Page 1 of Fetch Me A Mate (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #1)

DIANA

D iana Merrick paused on the front steps of the Hearth & Hollow Inn with Miriam’s keys digging crescents into her palm.

The old brass keyring was heavy, the kind of weight that always found a way to bruise.

She liked that about it. A bruise meant something mattered.

A bruise meant she’d taken hold of responsibility instead of just brushing by it.

She chose the largest key and pressed it into the lock. The mechanism gave with a reluctant sigh, like a door exhaling after too many years. When she pushed, the hinges whined before yielding, and the scent of cedar and cinnamon curled out to meet her.

The lobby lay in soft afternoon light. Dust floated in lazy ribbons through the air, settling over a faded rug patterned in worn golds and greens.

The reception bell perched on the desk like a tiny crown, and the guest ledger waited open, its creamy pages bare.

Diana stepped inside and the floorboards creaked in greeting.

The place had the uncanny sense of listening. Not judging. Just waiting.

“Hi,” she said, because she’d always been the sort to greet rooms and trees. “It’s me. I brought tea and a stubborn streak.”

Her tote landed on the desk with a gentle thump. She traced the ledger’s spine, her fingers skimming the cracked leather where countless hands had once signed their names. “We’ll have new ones soon,” she promised the book. “Nice names. People who tip and send thank-you notes.”

The radiator ticked in the corner. She counted that as agreement.

Behind the desk, a side office revealed itself with the familiar must of old paper and lemon oil. A stack of envelopes sat tied with twine. Miriam’s spidery hand labeled the top: For Diana, first day.

Diana tugged it open. Out slid a schematic of the building, a yellowed photo of the inn years ago with the porch painted a hopeful robin’s-egg blue, and a neatly written list titled Do These So I Don’t Haunt You . At the bottom, in smaller script: I’m kidding. Probably.

Her smile tipped crooked. Miriam always knew how to lace affection with warning.

The last sheet bore the Council seal, a pressed leaf that shimmered faintly when she tilted it toward the light. The heading read:

Hollow Oak Council Coordination Notice

Contractor assigned: Rowan Baneville. Renovation assistance authorized. Begin at your discretion, pending safety review.

Her eyes caught on the name. She said it aloud, testing the shape. “Rowan Baneville.” The syllables landed with the weight of pine and distance. Her imagination, maybe. That tended to run ahead of her anyway.

She set the notice down and tucked Miriam’s list into her back pocket. The inn would need a sweep before she made plans with a stranger. Learn the rhythm of the place. Feel its bones. She shrugged out of her coat, rolled up her sleeves, and climbed the stairs.

The staircase groaned under her weight. She patted the newel post in apology and counted the creaks—third, seventh, ninth.

The second-floor hallway smelled faintly of lavender sachets tucked into drawers years ago and varnish that had long since dulled.

In the first guest room, sunlight spilled over a quilt patched in mismatched fabric stars.

Diana pressed her palm against the wall and closed her eyes.

Warm. Tired. Still willing to be useful.

“I know that feeling,” she murmured.

Down the hall, a window fought her at the latch.

She leaned in with her shoulder until it relented, opening on a breath of crisp autumn.

Beyond the square, the forest blazed in copper and gold.

The path through the trees led toward the glade where the Council gathered, and even from here she thought she could feel the Veil humming—subtle, insistent, like a violin note under the skin.

Her phone buzzed. Miriam’s name flashed on the screen.

“Tell me the floorboards didn’t pitch you through the cellar,” Miriam said without preamble.

“Not yet.” Diana smiled. “They flirted with the idea.”

“Floors always flirt when you show up with a clipboard. You sound steady.”

“I’m trying.” She glanced into the hallway mirror.

Honey-blonde curls framed her face in their usual loose riot, dust smudged one sleeve of her cardigan, and freckles brightened when nerves pricked her skin.

She didn’t mind the reflection. It looked like someone determined. “I found your envelopes. Thank you.”

“Good. How does it feel in there?”

“Like it’s waiting for me to introduce myself properly. Not unfriendly. More… testing.”

Miriam laughed, low and knowing. “That sounds right. Did you see the Council notice?”

“I did. Rowan Baneville. Should I be worried about a contractor the Council sends instead of one I pick?”

“He’s not a punishment,” Miriam said firmly. “He’s a safeguard. Good hands. Simple work shirts. A way of standing that makes people rethink their nonsense. Quiet sort. Also the kind who shows up when he says he will. Let him take the heavy lifting until the bones are sound.”

“Are there strings I should know about?”

“Only the ones you choose to tie yourself,” Miriam said, her tone softening. “You have more say than you think, Diana. This town respects stability. It may take a minute for some to put a human in that category. That’s not your fault. It’s just history.”

Diana hesitated. “Why me, though? We’ve never met. I don’t have innkeeping experience, and I’m… nobody special.”

“Child,” Miriam said gently, “you’ve been searching for home your whole life.

Your gift lets you feel what others feel, which means you’ll know exactly what your guests need before they do.

More importantly, you answered the call.

Not everyone would get on a bus with nothing but a suitcase and a stranger’s letter. ”

Diana’s throat tightened. “How did you know about?—”

“Your gift?” Miriam cut in, voice calm. “Hollow Oak calls to people who need what it offers. And sometimes it needs what they offer in return. Everyone here is different in their own way. Like that wolf of a contractor who’s coming.”

“A wolf?” Diana asked, brows lifting.

“Yes, dear. Shifters, witches, fae, vampires—you’ll find them all in Hollow Oak. Safe haven, for us and for the ones who need it. And you will, too.”

Diana swallowed. “So Rowan is a shifter.”

“Through and through. An alpha at that. A man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. He’s come back to Hollow Oak, and you’ll find you two have more in common than you realize. You can’t run from that. You can’t hide from it, either.”

Diana felt her empathic sense stir, that ripple of energy whenever someone spoke a truth too heavy to ignore. She didn’t understand the shape of it yet, only that Miriam believed what she said.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to walk to the kitchen with you,” Miriam added. “Promised the Council I’d let you breathe on day one.”

“Thank you. For the keys. For everything.”

“Keys are simple,” Miriam said. “People are the adventure. Call if the boiler sings.”

They hung up with the comfort of women who didn’t need to fuss.

Diana tucked the phone away and headed downstairs.

The kitchen smelled of copper pots and old rosemary.

A scarred butcher block bore decades of knife marks.

Two mugs sat upside down on a towel, as if waiting for her.

She found the good kettle Miriam had mentioned, filled it, and let it heat while she stared out the window at her new world.

Later, tea in hand, she returned to the desk and set it beside the ledger. “So,” she told the book, “you and me. We’re going to be organized and charming. Game nights. Story hours. Breakfasts people brag about years later.”

She flipped to a fresh notebook page. Headings appeared under her pen: Paint colors. Safety inspection. Bed frames. Contractor meeting .

Her empathic gift whispered again as she drifted into the parlor. It wasn’t sight or sound, more the echo of laughter pressed into wallpaper and grief made lighter by comfort. She stood in the center, closed her eyes, and whispered, “I want to keep whatever this is. I won’t scrub it out.”

A low wind picked up, rattling the shutters. Rain began to patter against the roof, soft at first, then steadier. Diana reached for her notes when a new sound joined the storm—a measured scrape above her, heavy footsteps moving across shingles. Her heart jolted.

Contractor. Rowan Baneville.

She turned to the door just as a firm knock echoed through the lobby, reverberating against cedar and cinnamon and every promise she had just made.