Page 2 of Fetch Me A Mate (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #1)

ROWAN

R ain ran off Rowan’s jacket in thin streams, dripping onto the inn’s porch as the storm pressed in around him.

Old scars prickled beneath his shirt, the kind of warning that never lied.

The storm had rolled in fast, autumn gray and sharp, but it wasn’t the weather that held him there.

It was the light spilling from the inn’s windows, warm against the gloom.

He’d meant to wait until morning. Instead, he knocked.

Just a job , he told himself, flexing fingers that wanted to curl into fists. Fix the core, take the pay, move on. Nothing to do with the town that once let him walk away. Nothing to do with the fact that he’d come back anyway.

The door opened, and his wolf went perfectly still.

Diana Merrick stood framed in the glow of the lobby.

Honey-blonde curls caught the light like threads of gold, her cardigan dusted with flour or maybe cleaning powder, sleeves shoved to her elbows.

She looked like someone who worked until the job was done.

But it was her eyes that stopped him—amber flecked with gold, steady, curious, unflinching.

The wolf in him stirred, low and insistent. He crushed it back.

“Ms. Merrick.” His voice came out rougher than he intended. Rain tapped against the porch roof. “Rowan Baneville. Council sent me about the renovations.”

“Diana,” she corrected, stepping back. “Come in before you drown.”

He crossed the threshold, careful not to brush her shoulder.

The inn wrapped around him like memory: cedar beams, stone hearth, the faded rug where he’d once sat as a boy listening to Miriam’s stories.

The smell was the same too—cedar and cinnamon, threaded now with chamomile and something sweeter, honey or vanilla.

Focus. He forced his attention to the room. Water stains marred the ceiling. The front window rattled against its frame. The third floorboard sagged near the desk. The bones were speaking already.

“Miriam said you’d be coming,” Diana said. She’d moved behind the reception desk, one hand resting on an open notebook. “Though I wasn’t expecting anyone in this weather.”

“Storm doesn’t wait on convenience.” Rowan shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree. His flannel underneath was damp but serviceable. “Better to see what we’re dealing with before it gets worse.”

She nodded. Her gaze lingered on his forearms where scars cut pale against tanned skin, old marks from claws and construction alike. Most people looked away. Diana didn’t. She studied them like they were a story she wanted to understand.

“How long have you lived in Hollow Oak?” she asked.

The question slid in sideways, too casual to be harmless. “Left for a while. Came back.”

“Recently?”

“Recent enough.” He brushed his hand along the banister. Solid oak, but the third step sagged. “Mind if I look around? Get a feel for what needs doing?”

“Of course.” She grabbed a flashlight from the counter. “Lead the way.”

They climbed the stairs, her light steps following the weight of his boots. The hallway carried the scent of lavender and dust, doors open to rooms that hadn’t held guests in too long. At the far end, a bucket caught water dripping steady from a warped window frame.

“That’s been going on for weeks,” she said. “Miriam thought it was manageable, but?—”

“It’s not.” Rowan crouched, checking the spread of water damage down the wall. “If we don’t get into this soon, the frame will rot. Might need replacing.”

Her arms folded tight across her chest. “Expensive?”

He glanced at her. She bit her lip, eyes sharp but worried. Something in his chest tugged hard, protective instinct he had no right to feel.

“Depends how deep it goes,” he said. “Could be a day’s work, could be a week.” He stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Won’t know till I strip the siding.”

“And you’ll handle it?” she pressed. “The Council didn’t just assign you to write notes?”

“I’ll do what needs doing.” His voice came out firm, more promise than he’d meant.

She studied him for a beat, then nodded, tension easing from her shoulders. “Where do we start then? Roof or rot?”

The practical question hit deeper than it should have. The way she said we landed heavier still, like he was already part of her plan. Like she trusted him, and trust was a thing Hollow Oak had never given back easily.

“Roof,” he said. “Storm’s not done, and you’ll want to be watertight before the real weather sets in. After that, we’ll see what the bones tell us.”

“The bones?”

“Every old building has a story. You just have to listen to hear what it needs.”

Diana tilted her head. “And what’s this one telling you?”

Rowan’s gaze moved over the place. He’d run these halls as a boy, carried trays for Miriam, memorized which groans were harmless and which spelled trouble. The inn had been a sanctuary once, back when he’d needed one.

“That it’s been waiting,” he said finally.

“For what?”

For you, his wolf whispered. He clamped down on the thought. “For someone to care for it properly again.”

Her smile was soft, unguarded. “I can do that.”

His throat tightened. He turned, cleared his voice. “We should check the porch.”

They stepped outside. Rain fell steady, drumming against shingles.

Across the square, Griddle he answered plain. When he told her a piece of trim was unsalvageable, she winced, then asked if they could reuse it as décor. He said yes. She smiled like he’d given her a gift.

Rain eased outside, leaving the square wrapped in quiet mist. Rowan rolled the plan, slid it into a cardboard tube. “I’ll be back at dawn. North wall first, then stairs.”

“Coffee will be ready,” she said.

He slung his tool bag over his shoulder, then paused. “Back door swells. Use the front if you’re alone. Lock both. If anything feels off, call the Council line.”

Her gaze met his. “Any reason I should expect trouble?”

He breathed out slow. No sense borrowing fear for her yet. “Storms bring opportunists. They like shadows.”

“All right.” Her eyes searched his, measuring him as much as the warning. “Thank you, Rowan.”

He tipped two fingers from the brim of his cap. “Diana.”

The porch met him with the scent of wet leaves and the lake beyond the trees.

He told himself again this was just a job.

Fix the core. Leave. His wolf didn’t agree.

It paced inside him, shoving images into his mind: a warm lobby, names filling the ledger, a woman laughing because she’d finally found her place.

Rowan went down the steps into the rain. He didn’t look back. He already knew the sound of that door closing.