Page 8 of Howling Mad
By the time I hop off near the agency, my stomach’s in knots.The building’s second-floor entrance greets me with a swirl of stylized letters that read Romance Expected.Inside, the waiting room is empty except for a boar shifter flipping through a magazine calledSloth Shifters: Myths and Realities.He glances up, sees I’m not Red, and returns to reading.Fine with me.
I slip into the back office, where I find Red perched on a stool, feeding Polaroid film into our ancient camera.“Morning.You ready for Michael?”
My throat feels dry.“Absolutely.Do you know if he’s still coming?”
She nods at the clock.“As far as I know, yes.I left a pot of coffee in the break area.”
Coffee.My lifeblood.“You’re a saint.”I hurry off for a cup, determined to avoid fiascos.Still, I glance at the battered ceramic “I HOWL AT MY OWN JOKES” mug that normally brightens my day.Then I remember how unprofessional it might look, so I grab a plain, nondescript mug from the cabinet.The coffee is lukewarm but better than nothing.At least I won’t spill it all over my outfit again.
I spend a busy day juggling tasks, reviewing my notes on Michael in between, including the type of partner he’s seeking, the fiascos of his past dates, and the ephemeral frustration he feels at always being seen as “not wolf enough.”This resonates with me so strongly that I have to swallow the lump in my throat.The more I empathize, the harder it is to separate my personal experiences from our professional relationship, but I can handle it.Iwillhandle it.
I’m a bundle of nerves by four fifty-five.Red’s off-site, so I’m alone when Michael arrives.He steps in, tall and lean in a navy blazer, his gray-blue eyes scanning the room.He’s polished, precise, and unfairly handsome.“Finley?”he says, nodding politely.
“Hi,” I say, smiling.“Nice to meet you.Come in.”
I lead him to a consultation room with a “SHIFT AT YOUR OWN RISK” sign.Settling across from him, I notice his careful grace, which is more catlike than wolf.“Thanks for coming.I know you’re busy.”
“I work downtown.”He shrugs.“It’s not far, and I’m curious if Red gave up on me.”
“No way,” I say.“She adores you.I’m new, and she thought we’d click, given…similar backgrounds.”I don’t mention our shared pack struggles.“I’m sorry your dates haven’t worked out.”
He exhales.“Not your fault.I just haven’t found a good match yet.”
I nod.“I get it.I’m a wolf, too, from a traditional pack.I moved here to dodge forced alpha dates.So, I relate.”
His eyes flicker with surprise, maybe relief.“You probably do.”
“I was thinking about a lynx shifter named Sasha,” I say, trying to sound casual.“She’s passionate about environmental causes and has a very...free-spirited approach to life.”
Michael’s eyebrows lift slightly.“That sounds quite different from my usual circles.”
“Sometimes different perspectives can be refreshing,” I suggest, though I’m already doubting this match.“But if you’re not comfortable—”
“No, I’m willing to try,” he says with a small smile.“After all, the similar types haven’t worked out so far.”
“Noted,” I say, scribbling.“Honesty check.Are you here because you want a partner or because your dad’s pushing you?”
He studies me and then says, “I want someone who respects me for me.My father’s noise, but I don’t let it control me.”
“Good,” I say.“We’ll set up a low-pressure date.Next weekend?”
“Works,” he says, checking his phone.“Work’s crazy, and my aunt’s visiting.She’s the only one who doesn’t nag me about pack duties.”
“She sounds great,” I say, a pang of envy hitting me.
“She is,” he says, a soft smile breaking through.
We chat a bit longer, easing his tension.He even laughs when I mention the Elvis-werefox client.I’m confident I can match him, but his dry wit and quiet charm make it hard to ignore my attraction.I manage to stay professional, barely.
We set up the date for the following week at a casual café that Sasha suggested, specializing in locally-sourced, organic food.“I’ll confirm everything with Sasha,” I say at the door.“I’ll be available if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Finley,” he says.“It’s refreshing to work with someone who understands the...complexities of pack expectations.”
After he leaves, I sit at my desk, staring at Sasha’s file with growing doubt.Have I just set up a spectacular disaster?
Thatevening,Ipushthe agency’s glass door open and step out onto the busy sidewalk.Traffic whizzes by, horns blaring, and the scent of fried street food drifts on the breeze.I pass a ramen shop, nearly salivating from the savory broth aromas, but I promised Penelope I’d pick up groceries so we don’t starve on leftover takeout again.A wave of adult responsibility washes over me.
Penelope meets me at the store, wearing bright green leggings and a baggy hoodie that proclaims “Fight like a Bunny.”She’s scanning the produce section with the keen eye of a predator, sniffing tomatoes suspiciously.I approach, grabbing a basket.
