Page 12 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)

“Remind me again why we’re going to your sister’s cabin in the middle of the woods at nine in the morning on a Saturday?” I asked, yawning as Mason navigated his truck down a narrow forest road.

“Because Riley threatened to come to our place and drag us there if we didn’t show up,” Mason replied, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. “And trust me, she would. My sister has zero respect for privacy.”

It had been two months since my first full moon with the pack, and I was still adjusting to the unique dynamics of werewolf family life.

The Holloways operated on a level of casual intimacy that was foreign to me—dropping by unannounced, weekly family dinners that were practically mandatory, and a general assumption that everyone’s business was pack business.

“What’s so important about this meeting anyway?” I asked, stifling another yawn. Mason and I had been up late—very late—the night before, engaged in activities that made early mornings particularly challenging.

“It’s not really a meeting,” Mason explained. “More like a… pack check-in. We do it every couple of months. Everyone shares what’s going on in their lives, any problems they’re having, any changes coming up. It helps keep the pack bonds strong.”

“Sounds like therapy,” I observed.

Mason laughed. “Kind of is, I guess. Werewolves need strong pack connections to thrive. It’s instinctual—the need to know where everyone stands, to reaffirm the bonds.”

I nodded, watching the trees blur past the window.

I’d learned a lot about werewolf psychology over the past few months, mostly through observation and Mason’s patient explanations.

The more I understood, the more fascinating I found it—this blend of human and wolf, rational thought and primal instinct.

“And I need to be there because…?”

“Because you’re pack now,” Mason said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “My mate, my pack.”

The casual way he included me still gave me a warm feeling in my chest. Despite not being a werewolf myself, I’d been fully accepted into the Holloway pack, treated as one of their own in a way that sometimes left me feeling overwhelmed but mostly grateful.

“Besides,” Mason added with a sideways glance, “Mom’s making her cinnamon rolls.”

“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?” I teased. Evelyn Holloway’s cinnamon rolls were legendary—enormous, gooey, and somehow still warm hours after baking, as if by magic. (I wasn’t entirely convinced there wasn’t actual magic involved, given that I was dating a werewolf.)

We arrived at Riley’s cabin to find several vehicles already parked in the clearing outside. Her place was smaller than the main pack house but still impressively sized, with a wraparound porch and large windows overlooking a small stream.

Mason parked beside his father’s truck and cut the engine. Before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, the front door of the cabin burst open, and Riley bounded out, looking far too energetic for this hour of the morning.

“Finally!” she called as we climbed out of the truck. “We were about to start without you.”

“No, you weren’t,” Mason replied, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we approached. “Dad wouldn’t let you.”

Riley rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “Whatever. You’re late.”

“We’re exactly on time,” I pointed out, checking my watch. “Nine o’clock, just like you said.”

“Pack time runs five minutes early,” she informed me with a grin. “Something you should know by now, human.”

I’d learned that “human” was both a descriptor and a mild tease when Riley used it, her way of acknowledging my outsider status while simultaneously including me.

Inside, the cabin was warm and fragrant with the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and the distinctive scent of multiple werewolves in one space—something I’d come to recognize as a blend of earth, forest, and a musky undertone that wasn’t unpleasant, just… different.

The main living area was filled with pack members lounging on couches and chairs, some sitting on the floor, all with coffee mugs or plates of breakfast foods.

Robert and Evelyn sat together on a loveseat, while Alex and Tara occupied an armchair, Tara perched on Alex’s lap despite there being plenty of other seating available.

Physical closeness, I’d learned, was as natural as breathing to werewolves.

“The stragglers have arrived,” Riley announced, flopping down beside Jess on one of the couches.

“Right on time,” Robert corrected, giving Mason and me a nod of greeting. “Grab some food and find a seat.”

We made our way to the kitchen, where a spread of breakfast foods covered the island—Evelyn’s famous cinnamon rolls, of course, plus eggs, bacon, fruit, and a pot of coffee large enough to serve a small army.

