Tiger Lily - May Dawson Page 0,6

in total confusion.

“No,” he said with dignity. “Maybe you don’t know everything about me, Lily.”

“Clearly not,” I agreed. “Maybe you should make me lasagna and wow me with your quilting skills.”

“My arm’s in a cast.” He raised it dramatically.

“Not forever.”

“You’d have to stay here for it to matter.”

“Maybe I will stay here if it turns out you can cook.” I shot back. I dropped the receipt back into the junk drawer; never throw away evidence. Then I added, “You know, if I do stay, I’ll ferret out your secrets.”

“Ferret away. Strange word choice for a little cat, though.”

I leaned over the kitchen island, propping my chin on my hand as I wrote out my grocery list. “I’m not a little cat. I’m a big cat.”

Regular cat shifters raced through Silver Springs all the time, but I didn’t want to scare anyone by wandering through Silver Springs as a long, sleek tiger. I hadn’t shifted in front of anyone since I was a little kid. Right after my mom died, I’d spent most of my time as a cat.

But eventually, it had been time to face life as a human. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t shift to get away from life—I’d only shift deep in the woods.

When I think of how I lost it in front of Brad, shame burns in my gut. But I go right on writing down milk and orange juice and fruit so Grandpa doesn’t die of scurvy.

“Why are you so reluctant to show anyone who you really are?” he asked me tenderly, leaning on the kitchen counter too, although when he does it, I worry he’ll need help to straighten up.

“I’m not,” I said. “And oh my gosh, Grandpa, you should see the damage I did in my apartment.”

Brad had fled, wide-eyed and stuttering. My memories in cat-form were always a blur, but the hazy memory of him slamming the front door behind him still gave me a twinge of mingled guilt and satisfaction.

“I just think it’s weird that you don’t want anyone to see you shift. Is it because you have a hard time being vulnerable after losing both your parents?”

“Do you have a hard time not psychoanalyzing people ten minutes after they arrive at your house?”

He stared at me for a second, then admitted, “Yes.”

“I’m going grocery shopping,” I said in exasperation. “Be good while I’m gone.”

“You be good!” he called right before I closed the front door.

I grinned; we’ve always played to see who could get the last word in.

“I love you!” I screamed, standing on the front porch, then ran for my car.

But I still heard him scream back, “I love you too!” at the top of his lungs, because he didn’t want to lose.

And because he loved me.

I was grinning in the car when I realized I didn’t remember the last time I smiled so easily.

4

As I drove to the grocery store, I glimpsed a cute magic shop on the side of the road. My grandfather had been complaining about the pain killers when we talked on the phone, so on a whim, I stopped. Magic was better than Motrin.

I walked in and found an adorable little shop. Bells chimed above the door, and I glanced around, looking for the owner.

A giant dog came racing out of the back.

That was definitely not the owner.

“Easy, boy,” I said, taking a step back, and my calves bumped into a cushioned chair. I almost fell into it.

The dog lunged at me, barking more.

“Oh, sorry! Are you not a boy?” I jumped up on top of the chair, not that it would help much. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

I had an irrational fear of real dogs. It’s a cat thing.

Even though, as a tiger, I could’ve knocked the dog’s tail right into next week. I would never do that, though. The dog didn’t meant to scare me.

“Mika, here.” At the sound of the soft, feminine voice, Mika stopped barking. A young woman with soft brunette waves stepped into the room, and Mike dropped her head, then laid on the floor with her head on her paws.

“I am so sorry,” the woman said to me, looking at me with wide eyes.

I laughed at myself as I stepped off the chair, running my hand through my curls to push them back. “No, that’s okay. I should be the one that’s sorry. I must have looked pretty ridiculous standing on the furniture. I’m just a little nervous around dogs. Being a cat shifter, it kind of