Page 20 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

Finley

That weekend, my phone’s shrill ring cuts through a delicious dream involving Michael, moonlight, and considerably fewer clothes than socially acceptable. I fumble blindly, knocking over a glass of water before my fingers close around the vibrating device.

“‘lo?” I mumble, still half-asleep.

“Finley! Good, you’re awake.”

I bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. That cheerful, overly energetic voice can only belong to one person. “Mom?” I check the time: 6:47 a.m. on a Saturday. The day Michael and I planned our full moon run. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Early? The sun’s been up for ages, sweetie. Your father and I are downstairs in your lobby. That nice rabbit girl… What was her name? Anyway, she let us into the lobby on her way out.”

“Penelope,” I supply automatically, my brain struggling to process this information. “Wait, you’re where ?”

“In your lobby, dear. Surprise! We thought we’d visit our city girl to see how you’re doing at that...dating agency.” The pause before “dating agency” speaks volumes about my mother’s opinion of my career choice. “Buzz us up. We brought breakfast.”

I stare at my phone in horror. My parents are here on the morning of my full moon run with Michael.

The run that’s basically an unofficial commitment ceremony between wolves.

The run that will very likely end with us having sex in the woods because we’ll be too worked up to make it back to either of our apartments.

“Um, can you give me ten minutes to make myself presentable?”

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll wait.”

I hang up and immediately dial Michael. He answers on the second ring, sounding considerably more awake than I feel.

“Good morning, beautiful. Excited for tonight?”

“Michael, emergency.” I pace my bedroom, frantically searching for clean clothes. “My parents are here, downstairs…right now. They’ve made a surprise visit.”

A brief pause. “Okay. Do we need to reschedule the run?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I pull a sweater over my head, nearly strangling myself in the process. “They don’t know about you. I mean, they know about you as my client if they listened to anything I said about work, but not as my...whatever we are now.”

“Boyfriend seems inadequate, mate seems presumptuous, and gentleman caller is archaic...” His calm humor settles my panic slightly.

“Not helping.” I hop on one foot, struggling into a pair of jeans. “What do I do?”

“I have an idea. Why don’t I join you all for breakfast? I’d like to meet them.”

I freeze, one leg in my jeans. “You want to meet my parents? Voluntarily? Are you having some kind of psychotic break?”

“Probably.” His voice warms with affection. “I figure they’ll want to meet the wolf their daughter will be running with under tonight’s full moon. Might as well get the intimidation routine over with.”

“Throwing yourself to the wolves already?” The joke slips out, but I’m touched by his willingness to face traditional wolf parents on zero notice.

“I’m pretty good with wolves, being one, remember? Text me the address of wherever you’re having breakfast. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

After I hang up, I buzz my parents in, bracing for impact. They burst into my apartment like a whirlwind of flannel and opinions. My father immediately begins inspecting the structural integrity of my living space while my mother deposits several shopping bags on my kitchen counter.

“The security in this building is atrocious,” Dad says, tapping a window frame. “I could have jimmied this open with a credit card.”

“Harold, not everyone lives with the constant threat of territory disputes.” Mom unpacks what appears to be enough food to feed an entire pack. “The city is different.”

I hug them both, genuinely happy to see them despite the terrible timing and our recent clashes over them trying to force me to take a beta or alpha mate. “This is a surprise.”

“That’s the point of surprises, pup.” Dad ruffles my hair like I’m still twelve. “Your mother was worried you weren’t eating properly.”

“So you brought half a cow?” I peer into one of the bags, finding vacuum-sealed venison steaks.

“Wolves need protein.” Mom bustles around my kitchen with the efficiency of someone who has fed hungry pack members for decades. “Besides, we wanted to see this dating agency of yours. Make sure it’s legitimate.”

I take a deep breath. “Actually, I thought we could go out for breakfast. I, um, invited someone to join us.”

Mom stops mid-motion, a package of bacon suspended in air. “Someone? As in...a date someone?”

“As in someone I’ve been seeing, yes.” I busy myself with finding clean mugs while avoiding their intense stares. However, I’m hoping to get them out the door, and serving coffee will just prolong this.

“A wolf?” Dad’s question comes out more like a demand.

“Yes, Dad, a wolf.” I roll my eyes. “His name is Michael Thornton.”

The reaction is instantaneous. Mom nearly drops the bacon.

