Page 36 of Howling Mad
I hold up the lunch bag.“Thought Finley might be hungry.”
“Indeed she might.”Red’s eyes twinkle mischievously.“She’s been absolutely ravenous today.Something about needing to replenish her energy.Can’t imagine why.”
Heat rushes to my face, and I clear my throat.“Is she available?”
“She’s in the conference room, setting up for our speed-dating event this weekend.”Red rises, her kimono rustling like autumn leaves.“I’ll just go check on that...thing I need to check on...somewhere that isn’t anywhere near the conference room.”
She winks and glides away, humming what sounds suspiciously like “Here Comes the Bride.”Again.
I find Finley surrounded by name tags and table numbers, her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head.She’s chewing on the end of a marker, her brow drawn in concentration as she studies a seating chart.She looks up as I enter, and the smile that lights her face sends my pulse racing.
“Surprise,” I say, holding up the lunch bag.
“My hero.”She jumps up, crossing the room to plant a quick kiss on my lips.“I’m starving.”
“So I’ve heard.”I set the food on the table.“Red mentioned something about you needing to replenish your energy?”
She groans, dropping her head to my shoulder.“She’s impossible.Five minutes after I arrived this morning, she looked me up and down and said, ‘Someone had a productive weekend.’Then she spent the next hour telling me about red panda mating habits.”
I laugh, unable to help myself.“Sounds educational.”
“It was horrifying.”She opens the bag, inhaling appreciatively.“You got my favorite.With extra pickles?”
“Of course.I pay attention.”
“To think I wasted weeks trying to match you with other wolves.”She unwraps her sandwich with gleeful anticipation.“All that time you could have been bringing me lunch.”
We settle at the table, clearing a space among the speed-dating materials.Finley devours her sandwich with the single-minded focus of a wolf who hasn’t eaten in days.
“So,” she says between bites, “not that I’m complaining, but shouldn’t you be at work creating market forecast...things?”
“Market forecast things,” I repeat, amused.“Very technical term.”
“I’m a matchmaker, not a financial analyst.”She steals one of my chips.“Stop dodging the question.”
“Everyone gets a lunch break.”
We finish lunch, talking about everything and nothing.For the first time in years, I feel my wolf and human sides are in perfect harmony.No pretense, no forced pack behaviors, and no hiding my true nature.
“I was thinking,” she says hesitantly, gathering our lunch wrappers.“There’s a preserve just outside the city that allows shifters to run on full moons.It’s completely private and secure.The moon will be full this weekend and...maybe we could go?Together?”
The question isn’t as casual as she tries to make it sound.Wolves don’t invite just anyone to run with them during the full moon.It’s a commitment, an acknowledgment of something deeper forming between us.We’re both still wolf enough to appreciate that.“I’d love it,” I say simply.
Before she can respond, the door swings open, and Red breezes in, carrying what appears to be my former client file.
“Don’t mind me,” she says, though she’s clearly interrupting on purpose.“Just need to update our records.”
With exaggerated ceremony, she produces a large red stamp and brings it down on the folder with surprising force.The word “MATCHED” appears in bold crimson letters across my file.
“There.”She beams, holding up the stamped folder like a trophy.“Another success for Romance Expected.I’ll need you both to sign the official documents, of course, and we’ll want a photo for the wall.”She glances between us, her eyes gleaming.“Unless you’d prefer a more...intimate portrait?Full moon photography is all the rage among newly matched pairs.”
“Red!”Finley exclaims, clearly mortified.
“What?I’m merely suggesting professional documentation of a successful business outcome.”She blinks innocently.“Though if you happen to be in matching sweaters, or perhaps shifting under the moonlight, who am I to stifle artistic expression?”
“Thank you for updating the file,” I say diplomatically, fighting a smile.
“Of course.”She tucks the folder under her arm.“I’ll leave you to your consultation.”She backs out of the room, waggling her eyebrows so vigorously I worry they might detach.
