Page 5 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

“Deal.” I stare at a zucchini that looks suspiciously limp. “Do you actually trust me to cook? I burned eggs the other day. Remember?”

She smirks. “We’re unstoppable if we team up. Plus, I can handle a bit of char if it’s comedic.”

We finish shopping amid a barrage of questionable produce and a debate about whether we need basil for anything.

By the time we get home, the sky’s turned a soft navy, the city lights flicking on.

I spread the veggies on the counter, Penelope wields a knife, and we form a clumsy assembly line.

She hums a strange tune that might be an MMA anthem, and I rummage for spices, hoping we can create something vaguely edible.

While I’m stoking the stove’s flame, she asks about my mother. “You going to call her back?”

I sigh, drizzling oil in the pan. “Might do it tomorrow. Maybe I can summon enough patience to politely decline for the millionth time.”

She tosses chopped peppers into a bowl, a grin forming. “Or you can tell her you’re dating someone super normal in the city. That might shut her up.”

The pan hisses as the oil heats. “That’s lying, and she’d sniff it out in two seconds. She has a weird sixth sense for when I’m not being truthful.”

Penelope wags her knife, clucking her tongue. “Then we need to find you a fake city boyfriend. Some random guy from your building, maybe. Or an extremely tall vampire, who only emerges at midnight.”

I bark a laugh, stirring the oil so it won’t scorch. “No vampires. That’s a whole other subcategory of shifters, or so I hear, and it’s complicated. Also, I’m not lying to my mother about a relationship.”

She dumps in onions, and the kitchen sizzles with aromatic promise. “Too bad. Could have been fun.”

We proceed to create a passable stir-fry.

It’s not going to win any culinary awards, but at least we won’t be ordering takeout for the second night in a row.

After an awkward moment with the sauce that nearly splatters, we manage to dish everything onto plates and then collapse onto the couch to eat.

She tries a bite, her eyes widening. “Not half bad. Good job.”

I poke at mine. “It’s definitely an improvement over my scorched eggs fiasco. Maybe I’m finally adulting properly.”

She laughs around a mouthful. “Don’t get too excited. We both know adulting means your bills keep coming, no matter how grown up you feel.”

A sigh escapes me, remembering rent is due soon. “Yeah. At least the job pays better than I expected. If I keep doing well, maybe Red will give me more responsibilities.”

Penelope’s eyes narrow in playful suspicion. “Like personally delivering suitors to Michael’s door? Check yourself, wolf girl.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the spark in my chest at the mention of his name. “He’s so composed. Not arrogant, just…careful.”

She laughs. “You’re describing a gourmet dessert. ‘Refined, with a hint of mystery.’”

“Shut up,” I say, grinning. “It’s professional, but we get each other’s family drama.”

“That’s the problem. Shared baggage leads to feelings. Keep your walls up if you want to keep your job.”

“I’m not sabotaging my job,” I insist. “It’s the first place I feel like I belong.”

She smirks. “Just saying, this sounds like a rom-com setup.”

I snort, brushing off the flutter in my stomach, and go to set the table. The stir fry is edible, and we don’t discuss Michael again, to my relief.

Later, as I drift off to sleep, my mind tangles with images of my parents’ disapproval, Michael’s calm gaze, and a lynx with an agenda.

Dreams pull me into a bizarre chase with an alpha’s nephew as my mother waves a contract.

I wake up sweaty, reminding myself it’s not real.

I’m building my own life, helping shifters find love, and I won’t lose sight of my own path again.

A week later, Michael calls the office. I answer on the first ring, trying not to sound too eager when I see his name on the caller ID. “This is Finley Morgan.”

“Finley? It’s Michael.”

“How did it go?” I ask, already knowing from his tone that it wasn’t good.

He sighs. “Let’s just say, Sasha and I have different views on what it means to be a wolf. She called me domesticated when I mentioned my apartment in the financial district.”

“Oh, no.” I wince. “What else happened?”

“She spent the first twenty minutes lecturing me on corporate greed destroying habitats and the second twenty minutes suggesting I was betraying my species by wearing a tie.” His voice holds a mix of frustration and amusement.

“When I didn’t growl at the waiter for bringing the wrong appetizer, she accused me of being unnaturally passive . ”

I cover my face with my hand, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I should have realized she’d be too—”

“Wild?” he suggests, and I can hear a smile in his voice. “It’s not your fault. You were trying something different.”

I bite my lip, thinking. “Actually, there is another person I had in mind. She’s a timber wolf shifter named Veronica, who works as an art curator. She’s refined and looking for the same, so she might be more compatible with you.”

There’s a pause. “She sounds more well-suited on paper.”

“Would you be willing to try again?”

He hesitates. “I suppose, though I’m starting to wonder if I’m simply not cut out for the dating pool Romance Expected offers.”

“Don’t give up yet,” I say quickly, surprising myself with my vehemence. “Sometimes, it takes a few misses to find the right match.”

“All right,” he says, sounding slightly more optimistic. “Set it up, but if she starts lecturing me about embracing my inner wolf, I’m walking out.”

I laugh. “Deal. No wolf lectures. I promise.”

After hanging up, I pull Veronica’s file, hoping this match will be better. As I review her information, a strange thought crosses my mind. What if none of these women are right for Michael because I’m subconsciously sabotaging the matches?

I dismiss the idea immediately. That would be unprofessional and ridiculous. I’m just doing my job, finding the best possible match for my client, even if his smile does make my heart beat a little faster.