Page 19 of Cold Foot Komodo

“The warm-blooded shifters are fine. I get cold.”

Her eyebrows arched up, and she took a sip of wine. “You’re cold-blooded? Like a turtle?”

Another grin cracked his face. “There aren’t any turtle shifters.”

“Pity. When I was a kid I had a pet turtle for six years named Eddie Macaroni.”

“Superb name.”

“Thank you. He was my best friend, until one day I came home and my dad announced he had set him free in our neighborhood pond so he could live a better life. And then my dumbass became obsessed with visiting him and bringing him food, so I did that for years—almost every single day after school and on weekends.”

“He died, didn’t he.”

“Yes. My dad just admitted it a couple years ago. I still checked the damn pond though!”

“Hope is a good thing,” he said softly. “I like that you checked. His little turtle spirit probably appreciated it.”

“Snake shifter,” she guessed suddenly, trying to catch him off guard.

“I’m not a snake. Don’t look now, but I think your sister is staring at us.”

At first she thought he was just trying to change the subject, but sure enough, Timber was watching them from near the firepit. She waved, and Sasha bumped Reed’s shoulder, then doubled her speed to meet up with the others. “See you later, alligator,” she tried.

“Not a gator,” he called after her.

She gave a private smile and greeted the others. There wasn’t any of the awkwardness she had expected as the night went on. Everyone seemed comfortable enough with her, even if a few of them were quieter. Raynah and Kade seemed like watchers, but their smiles were easy if anyone cracked a joke or did a jab.

The Crew had done a potluck soup buffet. There were five different kinds, all steaming away in Crock-Pots lined up on a long table. The plates were metal, and deep, with different sections. Timber, Katrina, and Cash poured a ladle of each soup onto her bowl-plate. There was clam chowder, beef stew in thick sauce, tomato bisque, broccoli-cheese, and chicken tortilla soup.

Timber handed her a piece of paper and a pencil.

“What’s this?” Sasha asked.

“We’re voting. Best soup gets that cooler over there.” She pointed to an old blue cooler. It looked twenty years old and all scuffed up. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but this old thing made its way through some of the Crews in Damon’s Mountains. It was gifted to us at the territory-warming party a couple weeks ago. And you all know the rules!” Timber groused, looking around the Crew. “You can’t tell her who made what soup, because we know you cheaters are going to all vote for your own soup. Sasha will have to be the decider. If you even hint to her, you are disqualified.”

“I can vote too, if you want,” Reed offered. “Since I didn’t make one.”

Timber frowned suspiciously at him. “You were at the meeting where everyone signed up for soups.”

“I promise I’ll be unbiased in my vote. I hate all these idiots equally.”

Wreck belted out a laugh. “Truth.”

“Fair enough,” Timber said primly. She pointed between him and Sasha. “Share notes.”

Okay, this was fun, and a great icebreaker, and now she got to do teamwork with Reed. Something about that made her heart drum a little faster in her chest.

One of the burgundy rocking chairs was calling her name, mostly because it was closest to a free-standing propane heater, and had empty navy-colored rocking chairs on either side of it. There was a real good chance Reed would get one of those, since he was going through the food line now.

There was a wide log that someone had chopped and set like a little table, and she scooted it closer with the toe of her snow boot, then set her steaming food on it before she made her way toward the blue cooler of drinks.

“I’ve got it,” Reed rumbled as she passed.

“Huh?” she said, sure she’d misheard him.

“I’ll get your drink. Go on, start eating before your food gets cold.”

“Yeah, whose idea was it to eat outside, anyway?” one of the men joked. She thought she remembered his name being Cash.

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