Page 8

James really should’ve told me about the donations.

Chapter Eight

Rue

What a night. After my encounter with the man who was clearly not James, I carried the two big boxes to my car and stuffed them in the back seat, leaving as quickly as possible. What a grouch. You’d think I was trying to rob the place. Maybe he took the trash-panda idea to heart—had been one of those who’d bullied the little raccoons in school or at the lakes or wherever he encountered them.

I flounced into my house, leaving the boxes in the bar overnight. Some shifters, especially hot alphas, were entirely too full of themselves. What did he think I was doing? Stealing old clothes? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got and the more I wanted to go back there and tell him off. People really had nerve.

Slapping salami on bread, I tried not to remember exactly how hot he was. Or to listen to the happy hum of my raccoon inside me every time the bear shifter’s face appeared in my mind’s eye. So thrown off by the whole thing, I managed to squirt mustard on my shirt and cursed. It was his fault.

I didn’t even want the sandwich anymore, but my stomach’s rumbles convinced me to eat it anyway. I’d lost a few pounds since starting on the store, and I didn’t need to lose more because of the bear. More things that were his fault.

Knowing I should forget about him, I didn’t understand why it was so difficult. I had run into plenty of jerky alphas in my time, a lot worse than him, and I had no reason to expect I’d ever even see this guy again. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to have his own donations or shop at the thrift store.

A quick shower, and I was ready to crawl between the sheets. By the morning, he’d just be an unpleasant memory.

Ours. Mate.

Shut up, Raccoon.I needed to date more, if my animal was willing to latch onto the first alpha who paid attention to us. Negative attention at that.

Mine.

It was going to be a long night.

As it turned out, I was too exhausted to lie awake, and the bear shifter who was not James only managed to inhabit my dreams. Dreams too erotic to recall without my cheeks burning in remembered heat. If he was half the kisser in real life, had half the skill in bed my imagination conjured up, he’d have been mated long ago. Certainly not home in bed alone.

Was he alone?

Shoot. I hadn’t thought of that. He might well have been curled in bed with a mate of his own, and I dragged him out to watch me hauling off cardboard boxes of discards. I slumped over a bowl of high-fiber cereal and slurped at a cup of coffee while trying to wake up enough to make my way to the store.

The sun was already rising, and I wouldn’t be there as early as usual, but so what? Last night, especially the dream, had told me my life was out of balance, and I needed to find a way to fix that. My dads had been hinting lately that they wanted to introduce me to someone they thought would make a good mate for me. Not necessarily fated, but if my raccoon was going to start reacting to random alphas as he had last night, it might be time to quit waiting for Mr. Fated and settle down to have some kits with Mr. Not Too Bad.

Alfred beat me to work and had already mopped the floor when I came in carrying one of the boxes of donations. “I was worried when you weren’t here,” he said, rolling the mop bucket toward the back room. “What do you have there?”

“I’m not sure. Could you please go out to my car and grab the other one?” I passed him with my load. “I picked them up last night on the way home.”

“From the side of the road?” His eyes were wide. “That’s what Uncle Fred likes to do.”

“No. Someone requested a pickup. Would you just?” As soon as the words came out, I felt bad. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I had a rough night.”

“Sure.” He pushed the mop into the storage closet and closed the door. “Right away. Sorry you didn’t sleep well.”

Too well, but I didn’t want to say that. “I’ll start the restock.” And just like that, we were back in our routine, getting ready to open. I’d call my dads after work and get the number of the raccoon alpha they wanted me to meet.

As noon approached, I sent Alfred to the food trucks to get us something “good” for lunch. My good humor restored, I was unpacking a set of china someone had donated when the bell over the door rang. “Be right with you,” I called. “Just let me set these plates down.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.”

I froze, the thin dishes rattling, in danger of crashing to the floor while I tried to steady both them and my voice. Technicolor images from my dream flashed across the screen in my mind, my cheeks flamed, and I carefully set down my burden and counted silently to twenty before turning to face my visitor. “W-well hello. I didn’t expect to see you here.” What was I even saying? No, I hadn’t, but that was not the way to greet a customer or to look half sane.

Before I could correct my display of bad manners, the bear alpha said, “No, I don’t expect you did after the way I behaved last night. I came to apologize.”

“T-to what?”

“Well, you were minding your own business—literally, since it was for your shop—and I accused you of being a criminal. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. My name is Pascal, by the way, or you can call me that asshole bear if you prefer.”

Despite my embarrassment, I shook my head. “I wouldn’t do that. Why wouldn’t you wonder what a person is doing on your property in the dark?”