Page 4 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)

Two weeks after our dinner at Sullivan’s, I was no closer to uncovering Mason’s secret, but I was definitely falling for him. Hard.

We’d been on four more dates, each ending with increasingly hot make-out sessions that always stopped short of the bedroom. Each time, Mason would pull away, breathing hard, eyes wild, muttering something about “not being ready” or “needing more time.”

It was maddening, especially because I could feel how much he wanted me. There was no hiding his arousal, not when he was practically grinding against me with desperate need before abruptly putting on the brakes.

“Maybe he’s religious,” suggested Sara, the owner of the local bookstore and my only friend in Pine Haven so far. We were having coffee at The Daily Grind, and I’d just finished recounting my frustrating romantic situation.

“He’s not religious,” I said, stirring my latte absently. “He swears like a sailor when he stubs his toe, and he definitely wasn’t saying ‘oh God’ in a spiritual context when I had my hand down his pants yesterday.”

Sara choked on her coffee. “TMI, Julian.”

“Sorry,” I said, not feeling sorry at all. “I’m just confused. He’s clearly into me. I’m definitely into him. But every time things get hot and heavy, he puts on the brakes like he’s afraid of something.”

“Maybe he is,” Sara said thoughtfully. “Afraid, I mean.”

“Of what? I’m five-ten and weigh about as much as one of his thighs. He could bench press me.”

“Maybe it’s not physical fear,” she suggested. “Maybe he’s been hurt before. Or maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

She hesitated. “This is Pine Haven. People here have… secrets.”

“What, like he’s in witness protection? Has a secret family? Is actually three raccoons in a human suit?” I was only half-joking about the last one—it would explain his occasional awkwardness.

Sara laughed, but there was something forced about it. “Just… be careful, okay? Mason’s a good guy, but he’s… different.”

“Different how?” I pressed.

“Not my story to tell,” she said firmly. “Just keep an open mind.”

* * *

That evening, I was curled up on my porch swing with a book, enjoying the cool spring air and the sounds of the forest. The sun had just set, painting the sky in fading purples and blues, when I heard a rustling from the treeline.

I tensed, suddenly aware of how isolated my cabin was. While Pine Haven was generally safe, I was still basically living in the woods. Images of axe murderers and rabid bears flashed through my mind.

The rustling grew louder, and I reached for my phone, ready to call… well, someone. But before I could, a large shape emerged from the trees.

Not a bear. Not an axe murderer.

A wolf.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. It was enormous—far bigger than I’d imagined wolves could be—with thick dark fur and eyes that caught the porch light and reflected it back gold.

Don’t move, I told myself. Don’t run. That just triggers their chase instinct, right?

The wolf took a step closer, then another. It moved with a fluid grace that was almost beautiful, despite my terror. It stopped at the edge of my yard, just where the forest gave way to my small patch of grass, and simply… watched me.

Its gaze was unsettlingly intelligent. Not at all what I’d expect from a wild animal. And there was something familiar about those eyes…

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

The wolf’s ears perked up, clearly hearing me despite the distance.

“Mason?” I said, hardly believing what I was saying.

The wolf’s reaction was immediate and unmistakable. It jerked back as if I’d thrown something at it, eyes widening in what could only be described as shock. Then, with one last long look at me, it turned and vanished into the trees, moving faster than anything that size should be able to.

I sat frozen on my porch swing, book forgotten in my lap, mind racing.

Werewolves weren’t real. They couldn’t be real. I was being ridiculous.

Except… Mason’s heightened senses. His incredible strength. The way he always seemed to know when someone was approaching before they appeared. His fear of “losing control.”

And those eyes. Those distinctive amber-gold eyes that I’d been dreaming about for weeks.

“Well,” I said to the empty yard, “that would certainly explain a few things.”