Page 3 of Fetch Me A Mate (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #1)

DIANA

T he sound of hammering pulled Diana from sleep at quarter past six. She lay still, listening to the steady rhythm above her head, then smiled into her pillow. Rowan had said dawn. Apparently, he meant it.

She dressed in jeans and a soft green sweater, braiding her hair back to keep it out of her face. The inn felt different this morning—more alive somehow, purpose thrumming through its bones. Coffee first, then she’d see what progress looked like.

In the kitchen, a note leaned against the sugar bowl in Miriam’s tidy script: Back at nine with stories and tea. Don’t let him work without breakfast. – M.

Diana smiled and put the kettle on. Through the window, Rowan’s truck was parked at an angle that shielded the work area from the morning sun. Thoughtful. She pulled bacon from the fridge and cracked eggs into a bowl.

By eight-thirty, she carried a tray upstairs. Rowan knelt on the landing, prying loose floorboards with a crowbar. His flannel clung damp with sweat despite the cool air, sleeves rolled high to reveal forearms strong with corded muscle. He glanced up, pale eyes catching the light.

“Coffee,” she said, setting the tray on a nearby sawbuck. “And fuel.”

He rocked back on his heels, wiping his hands on a rag. “Didn’t expect room service.”

“Miriam’s orders.” She passed him a steaming mug. “How’s it looking?”

“Better than I thought.” He gestured at the exposed subfloor. “Rot didn’t spread far. I can sister new joists to the old ones. Solid for another century.”

She crouched beside him, studying the wood dark with age but sound at its core. “Beautiful work. Whoever built this knew what they were doing.”

“Henry Caldwell and half the town. Nineteen ninety.” Rowan accepted the plate of eggs and bacon. “Miriam’s husband led the crew.”

“I didn’t know she’d been married.”

“Lost him young. Heart attack. She never remarried. Said the inn was family enough.”

Diana’s chest ached for Miriam, a woman who’d poured herself into these walls. “She chose well.”

“She did.” His eyes met hers briefly before he bent back to his meal. “This is good. Thanks.”

They ate in companionable quiet, birds calling from the lake’s edge and a doorbell chiming faintly from Griddle & Grind across the square.

When she gathered the dishes, Rowan caught her wrist lightly. “Stairs are solid from here down. Watch the third step till I fix it this afternoon.”

His hand was warm, callused. For a breath, neither of them moved. Then footsteps sounded below, and he let go.

Miriam waited in the lobby, wrapped in a wool coat the color of autumn leaves, a wicker basket looped over one arm.

“Good morning, dear.” Her smile was bright, spectacles glinting. “Ready for a proper introduction to your inheritance?”

“Rowan says the bones are sound.”

“Of course they are. Henry built this place to last.” Miriam opened the basket, producing a tin painted with roses and a thick folder. “Earl Grey with lavender—good for nerves. And these”—she tapped the folder—“are the stories that matter.”

“Stories?”

“Every inn needs mythology. Come on.”

She led Diana through the lobby, pausing at the mantel where photographs crowded the shelf: wedding guests, children opening presents, strangers raising toasts.

“That one’s from ’98,” Miriam said, tapping a photo of bundled-up families. “Blizzard trapped twelve strangers here for four days. They left as lifelong friends. Still exchange Christmas cards.”

She pointed at another. “This was the night a siren sang in the parlor. Heartbroken over some sea prince. Keened till dawn, and by morning half the town was in love with her.”

Diana studied the images, each one proof that the inn had always been more than shelter.

“They all look… happy.”

“Belonging is powerful magic,” Miriam said. “This place has always specialized in it.”

Upstairs, the thud of Rowan’s work echoed faintly. Miriam’s eyes twinkled as she called, “Morning, Rowan. How’s the patient?”

“Responding well,” he answered, and Diana heard a warmth in his tone she hadn’t before.

“Good boy. Don’t let him skip lunch, Diana. Men forget to eat when they’re focused.”

Heat touched her cheeks as they moved on.