“Good morning, you two,” Evelyn said warmly, appearing beside us. She pulled me into a quick hug, and I caught her subtle inhale—scenting me, a habit I’d gotten used to. “Did you sleep well?”

The knowing look in her eyes suggested she was well aware that sleep had not been our primary activity last night. Living with werewolves meant accepting a certain lack of privacy, especially regarding anything that left a scent. And sex, apparently, left quite a distinctive one.

“Very well, thank you,” I replied, feeling my cheeks warm slightly.

Mason, immune to embarrassment on this front, just grinned and loaded a plate with food. “These look amazing, Mom.”

“Save some for everyone else,” she chided, though she looked pleased at his enthusiasm.

We filled our plates and found spaces in the living room—Mason on the floor, leaning against the wall, and me beside him, our shoulders touching. It was a casual arrangement that looked random but actually followed subtle pack hierarchies I was still learning to recognize.

Robert, as the alpha, had the most comfortable seat with the best view of everyone.

Riley, as his daughter and a high-ranking pack member, had claimed a prime couch spot.

Mason, as the alpha’s son but someone who preferred to observe rather than lead, positioned himself where he could see everyone but wasn’t in the center of attention.

Once everyone was settled, Robert cleared his throat, and the casual conversations died down. “Alright, let’s get started. The usual format—updates, concerns, celebrations. Who wants to go first?”

Alex raised his hand. “Tara and I have news,” he said, smiling at his wife. “We’re expecting. The doctor confirmed it yesterday.”

A cheer went up from the pack. Werewolf pregnancies were celebrated with particular enthusiasm, I’d learned, as they strengthened pack bonds and ensured its future.

“That’s wonderful news,” Evelyn said, beaming. “How far along?”

“Just eight weeks,” Tara replied. “But the doctor says everything looks good so far.”

“Any signs of wolf traits?” someone asked.

Tara laughed. “Too early to tell, but given how hungry I am all the time, I’m betting yes.”

The conversation continued in this vein for a while—congratulations, questions about due dates and nursery plans, offers of help and hand-me-downs. I watched, smiling at the genuine joy everyone took in Alex and Tara’s news.

When the excitement died down, others began sharing their updates. Riley and Jess had decided to renovate their kitchen. One of the older pack members was retiring from his job at the lumber mill. A teenager—I think Mason’s second cousin—had made the varsity basketball team.

It was all so… normal. Sitting there, surrounded by werewolves discussing kitchen backsplashes and basketball scores, I was struck by the strange duality of their lives—extraordinary beings living ordinary lives, navigating the same daily concerns as anyone else.

“Mason? Julian? Anything to share?” Robert’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

Mason looked at me, a silent question in his eyes. We hadn’t discussed sharing anything today, but there was something we’d been talking about privately.

“Actually, yes,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness. “We’ve been talking about me moving to Mason’s cabin permanently. My lease is up next month, and it seems silly to keep two places when I spend most of my time at his anyway.”

Mason’s hand found mine, squeezing gently in support. We’d been discussing this step for weeks, but I hadn’t planned to announce it today.

“That’s wonderful news,” Evelyn said warmly. “The cabin has always seemed too big for just Mason.”

“That’s because it was built for a family,” Robert said, giving us a significant look that made me blush.

“One step at a time, Dad,” Mason said, rolling his eyes, but I could tell he was pleased by his father’s implicit approval.

“Moving in together is a big step,” Riley observed. “You sure you’re ready to deal with his snoring full-time, Julian?”

“I don’t snore!” Mason protested.

“You absolutely do,” I confirmed, grinning at his betrayed expression. “But I’ve gotten used to it. I even find it kind of soothing now, like white noise but… growlier.”

The pack laughed, and Mason nudged me with his shoulder, trying to look annoyed but failing to hide his smile.

The meeting continued, with more updates and discussions.

