Page 56 of The Good Boys Club

Of the approximately one hundred wolves who’d turned up for Harvest Fest, there were eight volunteers who’d opted out of the hunt and into cheffing duties.

Clem had given us all a brief rundown of kitchen etiquette and hygiene standards, et cetera, though I was the only newcomer this year. Everybody seemed to know what they were doing, and all appeared very comfortable.

“What can you do, Ci?” she asked. “Do you have a specialty?”

I shook my head and shrugged. “I’ll do anything you tell me to. I’ve never cooked professionally or even large-scale before, but I have watched a lot of Lunar Chef, and MasterMoon.”

She smiled at me. “Okay, so it’s just prep at the moment. We need to make all the sides and sauces and desserts, and then when the packs return with the glut, that’s when the real work begins. So what I might get you to do is start batch cooking the sauce. They always come back with a heck tonne of fish, so I was thinking . . .” She walked off, stopped, and beckoned me forward with a wave of her hand. “This way.”

Clem guided me into a smaller area through a door at the rear. Here there were worktops, a double hob, and what appeared to be a large number of fridges. On the wall a monitor was mounted. It flicked through black and white CCTV footage of the main kitchen and the external areas of the B&B.

“This is the space I use when I’m cooking for just a few people. It’s my private kitchen, if you will.”

“It’s nice,” I said, looking around and noticing the family photos tacked up on the walls, the little trinkets on the shelves, the service-industry award certificates, the pots of pens.

“So, I was thinking . . .” She pulled out a drawer. Except it wasn’t a drawer so much as a pallet with a stack of crates, eachone containing hundreds of plump juicy tomatoes. “Tomato and caper sauce? Have you made that before?”

“Yes,” I replied, excited she was giving me something important to do.

“Perfect. If you get stuck, I’ve scribbled out the instructions and pinned it to the wall.”

Directly above the recipe was a photo of Mash standing next to the bronze sculptures at Remy Museum. He had an arm draped over Clem, and the other over Kimmy, and right there beside his mother was . . . me . . . human-passing me. Human ears, no tail, no fangs. One hundred percent not werewolf.

Holy fuck. I almost ripped it from the wall.

I turned to Clem. “Oh, shit, um . . .”

“Ci, don’t panic. That’s why I put you out here.” She placed her hand on my bicep. “Did you think I wouldn’t remember?”

“Well, I knew you would,” I said, keen for her to understand this had all been Mash’s terrible idea. “But I guess your brother hoped you wouldn’t. Does your mum or nana suspect anything?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure about Mam, but Nana can’t know or she’d have said something already. She won’t mince her words, and she’s very adamant that the Cassidy lin—kids all mate with werefolk.”

“But . . . why? Doesn’t it seem a little outdated to you?” I didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to know the answer. But I was curious. Had always been curious.

And hopeful.

There had always been a tiny part of me that hoped beyond hope for a future I knew was impossible.

“Old people purists, I think. Nothing else. Were culture is very central to our everyday lives, and we can be quite fierce when it comes to defending it from outsiders.” She shrugged. “Historically, werewolves have been either hunted or fetishised, so it’s sometimes difficult for some of the older generationsto accept genuine love between a were and any other species. Especially someone with the social standing of my brother.”

I raised a brow in question, and a moment of panic flashed across Clem’s face.

“What I meant is someone as beloved as Mash. He’s a popular guy, and despite the . . . foibles of his youth, people adore him. He’s pack, and pack look after pack. And if that means defending him from perceived threats, we will.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I had a thousand questions racing around in my mind, but none seemed to vocalise themselves.“Mash’s social standing.”Something was not quite adding up.

Clem continued. “I understand why Mash didn’t say anything before. He must have felt so scared, falling in love with a shifter. But you can’t control who your heart chooses, can you?”

“No, you can’t,” I said, relieved I could finally add to the conversation. So Clem knew I wasn’t a werewolf, but she still believed that we were in a relationship. Interesting.

“And you . . . you agreed to stay partially shifted this whole time for him—oh, you don’t have to do it now. It must be exhausting trying to be two things at once. I’m going to give you this entire space while you’re here. No one will disturb you, so you can get rid of the ears and tail, and I’ll let you know when we’re ready to head over to the marquee.”

“Thank gods.” I breathed a sigh and changed back to my human form. The relief was instant, like unbuckling a too-tight belt or having a really big poo. The tension melted from my shoulders.

“You make such a cute werewolf, mind you,” she said, smiling. “Listen, I think it’s best to keep up this act when you’re around everyone else. Sean knows, but the kids don’t. Let’s not tell anyone you’re not werewolf, at least until we figure out how to tell Alpha. I dunno, perhaps we could say you’re half were . . . hmm, maybe not.” She huffed out a breath and tapped her chinin thought. “Leave it to me, though. You’ve got enough to worry about right now.”

“Thank you, Clem,” I said, my mind still too much of a swirling mess to think of anything else.

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