Miriam opened a guest room painted soft blue. “This suite’s seen three marriage proposals. Something about the light makes people brave.”

The next held a story of a famous author, another of a father and daughter who reconciled over hot chocolate and Scrabble. Each space carried its own mythology, its own proof that this inn held lives and shaped them.

“People come here when they need something they can’t name,” Miriam said as they paused at a window overlooking the square. “Your job is to help them find it.”

Diana clutched the tea tin tighter. “But I’m human. What if I don’t?—”

“Have the instincts?” Miriam cut her off gently. “Your gift is different, not lesser. You feel what others feel. That means you’ll know what guests need before they do. Trust it.”

Diana looked down at the square. Locals bustled between shops, the Book Nook’s windows gleaming, the café chalkboard promising chai and gossip. Beneath it all, her sense picked up the steady hum of the Veil, woven into every heartbeat of town life.

“You belong if you choose to,” Miriam said. “That’s the only rule that matters here. Choice, Diana. Not blood, not power, not history. Choice.”

The truth settled into her bones like steeping tea. “I choose to.”

“Good.” Miriam’s grin turned sly. “Now let’s make it official. Time to meet Twyla.”

The café bell chimed as they stepped into warmth and cinnamon. Twyla Honeytree looked up from behind the counter, wheat-colored hair wrapped in a scarf, her smile radiant.

“Miriam! And you must be Diana.” She rounded the counter with effortless grace. “Welcome to the heart of Hollow Oak.”

“Thank you. This place is lovely,” Diana said, shaking her hand. Warmth rolled off Twyla, with a shimmer that hinted at her fae blood.

“Coffee? Tea? Fresh scones begging for company?” Twyla grinned.

“Coffee would be perfect.”

Twyla worked the espresso machine, movements quick and sure. The café smelled of sugar, bread, and something floral that might have been magic.

“So,” Twyla said, sliding over a mug, “how’s renovation? Heard hammering before the sun was up.”

“Rowan’s making progress.” Diana took a sip. Perfect coffee.

“Rowan Baneville,” Twyla said, voice light but speculative. “There’s a wolf who needs a good reason to stay.”

Diana nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing.” Twyla waved airily, but her grin was wicked. “First time he’s stuck with a project this big. First time he’s had the right motivation.”

“Twyla,” Miriam warned, though her tone was amused.

“What? Just observation.” Twyla reached under the counter and produced a wicker basket lined with gingham. “Take these to fuel the renovation. Can’t have hardworking wolves going hungry.”

Diana accepted the basket, warm with fresh scones. “Thank you, but I’m not sure what you’re implying about?—”

“About wolves needing reasons?” Twyla leaned closer. “Honey, some folks drift until they find something worth protecting. Worth building a future around.”

Heat climbed Diana’s neck. “We just met yesterday.”

“Time moves different in Hollow Oak,” Twyla said with a knowing smile. “Especially when the Veil nudges.”

“The Veil doesn’t push,” Miriam corrected. “It clarifies.”

Diana looked between them. “You’re matchmaking.”

“We’re observing,” Twyla said sweetly. “But that wolf’s been circling the idea of home for months. First time he’s stepped inside somewhere.”

She tucked extra pastries into the basket. “These are his favorites. Not that I’m suggesting anything.”

“Of course not,” Diana said dryly.

“Good. Suggestion implies subtlety.” Twyla laughed, bright as bells. “Wolves don’t do halfway. When they commit, it’s everything.”

Diana’s gift stirred, catching genuine affection beneath Twyla’s teasing. They weren’t meddling just for fun. They cared—for her, for Rowan, for Hollow Oak.

“He’s helping with renovations,” Diana said carefully.

“For now,” Twyla agreed cheerfully, tying a ribbon on the basket. “But when the time comes, don’t let fear choose for you. Some things are worth the risk.”

Diana clutched the basket, the words echoing as clearly as Miriam’s: You belong if you choose to.

Outside, the hammering resumed, steady and sure, as if the inn itself approved.