Page 36 of Loan Wolf (Green Valley Shifters: Generations #1)
36
GABE
G abe frowned at the flowers. The internet had assured him that it was appropriate to give flowers for performances, but it hadn’t offered much guidance on what kind of flowers.
Actually, it had given too much guidance.
Yellow flowers meant friendship, which seemed inappropriate to offer a mate. Red roses might be standard, but Julia was out of those. Other than carnations in a lot of rather unnatural looking shades, he wasn’t at all sure what any of the flowers she had were…except for daisies, which a quick search convinced him meant innocence, joy, and secrets. Innocence aside—he smirked—they seemed like the best choice, and besides, they’d first met the second time over a bike named Daisy.
They were also the cheapest flowers available.
Gabe was glad he walked, because the theatre lot was full and vehicles were parked along every street in a four block radius. He joined a stream of people dressed up in Green Valley formal, which tended to mean nice plaid shirts and clean jeans. Women wore modest country dresses. Out-of-towners added class to the mix, and Gabe spotted a few men in suits and women wearing slinky dresses and heels.
Gabe had chosen a clean T-shirt and second-best jeans—he still mourned his ruined favorite pair—and he finger-combed his hair self-consciously as he drew close to the building.
The theatre was air conditioned, which was rare for Green Valley, and Gabe went to the box office.
“Name?” Gillian looked up. “Oh, Gabe!” She started to rifle through the will-call box of tickets. “Smith, Smith, Smith…”
“I don’t have tickets reserved,” Gabe said, fishing out his last cash. “Just one, please.”
Gillian looked at him skeptically. “They’ve been sold out since Wednesday,” she said nervously. “Everyone wants to see Clara dance.”
“Sold out?” Gabe could have kicked himself. He should have known that they would be. “Are there any scalpers?”
Gillian laughed nervously and waved him aside so she could find tickets for the couple behind him.
Gabe reluctantly stepped away and considered his options. He could rush the entrance or try to bluff his way in; it didn’t look like they had any security, and he could easily overpower the ushers. But Clara probably wouldn’t appreciate him making a scene just to see her. Sneak in the back? Break in an upstairs window?
“Gabe? Oh, Gabe, aren’t you thrilled to see Clara perform?”
Linda Turner was making the rounds of the lobby and Gabe knew that he was just a target of opportunity. “I didn’t get a ticket,” he said tightly. “They’re sold out.”
“It’s our first sellout crowd!” Linda crowed. “I’m so delighted. But Clara will be heartbroken if you can’t see it. We don’t have seats left, but we’re not at the fire marshal’s limits yet. I should know! Come on, you can stand with me at the side to watch from the wings. Oh, Tawny, you look amazing. Are those bees on your wrap? Is it cashmere?” Linda tucked her hand into Gabe’s elbow and he had no chance for escape.
She dragged him through a dozen introductions, most of them people he already knew adjacently, and he wondered at their general friendliness and willingness to talk once Linda had broken the ice. Had he assumed a coolness of the community that they didn’t deserve? Had he been the one not giving them a chance? He had to juggle his increasingly sad-looking bouquet to shake hands with Linda hanging on his other arm.
Most puzzling, he had a feeling like a handful of the people he spoke with had a second presence to them. Three of the hands he shook, he was absolutely sure they were shifters, even though their handshakes were not shifter strong. They didn’t appear to recognize him in return, except for Officer Stakes, but his look might well have been the general suspicion that Gabe had been expecting.
He was in a pensive mood by the time the lobby lights were flickered to call everyone to their seats, and he let Linda lead him backstage and leave him in the wings to go out herself and introduce the first act.
He didn’t have a great view of the stage, but it was fun to watch the audience, eager to enjoy every act. Gabe didn’t think that the actors were bad, but he wasn’t sure they were worth the enthusiastic cheering. The lights came up for an intermission and Gabe found himself shaken down in the lobby by a forward little girl selling popcorn and rather lumpy-looking cookies. “You can’t eat them in there,” she warned, taking Gabe’s dollars.
Under her scrutiny, Gabe ate the cookie instead of palming it into the trash. It tasted like plastic and salt, and it left his mouth completely dry, but he smiled and nodded with more acting chops than half the people on stage.
He went to find a drinking fountain before the second act and immediately ran into Patricia, who was standing in line for the restroom with a tall young woman wearing heavy makeup who must be Clara’s little sister. They caught sight of him before he could backpedal and get lost in the crowd.
“Oh, Gabe! Clara says she has quite a surprise for us, do you know what it is?”
Gabe, sure he was doing a very apt deer in headlights impression, sidled into conversation range. “She didn’t tell me.”
“She’s acting very mysterious. This is my daughter, Victoria. Victoria, this is…Gabe. He’s…ah…”
Gabe took pity on Patricia, who clearly wasn’t sure how to introduce him, and offered his hand to Victoria. “Clara’s squeeze,” he said flippantly. “Local entrepreneur and shady character.”
Patricia laughed like she wasn’t sure she had been saved. “Oh, no, I’m sure you’re a fine boy. Young man. And Clara is very fond of you.”
Fond wasn’t the word Gabe would have picked, but he’d take it. “I’m very fond of her, ma’am. I hope you’ll enjoy the second half. Nice to meet you, Victoria.”
“Vicky,” she said, looking amused.
“Vicky. If you’ll excuse me.”
Gabe wasn’t quite out of earshot when Vicky told her mother, “I like him! Can I get a tattoo?”
“You’re eighteen, honey. I can’t technically stop you.”
Gabe already knew that Vicky was going to be a whole pile of trouble, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near that bomb when it went off.
There was no line at the men’s room. He came out of the bathroom stall to wash his hands and found Trevor already scrubbing diligently in the sink next to him. “Trevor,” he said mildly. Was the young man going to continue their previous discussion? Linda probably wouldn’t appreciate them turning her theatre restroom into a barroom brawl.
