Page 8 of Can’t Help Growling in Love (Harmony Glen #9)

Chapter

Six

JUNE

A man stands in the corner, by the pickup counter, his body angled away from me. I didn’t really notice him before, not beyond counting him as yet another person crammed in the coffee shop, but now I can’t believe I’ve missed him.

He’s tall, well over six feet, powerfully built. His expression could almost be mistaken for cold. But there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, recognition and embarrassment, maybe?

It’s him . If the barista hadn’t called his name, I might not have made the connection, but from the way he’s looking at me, I know he recognizes me, too.

He saw my photo, after all.

Did he…?

Oh, crap. He must have seen me come in and decided he doesn’t want to talk to me.

And here I thought we were on the cusp of maybe meeting up in person. I’d deluded myself into believing that we were flirting, that he was just as into it as I was, but maybe this entire thing has been a giant nuisance for him.

The barista behind him clears his throat, and Asher turns around to accept the order. Any moment now, he’ll walk right past me. Maybe he’ll utter a low, “Hey,” and hurry along to avoid the woman who’s basically been stalking him online.

Nope .

I shouldn’t be here anyway. Buying a coffee from Cool Beans now might mean I’ll have to skip lunch later.

I’m moving before I’ve had a chance to make a proper decision. Out the door and into the rain, rushing to the bike stand to unlock the chain and get the hell out of here.

“June!”

I freeze at the sound of Asher’s voice. Because it’s him calling after me, I know it. I’ve listened to hours and hours of his programs on the radio, of his audiobooks, and I might have imagined him calling my name before—but not like this.

I curse as I fumble with the keys, my hands slippery from the rain. I should have taken the car today, gas prices be damned, because it would be worth it to avoid this situation…

Asher draws up short a few paces away, his presence tangible even though I’m still not looking at him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “June, right?”

I take a bracing breath and turn to face him. The sight of him hits me once more, his height, his handsome features, a frown tugging his eyebrows together. His eyes are a warm hazel, and he’s tracing his gaze over me, just as rude as I am.

“Uh, we should…” He takes my sleeve and tugs me gently to the side, just a few feet, so we’re standing under the coffee shop’s awning.

He lets go of me immediately, and I take a step back, not because I’m afraid of him but because he smells nice, like he’d showered recently, and it’s messing with my brain.

His nostrils twitch, flaring just slightly. It hits me that he’s a werewolf, with superior senses, even in his human form, and is likely scenting the fact that I’ve broken out in a nervous sweat under all the layers I put on earlier to hold off the chill and the rain.

Damn it, does he have to be attractive, too?

It’s unfair that he should have a voice that has my insides quivering every time I hear it and be hot on top of that.

Nature’s a bitch sometimes.

A pang of irrational sadness goes through me at the thought that I’ll have to stop listening to Asher if it turns out he’s uncomfortable with me.

Then it hits me that we’re still staring at each other in silence.

The people-pleaser in me wants to come up with something smart to say, but I stop myself.

I was going to give both of us a break and make myself scarce, but he ran out after me. He can be the one to speak first.

I crane my neck to meet his gaze. Damn him—he must be a foot taller than me.

The corner of his mouth tips up just a fraction, as if he’s fighting a smile. “Can we, um, start this over?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Start what over?”

He holds out a hand, balancing the coffees and the pastry bag precariously. “Hi, I’m Asher. It’s really good to meet you in person. I didn’t mean to act like a weirdo and ignore you, but you looked so bright, I freaked out.”

I glance down at my teal pants, then back at him. “You don’t like color?”

He’s dressed in shades of black and gray, the complete opposite of me.

But he’s already shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I’m no good at this. At talking to people.”

My heart thaws just a little. Maybe he’s freaking out as much as I am.

I reach out and grasp his hand, cutting through the awkwardness. “Hi, I’m June, and I’m glad you decided to talk to me after all.”

He smiles then, and I’m staring again, because I’ve never seen anyone?—

“This is weird, right?” I blurt, dropping my gaze to the drinks tray he’s holding. “I made it weird by running out.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, but I was weird before you, so it cancels out.”

I could swear he leans in to sniff at me again, and I try to hold my arms tightly at my sides to hide my sweat. I’ve worked with several supernaturals and treated countless non-human patients, but it’s never bothered me before that my body gives away so much to someone with better senses.

“Could you stop smelling me?” I shuffle back nervously. “I swear I showered today, but I must have forgotten to put on my deodorant…”

His eyes flare wide, and he steps back, which puts him back in the rain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You smell so good.”

I blink up at him, then reach for his sleeve like he did for me earlier, and tug him back under the awning. He flinches slightly at my touch, so I let go of him just as quickly as he did for me earlier.

His words take a moment to sink in. I smell good?

I’d call him a liar, but the flush in his cheeks tells me he’s embarrassed about the confession, and I shouldn’t be judging his behavior by human standards.

He’s not human, after all, and scent is crucial for communication with shifters, as well as other supernaturals.

He looks like he’s trying to breathe through his mouth to avoid sniffing me.

I groan. “Okay, officially the most awkward introduction ever, which is doubly sad for me because I was really excited about this.”

It’s a confession I wasn’t going to make, but it’s either admit that I’ve been trying to ask him to meet or leave here and never contact him again.

His dark eyebrows shoot up. “You were?”

“Yeah.” I fight back the heat rising in my cheeks. “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you. And you obviously know I’m a big fan of your program. You have a great taste in music.”

His smile lights up his face. “Stella—my boss—is always telling me I was born in the wrong decade.” He glances down at the coffees and grimaces.

“Which reminds me. I should get these to the studio before she sends out a search party. We’re having a meeting to discuss how we’ll shut down operations. ”

“What?” I forget all about the awkwardness at this. “Why?”

