Tiger Lily - May Dawson Page 0,5

and matching suspenders held up his gray trousers on his angular frame. He dressed awfully spiffy for a man who hardly left his house now.

“Hey Grandpa,” I said easily, hugging him while being careful of the cast on his arm. “You really did hurt yourself.”

“Did you doubt me, young lady?”

“Oh never,” I lied. I pecked a kiss on his wrinkled cheek. “What do you need from me?”

“To see your sweet face every day,” he said.

“I’ve got to get back home soon and find a new job,” I reminded him.

“You could stay here.”

“I’m twenty-four. What am I going to do? Are you going to give me an allowance?”

“I’m open to negotiations,” he offered.

I grinned and shook my head, dropping my suitcase at the base of the stairs. My school photos lined the wall, marching up the stairs in matching gold frames, chronicling my progression from adorable preschooler to teenager with braces, a nose that didn’t quite fit my face for a few years, and big hair. Delightful décor.

“Everyone’s coming back home,” he added. “Remember the boys down the street at the orphanage? You and they used to fight like cats and dogs?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously. My heart beat faster when I pictured their faces. Dylan. Blake. Archer. I could see the orphanage from here if I walked back out on the front porch—but of course, they’d grown up and moved away too.

They were shifters too, but dog shifters. My grandfather could never resist a pun, even when he really should.

“They came home too! Started a new business.”

“Great,” I said impatiently, because I didn’t want Grandpa to get the impression I was interested in hearing anything about them.

“Perfect job for them, really,” he said, half to himself. “Now they don’t have to chase the cars. The cars come to them.”

I sighed at the bad joke. “They never would chase cars. Lupine would scold them, and they’re a little scared of her.”

“Would they chase cats?” My grandfather asked innocently, and I frowned at him, shaking my head.

He was watching me keenly, and I had to laugh. “You just really want me to settle back down in Silver Springs, get married, and crank out some great-grand-babies, don’t you?”

“Yep,” he said without hesitation. “As long as you marry the right guy. You know, I don’t have that long to enjoy great-grand-babies.”

“Don’t start that,” I protested.

“I’m not afraid to die, Lil,” he said. “I lived a wonderful life. Served in the Navy, saw the world, raised a beautiful daughter. Then, bonus, I’m so glad I got to raise you. I just miss cradling a baby.”

He pretended to hold a baby, as best as he could with one arm in a cast. As he rocked from side-to-side, he wobbled a bit. If he really were holding a baby—even a baby plant—I’d rush to save it.

“I’ll see if I can find one when I go grocery shopping,” I patted him on the shoulder as I headed into the kitchen. The man lived on peanut-butter-and-jelly and hot dogs; the grocery store was always one of my first stops when I came for a longer visit. “There is a baby aisle, what else is it for?”

I swung open the fridge door. It was about as barren as I’d expect, except for a glass dish of something covered in tin foil. I lifted a corner curiously. “Who’s feeding you lasagna?”

“Maybe I’m feeding me lasagna.”

I scoffed at that. “I feel like you’re forgetting I grew up with you. On a steady diet of hot dogs.”

Hot dogs with beans. Hot dogs in macaroni and cheese. Hot dogs on the grill served with all the fixings, and hot dogs sliced down the middle and pan-fried with eggs. Most other meat-related items were scary to my grandfather. Hot dogs came pre-cooked, so he felt the risk was low that he would poison me.

Meanwhile, in my shifted form, I occasionally ate things I found in the forest. I would wake up with a full belly, next to a pile of small bones, with some serious questions about what I was doing with my life.

My grandpa is so adorably human.

In pursuit of a pen that worked, I opened his junk drawer and sifted through stray batteries, loose change, pencils, a bottle opener, stamp books, a check book without any checks, and assorted crumpled receipts. I pulled the receipts out to throw into the trash, then stopped as one catches my eye. I waved it at him. “Do you need this receipt from the, ah, fabric store?”

I blink