Trevor only grunted, but when they met again at the only working towel dispenser, he cleared his throat. “About Clara…”
“Clara and I aren’t really your business,” Gabe warned him, letting his lip lift in a hint of a snarl. To his surprise, he could feel something shimmer underneath Trevor’s American Boy exterior.
He was a shifter, Gabe was absolutely dead certain of it, and Gabe would guess by his bulky build that it was something big.
He’d heard that some shifters could sense others, but Gabe had always filed that in the superstitious nonsense with mates and happy ever afters…and if those could be true, why couldn’t this? Maybe Mueller’s Pond had given him the ability. It was a little unnerving, but Gabe felt like it gave them some common ground.
That, and their fondness for Clara.
Trevor blew out and waited for an old man to exit the restroom before he said, “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time. Clara is all grown up and can make her own decisions. I had no right to imply that you weren’t good enough for her.”
It was big of him, and Gabe had some sense of how much it cost him to admit that. “I don’t know if I’m good enough for her,” he said peacefully, “but she’s my mate, and I’d never hurt her or let her get hurt.”
Trevor glanced at the row of empty stalls behind them in alarm and then gave a skeptical smile. “Your mate ? Really?”
“Why would I lie?” Gabe asked mockingly. “There are far easier ways to get laid.” He gave Trevor a raking look. “Well, for some of us.”
The breath huffed out of Trevor and while he was still sputtering for a response, Gabe tossed his paper towel in the trash and gathered up Clara’s bouquet. “Enjoy the show.”
It seemed to take a ridiculously long time for everyone to get back into their seats, and the intermission stretched out as long as the entire first act.
The second act opened with the Tantalists, the band from Gran’s funeral, and Gabe felt like it was a weird sort of echo from that event. He managed not to crash into the tuba player this time when the band came off to make space for a comedy sketch that Fire Chief Turner had been recruited for.
“Enjoying the show?”
Gabe nearly fell out of his chair, and he was glad for the applause that drowned out the noise of his startle. Clara stood silently behind him, wrapped in a blue cloak.
“I’m just waiting for the final act,” Gabe admitted. “I’ve heard that it’s going to be a show-stopper. What are you doing?” He plucked at the edge of her cloak, but Clara wagged a finger at him and danced back.
“You’ll see!” she promised, and she gave him a kiss and vanished backstage again.
Gabe didn’t mark the next several sets with more than a token attention, clapping when the audience did, but missing all the jokes.
The last one before the end was cleared and Linda went out to take the spotlight as the crew busily removed all of the extraneous equipment. “Thank you so much for joining us for our inaugural season at Sunflower Stage...” She spent some time to thank the acts that had gone before, to draw out the audience’s anticipation for the last one.
Finally, she lifted her hand. “We are very lucky to have a special guest tonight, and I’m sure she needs no introduction at all. Please put your hands together for our very own Clara Montgomery, doing Clara’s dance from The Nutcracker!”
The audience was warm and excited and Gabe clapped along as Linda walked off stage and the lights came down.
For a moment, it was perfectly dark and silent, the tiniest creak of the stage betraying Clara as she crept into place.
The spot came on to a crouched figure in a cloak by…was that a manger at the front of the stage? Gabe realized what had seemed familiar when he saw her earlier; it was the blue cloak that Clara had worn as Mary from the Christmas pageant, or one just like it. There was a swell of snickers and speculation as the audience put the pieces together and filled in any newcomers to the inside joke.
“Mary” leaned over the manger and stood, cradling a blanket-wrapped object that she held up, striking a pose. She rose up on her toes and danced sedately around, her back to the audience as she curtsied and showed off her burden in first one direction, then another, pausing to draw it in and rock it. She stood on point and raised her back leg, showing off a fluff of tulle beneath the cloak she still wore. She pranced around on the tips of her toes with her feet trilling sedately. The blanket slowly slid off to reveal a yellow winter squash.
Even Gabe, who was not that familiar with classical dance, recognized the steps from The Nutcracker…but there was still no music playing. The audience had silenced in expectation, but the only sounds were Clara’s strong, careful movements around the stage.
There had been several dance numbers in the revue, and Gabe had thought they looked professional enough, but Clara’s skill by comparison was obvious. Every move was perfect.
And there was still no music.
There was no applause or whispers. No one coughed. No one even breathed, Gabe included.
His wolf whined in anticipation.
Clara came to stage center and stopped, still facing the backdrop, then pulled off the hood of the cloak. She let the whole thing puddle at her feet before putting the squash in the nest that it made. She was wearing a torn black leotard beneath her short tutu, but no tights, so that the scraped knee and elbow that had so scandalized her manager were painfully obvious. Her hair was in a tight, bright bun and Gabe caught one sly sideways smile before she reached up and in one smooth motion, pulled it out, leaning forward to shake her loose hair wildly as the opening strains of Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation came belting out.
Gabe didn’t know how to classify what Clara did next. It wasn’t just ballet, but it wasn’t not ballet, either. She danced with her whole body and soul, every move deliberate and strong. She did a fake fall that made Gabe surge to his feet in alarm. Before he could move, she undulated up in an impressive act of athleticism. She did jumps and shimmies and impossibly flexible back bends, all fast and furious to the pounding punk rock beat. She held poses that required incredible strength. She spun long enough and fast enough to make an ice skater jealous. There were imperfect moments, Gabe thought, because she was improvising it all, but she grinned and danced joyfully on.
She ended the song with a gravity-defying leap and landed on point, both hands in the air like a gymnast. She blew kisses as the audience erupted into applause and cheers, and then walked off the stage, holding a middle finger up behind her.