“Thornton? As in Heath Thornton’s son? The beta from the Wilson pack?”

Of course they know his family. Wolf pack politics are worse than aristocratic lineage tracking.

“Yes, that’s him. He’ll meet us at the café around the corner in…” I check my phone. “Twenty minutes.”

What follows is a flurry of activity as Mom runs to the bathroom to “freshen up” and Dad attempts to look more intimidating by straightening his already perfectly straight flannel shirt.

I send Michael a quick text with the café address and a warning: They know who your family is. Prepare accordingly.

His response is immediate: This should be interesting. Don’t worry. I’ve faced scarier wolves in finance meetings.

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re seated at my favorite café.

Dad has positioned himself facing the door, a classic wolf strategy for monitoring potential threats.

Mom is straightening the silverware for the fourth time, and I’m contemplating whether I could fit under the table when the bell above the door chimes.

Michael walks in looking handsome in dark jeans and a blue button-down that makes his eyes even more striking.

He spots us immediately, and his posture shifts subtly.

His shoulders roll back, his chin goes up, and his stride is confident but not aggressive.

It’s a perfect display of respectful strength directed at my father, who I notice sits up straighter in response.

“Mr. and Mrs. Morgan.” Michael extends his hand to my father first, exactly the right protocol. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Michael Thornton.”

Dad engages in the traditional wolf handshake—a bit too firm and a second too long—assessing Michael’s strength and resolve. Michael meets his gaze steadily, neither challenging nor submitting. Perfect balance.

“So, you’re the stockbroker wolf.” Dad releases Michael’s hand but continues his visual assessment. “Heath’s boy.”

“Yes, sir. I prefer financial analyst.” Michael smiles and then turns to my mother with gentler courtesy. “Mrs. Morgan, thank you for allowing me to join your family breakfast.”

Mom practically preens. “Call me Meredith, dear. Sit, sit. We have so many questions.”

The interrogation begins before our coffee arrives. Dad leads with the classics. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

I choke on my water. “Dad.”

Michael remains unruffled. “Right now, sir, my intention is to enjoy getting to know her better. Finley is remarkable. Brilliant, compassionate, and the only person who’s ever truly seen me as I am.

” He glances at me with such genuine warmth that my embarrassment melts away.

“I’m not rushing anything, but I’m not wasting time, either. ”

Dad grunts, which from him is practically a standing ovation.

Mom jumps in next. “I understand your family is quite traditional. How do they feel about you working in...human finance?”

The question carries layers of meaning. What she’s really asking is whether Michael’s family would accept me, a wolf who doesn’t fit traditional molds, either.

“They’ve struggled with it,” he says candidly. “My father wanted me to follow him as beta, but my aunt Eleanor has always supported my choices, and she’s a respected pack historian.”

“Eleanor Thornton?” Mom perks up. “I know Eleanor. We served on the Inter-Pack Cultural Preservation Committee together years ago. Lovely wolf with a brilliant mind.”

The conversation shifts, easing tension as they discover mutual connections. I watch in amazement as Michael navigates my parents’ questions with unexpected grace. He impresses Dad with his knowledge of pack politics and Mom with sincere compliments about raising such an independent daughter.

“The Morgan lineage is well-respected,” Dad says, his tone warming slightly. “Your father and I ran together in the Great Northern Territory Summit, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” says Michael, “But I’m not surprised. My father mentioned you were an exceptional tracker.”

Dad puffs up visibly at this. “I wouldn’t say exceptional...”

“He would, actually,” Mom interjects with a fond eye-roll. “He brings it up at every pack gathering.”

By the time our omelets arrive, the atmosphere has transformed completely. Mom leans toward Michael conspiratorially. “When are you two planning to make things official? The Blood Moon is only two months away. That’s perfect for a mating ceremony.”

“Mom.” I nearly spit out my coffee. “We’ve only been dating for a week.”

“When you know, you know,” she says with infuriating serenity and then passes me a napkin with “Moonlight Glade or Howling Ridge?” scrawled on it, along with a crude drawing of what appears to be a wedding altar.

Michael catches my eye across the table, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and apology. I kick him lightly under the table but can’t help smiling back.

“What are your plans for today?” asks Dad, scraping his plate clean.

“We’re going hiking,” I say quickly before Mom can suggest wedding cake tastings. “At Crescent Preserve.”