Some were mundane—complaints about a neighbor’s landscaping choices, debates about which streaming services were worth keeping.

Others were more unique to werewolf life—concerns about a new housing development encroaching on their full moon running grounds, strategies for managing shifting urges during stressful work situations.

Throughout it all, I was struck by how included I felt. Questions were directed to me, my opinions sought, my presence acknowledged not as Mason’s appendage but as a pack member in my own right.

After about an hour, the formal part of the meeting seemed to wind down, breaking into smaller conversations and activities. Some pack members moved to the kitchen for second (or third) helpings, while others stepped outside to enjoy the spring sunshine.

I found myself in the kitchen helping Evelyn clean up, a task I’d volunteered for partly out of politeness and partly because I genuinely enjoyed her company. She had a calm, nurturing presence that reminded me of what I wished my own mother had been like.

“So,” she said as we loaded the dishwasher, “how are you really adjusting to all this? The pack, the werewolf life, my son?”

I considered my answer carefully. “It’s been… an adjustment. But a good one. Mason makes it easy, and everyone has been so welcoming.”

She smiled, passing me a plate to rinse. “You’ve been good for him, you know. I’ve never seen him so centered, so at peace with both sides of himself.”

“He’s been good for me too,” I admitted. “Before Mason, I was just… existing. Going through the motions. Now I feel like I’m actually living.”

“That’s what finding your mate should feel like,” she said, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “Like finding a piece of yourself you didn’t know was missing.”

I nodded, unable to articulate how perfectly that described my feelings for Mason. Instead, I asked something that had been on my mind. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course, dear.”

“What was it like for you? Being human and falling in love with a werewolf? Did you ever consider…” I trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase the question.

“Taking the bite?” she finished for me, her expression knowing. “I did more than consider it. I became a werewolf three years after Robert and I married.”

I nearly dropped the mug I was rinsing. “You’re not a born wolf? But I thought—”

“That I’d always been like this?” She laughed softly. “No, I was as human as you when I met Robert. Fell in love with him, married him, had Riley, all as a human. It wasn’t until we decided we wanted a second child that I chose to take the bite.”

“Why then?” I asked, fascinated by this revelation.

She finished loading a pan into the dishwasher before answering.

“Pregnancy between a human and a werewolf is… complicated. Riley’s birth was difficult—dangerous for both of us.

The doctors weren’t sure I’d survive another.

But werewolf women have stronger bodies, better able to carry wolf-blooded children. ”

“So you became a werewolf for Mason,” I said, the pieces clicking into place.

“For Mason, for Robert, for myself,” she corrected. “It wasn’t a sacrifice, Julian. It was a choice—one I’ve never regretted. Being a werewolf has given me a connection to my family, to nature, to myself that I never had as a human.”

I absorbed this information, thinking of the implications. “But Mason said the bite is dangerous. That it doesn’t always… work.”

“It is risky,” she acknowledged. “Not everyone survives the transformation. But the stronger the bond between the wolf and human, the better the chances. Robert and I had been together for years, our bond well-established. And even then, it was a difficult transition.”

“How difficult?” I asked, my voice dropping despite knowing that any werewolf in the vicinity could probably hear us anyway.

“Three days of fever so high they had to pack me in ice. Pain like nothing I’d ever experienced—like being torn apart and put back together wrong.

Hallucinations, seizures.” She saw my expression and added quickly, “But then it was over, and I woke up with new eyes, new senses, a new understanding of the world. And it was worth every moment of suffering.”

I swallowed, trying to process this information. “Have you ever regretted it? Even for a moment?”

She considered the question seriously. “Not regretted, no. There have been challenges—learning to control the shift, adapting to enhanced senses, navigating pack dynamics as someone not born to them. But regret? Never.”

We finished the dishes in thoughtful silence, me contemplating her words and what they might mean for my future with Mason. We hadn’t discussed the possibility of me taking the bite—not seriously, anyway—but the idea had been hovering in the background of our relationship from the beginning.