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When I was done, I paid for Lance’s coffee and pie, and he said he would see me around.

I thought over what he’d said about Rue and the Trash Panda. I didn’t know a lot of people who ran a business just to give part of the profit away, so I wanted to meet this man, see if he lived up to the rumors. Omegas in different stages of pregnancy was always a worthy cause.

I probably had some things to donate in my house. Things I no longer used. And if I decided to move and sell the house, I might even give all the things inside to the store. That way, it could all go to good use instead of rotting on the curbside, waiting for the garbage people to pick it up.

On my way back to my house, I stopped by the Trash Panda in hopes of making a cash donation to the charity, but even more to meet the man behind the good acts.

I got there but noticed no one inside. When I pulled the handle, it was locked.

Shoot. I missed it by only a few minutes. I sighed. Meeting Rue would have to wait for another day.

My bear was less than pleased.

Chapter Six

Rue

Most of the time, I made use of Alfred to pick up donations. We hadn’t been open long, but we’d fallen into a rhythm together that made the long days enjoyable. I didn’t let Alfred come in until eight in the morning, but I was usually sitting in the teeny office off the storeroom, working on bookkeeping and online orders because, yes, that was also a thing.

Alfred had nudged me toward the internet because he insisted that we would be getting in some unique items that could find their homes best in a broader market than Oliver Creek. And of course, he had designed a website where we could feature the thing we had to sell and give a constant live stream from the store. I couldn’t even count the number of people who had come in and said they’d watched us and come to town at least in part because of “getting to know us” on the live stream.

Alfred said it made him feel a little like a star.

Alfred was so young. And talented. He’d built the website and handled all the tech aspects of the business from the very start. I didn’t know how I’d have made it without him. Through our online presence, he’d even managed to hook up with some experts who could keep us from selling a Picasso as a starving-artists painting if that should ever occur.

On this particular day, we were so busy, we barely had time to eat a quick bite at midafternoon, and by closing time, Alfred was drooping, though he tried to hide it. I locked the door and leaned my back against it. “Who knew running a thrift store would be so exhausting?”

“Not me.” My cousin pulled a bag of chips from under the counter and crunched away. “If I’d known, I might have stayed home and worked on my dads’ farm.”

“You could still do that.” I joined him and grabbed a handful of chips. “I can call him now…”

“Don’t you dare,” he gasped, shock twisting his features. “You know I was kidding, right? I’ve always hated having my hands in the dirt.”

“I like gardening, but in moderation,” I commiserated. “I spent a couple of summers at your gaze, and I ended up sunburned, bug-bitten, and achy from head to foot. Don’t worry, I couldn’t survive without your help.”

“Darned right.” He preened, flipping the lock of hair that fell over his forehead back. “And I’m really glad we’re busy. I’d be bored otherwise. Need me for anything else?”

“No.” I’d planned to have him go pick up a donation, but he’d put in more than enough time. “You go home or out and have fun and I’ll finish up here.”

Despite his arguments, I pushed him out the door and turned to face the typical end-of-day mess that occurred no matter how we tried to keep things organized. Nobody was mean or anything, but nobody seemed to know how to fold things or hang them evenly or, in most cases, on the racks they came from.

Making it all nice was just part of the job.

And while a true inventory would be a good idea, we weren’t there yet, so tidying gave us an idea of what had moved and what we needed to add from the back room. So many donations continued to come in that I hadn’t had to look for more lots of clothing, but a small town could only have so many things to get rid of, and they had to run out eventually. I’d been doing some studying on how to source items through various means for the future.

Tonight, the women’s sweaters were in a heap, and I spent five or so minutes refolding them before moving on to the rack of jeans. Then T-shirts. And so on until the shop was ready for a quick mop and restock in the morning.

I stretched out my back and considered whether to stop for dinner on the way home, but then I remembered. I’d received a text from someone who was moving out of town and wondered if we’d mind picking up some donations from the patio of his rental home. Of course, I’d replied we would, but it had escaped my mind for a few very busy days.

No doubt the landlord or new tenant would appreciate having these things removed from the property. He had said something about a few boxes, so I could just pick it up on the way home in my car rather than driving the box truck and having to come back. I checked the text for the address, locked up, and headed out. I’d do the task and head home to have a sandwich. One of my bad habits, but I didn’t want to add another stop, about to drop where I stood from exhaustion already.

It was later than I thought when I got to the donor’s place, and it was dark. Either there wasn’t a new tenant yet, or whoever it was had already gone to bed, so I tiptoed down the driveway and around the back of the house in search of the boxes.

Chapter Seven

Pascal

My bear woke me up out of a dead sleep. He roared inside me, and immediately I jumped out of bed and stood up, ready for the enemy.