Asher shrugs. “She wants to retire and spend more time with her family, so she’s selling the place.”

My heart sinks. “No more Monster Tunes?”

“Sorry.”

He looks like he means it, too. His smile is sad, as if he’s already accepted the news but somehow knows how much I’ll miss hearing his voice on the radio.

“The other nurses will be devastated. The end of an era, truly.” I wrap my fingers around the bunch of keys in my pocket, and though I want to stay here and chat, I’m keeping Asher from his meeting. “It was lovely to meet you.”

I expect him to say his goodbyes and leave, but he’s still staring at me, his gaze intent.

“You rode your bike here?”

I glance at my vintage beauty I’d been trying to unlock, then up at my helmet. “What gave it away?”

He gives me an admonishing glare, as if unimpressed with my snark, and my belly squeezes unexpectedly. It’s a kind of look that belongs in the bedroom, not on a busy street filled with elderly couples and families.

“I can drive you to the hospital.” He jerks his head up. “It’s not far from the radio station.”

I know that—and he knows I know because I told him I rode past the building. I want to spend more time with him, but… “I’ll have to get home somehow. I need my bike.”

“We can put it in the back of my truck.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Coming?”

It’s how I find myself sitting in a spacious truck’s cabin with Asher Summers, aka Damon Holt, as rain splatters on his windshield. He had me hold the drinks and the pastries while he picked up my bike as if it weighed nothing and carried it around the corner to his vehicle.

I noted a small limp when he walked ahead of me and remembered what he told me about his injury and the botched first surgery on his knee. He must have worked tirelessly to get this level of ease back into his movement, even with faster shifter healing.

I know I likely shouldn’t have accepted a ride from a man who’s essentially a stranger, but Asher is giving off nice vibes only, so I decide to trust my instincts for the moment.

“Do you always take your bike in this kind of weather?” he asks, gaze focused on the road. “It’s getting cold.”

I try to shrug off the question. “It’s good for the planet.”

He slants a look my way, no words or judgment from him. Instead, he pushes a button on the dashboard, and my seat warms slowly, spreading heat through me.

“It helps me save up on gas,” I admit, barely holding back a groan of relief. “I checked the forecast, and this rain will stop sometime in the night. I shouldn’t have any issues in the morning.”

It’s the truth, but it brings up unwanted thoughts about how I’ll manage in the winter.

The streets will get icy, the weather unpredictable, and it might not be safe to ride my bike everywhere, even for such short distances.

I guess I’ll have to take my car or ask someone from the night shift to pick me up every day, though that would mean having to pay them back somehow.

I’ll manage. I always do. But the memory of how uncomfortable last winter was is still fresh in my mind, even though summer was mild and carefree. I’d barely made it through, and it took me several months to pay off the credit card debt I’d accrued over the cold season.

Asher doesn’t comment—and there’s not much to say.

People are always awkward when someone confesses they’re poor.

My parents never want to hear about my struggles, not even to commiserate.

I’ve never asked them for money because my pride won’t allow it.

They think I’ve brought it all down on myself by choosing a life different than what they had imagined for me.

“You can have my coffee,” he says after a long moment of silence.

I bristle. “I didn’t tell you this so you could pity me.”

He keeps his gaze on the road. “I know. But you ran out of the coffee shop before getting your own, so I owe you that, at least. I’m not sharing my pastry, though.”

I stare at him, my mouth open in protest—but I can’t find anything to object to. So I duck my head and mutter, “Sorry.”

He hums again in answer, and I get the sense that’s how he is—a man of few words. Strangely, I don’t mind it at all.

I glance at the drinks tray I’m still holding in my lap. “Let me guess, you drink bitter espresso only?”

“Wrong,” he counters. “That small cup of sadness is for Stella. You can have one of the lattes.”

I pick one of the remaining three cups and take a sip. “Cool Beans has the best coffee in town.”

“Yeah?” He smiles slightly, eyes on the road. “I don’t go out much, so I usually make my own. I bought an espresso machine a couple of months ago.”

“Want a sip?” I hold out the cup to him. “It’s only fair of me to share.”

His hazel eyes glint golden for a moment, but he accepts the cup wordlessly and drinks, then hands it back to me. “Delicious.”

My hand trembles lightly, so I cover it by taking another sip.

This moment, alone in the car with this strange man, should feel uncomfortable, but it’s intimate instead, sharing the warmth and the coffee.

If we weren’t both in danger of being late for work, I’d beg him to just keep driving, another round through the town, perhaps, but I need this job, so I motion for Asher to take a left and direct him toward the employee lot, where he stops in front of the parking barrier.

“Thank you.” I hand him the almost empty coffee cup. “For the coffee and the ride.”

He puts on the safety blinkers and jumps out of the truck. He rounds the front and opens my door like a gentleman, then lifts my bike from the back without so much as a grunt.

“If it rains in the morning…”

He lets the words hang between us, an unspoken offer.

I give him a smile. “It won’t. But thank you.”

He stares down at me for a long moment, his dark eyebrows knitted together in a frown. Then he nods and stalks back to the car, but he doesn’t drive away. He stays right there, orange blinkers winking at me, until I lock up my bike, give him one last wave, and walk inside.

I decide there and then to put all thoughts of Asher Summers aside. He might think I smell good, but he didn’t ask me for my number so he could call, nor did he ask me out, so I guess that’s that.

The twinge of pain behind my breastbone tells me I’m right to put a stop to this silly infatuation before I become any more involved.

But when I reach my locker and hang my waterproof gear up to dry, I find a message waiting for me.

It was great to meet you in person .