Tiger Lily - May Dawson Page 0,24

glanced at Archer’s back, then swallowed and tried to focus.

Even though my brain felt scrambled around these guys.

11

“Well?” My grandfather demanded as soon as I walked into the house.

I held up my hand as he joined me in the foyer. “Can you get your own life drama please? I don’t need you to be this invested.”

He rested his good hand on the foyer table, as if he was trying to take some of the weight off his joints. As he eased his weight from one foot to the other, my heart ached as if it had arthritis too.

“Maybe I just want to know how your first day on the job went,” he said, “and I’m not asking about your weird love life.”

More gently, I said, “Not a love life. There is no love life.”

Brad was a dickhead, and I could see that, and yet my heart still hurt after our breakup. There had been good times between us. We’d met at college, and sure, I’d had to conceal who I really was from him—he couldn’t know I was a shifter. Over time, I’d started to conceal more and more. To dress the way he liked, and not in my Tinkerbell leggings. To try not to hum or sing constantly, because it was annoying. To not sink into my ‘sulky gloom’ as he called it, but not sing my way out of it, either.

But there had been good times too: long brunches and flowers and weekend-long vacations anywhere we could drive to, goodnight kisses and movie marathons.

“Mm-hmm. How was work?”

“Educational. Blake’s quite the bossy boss—he’s decided I’m going to learn to fix cars.”

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“They hired me to be a receptionist. I know how to do that—I’m good at it.”

“Of course you are. And that’s something to be proud of. I’m sure you can be good at anything.”

“You’re my grandpa,” I reminded him as I headed for the stairs.

“Yep,” he said. “Which means I’m privy to some of your more epic failures. The time you got kicked out of summer camp. The Marshmallow Incident of 2014. Ballet class.”

“Great pep talk.”

“I’m saying, I wouldn’t lie to you just to make you feel better. You were the worst ballerina I’ve ever seen. Cute in a bun and tutu, but just a wreck. I’ve never seen a second-grader so bad at turning in a circle.... Where are you going?”

“As much as I’m loving this greatest-hits list, I’ve got to take a shower and get ready to go out.”

“Go out? Are you going with Lupine?”

No, but I needed to spend some time with the bestie of my youth ASAP. We had a lot to talk about. “I’m going to dinner with Archer. He’s giving me a tour of what’s new in Silver Springs.”

I could feel my grandfather’s triumphant grin behind me.

“It’s not a date,” I said.

But I had a feeling Archer might disagree.

I took a quick shower—it seemed ridiculous now that I’d showered before work just to crawl around engines all morning—and then, as I did my makeup, I texted Lupine.

What should I wear to a not-date?

She texted back:

Oh good grief. Archer, Blake or Dylan?

How did you know?

I know the four of you. It’s painful to watch.

Thanks. No input on what to wear then?

Jeans, sexy top, heels, magical cloak with power of Bowing to Inevitability. I bet Highway to Spells has one in your size.

I wasn’t sure if the sound that bubbled up in my throat was a laugh or a scoff. I tossed my phone on the bed.

Lupine had always been convinced that the guys and I belonged together. We’d gone to Stone Hill high school together for a few years, and she and I had quickly become best friends. The guys were around in those days…dating other girls…but we’d always chatted, especially when I went over to the orphanage to visit with Lupine.

Even though I was lucky to live with my grandfather, it had been nice to spend time with other orphans. Lupine and the guys understood that I always missed people I barely knew.

As much as I appreciated my grandfather’s ordered-in catering on the holidays, which we ate at the coffee table watching the Thanksgiving parade or a marathon of Christmas movies, I always wished for a house that was full of voices and laughter. Full of people. My people.

Maybe that was why the guys didn’t even seem to notice, or care, that I acted prickly. Maybe they felt that same constant ache, but they coped with it