A Mate for Lu - Amy Bellows
1
Lu
Sam stands at my doorstep with the same warm smile that caught me off guard the day we met. My stomach flips, just like it did back then.
Normally, I’m drawn to bikers or hockey players—alphas who want nothing more than a good time, even though I always end up wanting more. I never expected to be attracted to a man in a crisp suit with a clean-shaven face.
I never expected to be attracted to a penguin shifter either.
Three young kids barrel through my front door. Like me, Sam is a single father. He brings his children to our meetings. We’re both relieved to forgo the cost of childcare when we work together.
Jesse, Morgan, and Parker are all older than my daughter, Mary, but she loves playing with them. She squeals from the couch, where she’s looking through her board books. Jesse, who is almost thirteen, sits on the couch next to her and picks up one of her books. “Want me to read this?”
Mary claps with delight. Jesse’s wonderful with her.
Morgan and Parker get out the basket of toys in the corner of the room and dig for the dinosaurs they like to play with when they come.
“She’s so cute,” Sam says, walking toward the table. Despite all of the penguin shifter stereotypes, Sam is as big as a polar bear shifter alpha. He just carries his weight a little differently. Cy once called him “stocky.” I like to think of him as solid and not only his body. He’s a good dad to his kids. He’s a successful businessman who makes enough to provide for his family, even though he’s a freelance writer. And before his omega died four years ago, I imagine he was a good mate as well. I don’t actually know. We’ve only been working together for a year. All I know is that penguin shifters mate for life, even when their mate dies, and Sam has been very careful to be true to his mate, even after all these years.
Sometimes it makes me wonder how it would feel to be loved that deeply.
I hug my body as Sam walks across the living room to the kitchen where my latest drawings are laid out for him. A year ago Sam was looking for someone to work on a children’s book with him. His kids were still struggling with the loss of their omega father, and so he wrote a book about grief for them.
These illustrations are the last ones in the book. On the one hand, I’m terrified he won’t like them. I worked so hard to get them perfect for him. But on the other hand, if he likes them, I’ll never have an excuse to see him again.
He sits down at the table in front of the watercolor portrait of a child going through their omega father’s closet and smelling the clothes. The colors are mellow and the linework is soft. Sam and I agreed that everything about the book should be soothing, including the artwork.
“These are beautiful, Lu.” He picks up the second illustration where the child is grabbing the sleeve of their omega father’s shirt. “You should be doing this professionally.”
“That’s what this is, right?” I say, jamming my hands into my back pockets. I never know how to react to Sam’s praise.
“No. Not freelance. You should be working for a publishing company. You’re really good.”
I look away from him and shake my head. “It’s okay. Freelance is fine.” I tried submitting my work to several publishing companies when I was pregnant with Mary. None of them were interested.
He scans the illustration carefully. When we first started working together, he had a lot of feedback to give me. He told me he wanted the picture book to be high quality—that grieving children deserved something beautiful. I can’t help but feel proud that my work is finally living up to his expectations.
“Well, these are perfect. I’ll get them scanned and sent to our agent. I have some good news related to that, actually.” He sets down his briefcase and pulls out the protective sleeves he puts all of my artwork in. “An imprint of HarperCollins is interested in the book.”
“What? Sam, that’s amazing!” I want to hug him, but I check myself. Penguin shifters don’t touch anyone but their mates and immediate families.
He smiles. “Yes. They were particularly interested in your illustrations.”
I bite my lip. Maybe someday I won’t have to do graphic design for less than minimum wage to put food on the