be worth every pretty penny. Because, trust me, you need my help. Here are the shorts.”
He hands me a set of shorts that wouldn’t fit Barbie’s little sister Skipper.
I sputter. “You’re trying to ‘help’ me? With what?” Getting practically naked?
His gaze hops back up to mine. Serene. “Attention.”
“Who’s? Why?” I demand, pinching the scrap of white fabric between my finger and thumb and shaking it like it's a dead squirrel. “Seriously! What is this? We’re not Hooters!”
“Hooters is a family restaurant,” Finn says piously. But then he breaks and grins like—well? Like a wolf. “And families are going to love what we offer.”
“Offer?” I huff out. “And what exactly are ‘we’ offering?”
“A unique dining experience,” he replies easily, pulling out his phone. “And from now on, you wear your hair down.”
“Are you serious?”
He peers at his screen. “I suggest you style it with… beachy waves? Looks like that's what they're called.” He flicks the screen at me.
I stare at him. “Do you know how much time it takes to style hair every day?”
Finn shrugs, glancing back at his phone’s screen. “Says here they take five minutes.”
Absolutely shocked, I can only gape up at him.
Finn snatches both the tank and shorts out of my limp hands and waves me on. “Go watch tables and send Kelly over. I’ll fill her and the rest of the staff in, and you'll be getting set up with a week’s worth of uniforms at the end of your shifts. Pub paid-for.”
Unable to say a word, I blindly face the side of the room with patrons and pull out my notepad and pen. The hostess, Sally, points to a group just settling themselves in. “Hi,” I say dazedly—and seeing no regulars among them, I add, “Welcome to The Gargled Werewolf Pub. What can I get you for drinks?”
When I reach Kelly and tell her to meet with Finn, she squeezes past me, frowning and giving me a worried glance.
I eye her back and mentally send her the message: Brace yourself. I picture Finn again with his phone. Work-required beach waves!
I shake myself and smile at the customers, collecting their drink requests on auto-pilot. “Got it,” I murmur when they’re done, clicking my pen and hurrying off to fill their liquid orders.
***
“Who asked for no onions?” I say, my wrist screaming under the weight of the triple burger platter I’m holding aloft as I pass a fish basket to the table of twelve suits I’m serving.
“Me,” a woman calls, holding up an index finger and giving me a shy smile.
“Here you g—” I start. But my wrist quits, spasming painfully—and the platter tilts and slides right off of my hand.
The yelped cries of sympathetic dismay haven’t finished leaving the business group’s lips when the platter’s trajectory swerves suddenly upward and catches not only the flying burger but the fries that were about to rain down to the floor.
The food was saved by Finn, who slipped in next to me like a ninja.
“You have serious skills,” I tell him, amazed. “Thanks!”
He glances at where I’m clutching my numb wrist. “Anytime. You okay?”
“Mmhmm, you bet,” I chirp and shine a smile on the table of customers as Finn reaches to pass the burger and shaken fries to its recipient.
Finn makes a purring noise that has my eyes widening as I glance at him—and find his gaze fixed on me, evidently having made the sound to gain my attention. “Were you working the fryer?”
I drop my wrist and stretch my digits, feeling them tingle. “Just blanching the last batch of taters. Mitch called in so it’s Hank, Kelly, and me running the extras back there.”
Finn turns. “Donal!”
A huge guy who sometimes works the bar at night melts away from the wall. Maybe werewolves can read minds (or, more likely, his werewolf-keen ears overheard our conversation despite the din) because Finn doesn’t say a word to him; with a shared look, Donal quietly nods and begins silently making his way around tables, heading for the kitchen.
(Privately I marvel—not for the first time—that werewolf hearing really is that good.)
“He’ll handle the fryer and the heavy lifting,” Finn announces to me. His gaze drops to my wrist. “Why don’t you go ice that?”
I shake it out and drop it to my side. With my good hand, I lamely point to my table. “I’m good, and I need to watch—”
“Right,” Finn says. And he’s suddenly on my other side, gently raising my injured wrist. “You come with me.”