Page 6 of Tentacles for Christmas

“That was brave of them.”

“My friend Rel is a fireman. He was there,” Rowen added with a shrug, stuffing the last of his pastry into his mouth.

Wanting to change the subject, I decided to lay it all out there. “Maybe you could take me to the Firehouse sometime.”

“To meet Rel?” Rowen asked, his forehead scrunching adorably. “I’m pretty sure you’ve met him when he gets coffee. He works long shifts and has a slight caffeine addiction. But he’s a nice guy.”

Well, shit. Did Rowen think I wanted a date with his brave firefighter buddy? I had met Rel, who was a very handsome and charming man, but he wasn’t Rowen.

“No, I meant the pizza place,” I explained patiently. “You could take me when you have an evening free.”

“You don’t need to wait for me. I mostly eat at home and only have pizza there when my pack—family—drags me out.”

“Right,” I sighed and took the empty plate from in front of Rowen. This man was as oblivious as a brick wall. I still wanted him.

“I’ve got to get back to the engine I didn’t finish yesterday,” Rowen told me before gulping down the rest of his drink. “Thanks, Cam.”

The bell rang as Rowen hustled out and I was startled when a wrinkled hand patted mine. “That boy wouldn’t know someone was asking him out if they spelled it out for him in icing on a cake.”

“I think you’re right,” I returned Pam’s pitying smile with an eyeroll. I hated that she was a witness to Rowen’s embarrassment. Knowing her it would be all around town by dinnertime. I had a strong urge to defend him, in some small way. “Oh well, he still tips well.”

Instead of storming off, Pam smirked, pulling a five from her purse and tucking it into my hand. “Never settle for just the tip.”

With a saucy wink, Pam was out of the door before I started laughing. The old woman was more than complaints and gossip, and I was here for it.

Chapter four

Rowen

November

PartofthereasonI wanted to start my own business was seeing the freedom my dad had with no boss. It was a lot of work to be the person in charge of everything, and I couldn’t have done it without his support, but the biggest motivation was being a self-sufficient person.

Spending my first six years in foster care made me crave the ability to take care of myself. And I had an excellent example.

My dad had always been a co-owner of Motorvated, and he got to pick which customers he worked with. He even turned business away. I didn’t have that luxury my first few years, which was why I’d started offering boat tours and being a fishing guide on the lake.

Five years later, I had a thriving business and rarely had to interact with the general public. Which was why, when someone knocked on the side of the boat I was chest deep in, I banged my head.

Hard.

“Ow, fuck! Who the hell-?” I rubbed at the back of my head where my bun had been no help. Forgetting the grease on my hand in my rush to check if I was bleeding, I knew I’d be scrubbing my hair in the shower. I healed fast, and actually better than a wolf shifter, but still.Ow.

“Just me,” a familiar voice chuckling had me sighing instead of yelling.

My dad was grey at his temples, his hair close cropped where mine was long. He wore his leather motorcycle club jacket over a plain white T-shirt and black jeans. The patch that used to read “Vice President” now read “Treasurer,” but I knew it was his choice.

“Hey, Superman. Don’t you have your own business to run?” I called out to my dad as I wiped my hands on a rag and clambered out to find him lounging in a folding chair with one of my usual beers in hand. “Did you stop by my place?”

Dad lifted the can in a gesture toward the houseboat, which was visible from my open shop door. “I could’ve looked there first, but I brought these for you, so no complainin’. It’s quittin’ time, kid.”

The sun was almost fully set over the hills across the lake, with very little light left in the sky. In November, that meant it was around five-o-clock. He could see in dim lighting almost as well as I could, and there were overhead lights, so I hadn’t noticed the late hour.

“You’re getting old if you think the sun setting means you stop working.”

“Work to live, don’t live to work,” Dad told me philosophically before tossing me a second can from the six pack I noticed under his chair. I caught it and dropped onto an overturned bucket in front of him. “Done anything fun, lately?”

“I went fishing this morning,” I pointed out, popping my can open and taking a drink before adding, “and I even took a boat out with bait instead of my daily swim.”