Page 4

Chapter 3

Horace

C ute. Soft. Smells like sweet basil and sunshine.

When Uncle Uzzi came knocking on my door to thank me for the work I did—only moments before—I suspected he was not an ordinary man.

Witches were just as real as Shifters in my world, but I don’t have any real working knowledge of them.

He asked me to grab a slice of pizza with him, and since I was still hungry after consuming my calorie loaded protein shake, I figured, why not?

But I wasn’t ready for this.

For her.

She’s a tiny little thing. Her height, I mean. The rest of her is lush and full of curves she tries to hide behind baggy clothes, but I know they are there.

I felt them myself when she crashed into me. Now I want to get to know them on an up close and personal basis.

My inner Bear growls.

She’s caught his interest, too.

“What can I do you for—um, I mean, for you? What can I do for you?” she says, but instead of answering her, I just stand there like a moron.

Of course, I do.

“Are we too early to dine in?” Uncle Uzzi replies.

“No! No, not at all. Follow me,” she says, then offers a sweet smile to the old man.

She is so damn cute, but I’m kinda stuck between wanting to growl at him for talking to her and wanting to thank him for being the only one of us capable of answering the lovely little female.

“Wow,” I say, pointing at the mural that completely covers one entire wall, as if words alone could do it justice.

It’s a cityscape.

No, it’s more than that.

It’s my block.

The bottom half of my building, the familiar fire escapes, the bodega with the dusty cat in the window, even the crooked stop sign that leans a little too far to the left like it’s had one too many drinks.

It’s all there in varying shades of black and white, inked with painstaking detail.

But there’s one splash of color.

One bold, unapologetic pop of hot pink .

A sign. Her sign.

The store’s name stands out against the monochrome world around it.

Pizza Girls —the words in bold black letters, impossible to miss.

I glance from the mural to her, my gaze flicking to the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing, bearing the same logo.

Pizza Girls . She’s the walking, talking, breathing embodiment of the place.

And yeah. She breathes real good.

The shirt is big—probably meant to be casual, unassuming—but it’s fighting a losing battle trying to hide what’s underneath.

She’s curves on curves. A masterpiece of soft, strong, and stunning. Every breath she takes causes the fabric to stretch across her bountiful breasts.

My body reacts before my brain can issue any kind of command.

Shit.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to calm the fuck down before I embarrass myself in broad daylight.

I already know— know —this woman is off-limits.

She works here, which means I’ll be eating here often.

I’m a sucker for good food, especially local joints. And this place?

It’s literally downstairs .

The last thing I need is to get tangled up in some awkward thing with the hot pizza girl who happens to be serving my favorite slices.

And it’ll be awkward cause I’m that guy, remember?

The curious Bear with zero attention span.

And yet…

Something tells me she’s capable of capturing all my attention.

I steal another glance at her. She’s busy, hands on her hips as she watches me take it all in, a smirk playing at her lips.

It’s not the kind of look that says I don’t notice you .

It’s the kind that says I definitely do .

Damn .

Yeah. She is something .

“Yeah, my sister painted it. She’s a real artist. Did the logo, too.”

I smile at the hint of pride in her voice. That’s nice.

Family is supposed to be proud of one another. Supportive.

I suppose Josh is like that. I should call him more.

“So, you own this place?”

“Uh huh,” she says, and turns away.

But before she does, I notice her smile dim a little, and I swear I hear her say ‘for now’ at the end of that sentence.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow her to the table she selects for me and Uncle Uzzi.

“Let me grab you a menu,” she says and turns around to get one from the counter, giving me a terrific view of her fantastic ass.

“See anything you like?” Uncle Uzzi asks, and the old man is grinning.

“Um, yeah, I like all pizza,” I reply, fighting my blush when she spins back to face me her mouth fashioned in a cute little o .

“So, we have daily specials, you can see them here. The rest is our standard menu. How about drinks?”

“My dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Now, do my eyes deceive me, or do you really make homestyle Southern sweet tea ?” Uncle Uzzi asks.

“My name is Carina, and yes, we do,” she says, and is smiling back at him.

Once more, I find myself in the awkward position of wanting to punch the old Witch. I manage to control myself.

Barely.

“My sisters and I visited Georgia as teenagers, and we fell in love with the stuff,” she explains .

For some reason, my heart squeezes when she says the L word.

“I’ll have a glass, please,” Uzzi replies easily. “What about you, Horace?”

“Your name is Horace?” she interrupts.

Her big brown eyes are locked on my face and fuck me if the whole world doesn’t tilt a little on its axis.

“Yeah. Horace Vanderbilt,” I say and offer my hand like a complete dolt.

This isn’t a business meeting, for fuck’s sake. But I can’t help it.

I have to touch her.

She looks down at my hand before pushing hers into it, and fuck me, it’s like a lightning bolt.

“Ooh! Sorry, must be static electricity,” she apologizes, but I’m just sitting and staring.

Like a creeper.

“That’s alright, Carina. He’ll have the tea, too.”

“Okay. Um, yeah, I’ll be right back,” she says and bites her plump lower lip before turning away.

And that’s what I’m afraid of.