Page 21 of Tossed into the Mob (The Wolves of La Luna Noir #4)

TWENTY-ONE

TREYTON

“The town has the world’s largest rubber duck.”

I was studying the “what to do” page of the place where we were spending our babymoon. It was a little early in Brock’s pregnancy because a babymoon was usually just before the birth, but we agreed there were no rules about these things, so babymoon it was.

“It’s huge.” I showed my mate the pic on the tablet.

“That’s impressive.”

Brock was in the passenger seat and stretched the seatbelt over his tiny bump.

Every time I caught sight of his blossoming belly, I smiled and put a hand on the gentle curve.

We’d both been waiting for Brock to start showing, and now that he was, we were ridiculously excited.

I’d often found him in the bedroom, standing in front of the mirror admiring his belly.

And I couldn’t resist wanting to touch my mate more than I usually did, which was already a lot.

“Does it mention why they built it and why it’s located on the coast?” Brock giggled at the pic of said duck being pelted by rain. “I usually think of rubber ducks being in a bath.”

Maybe being by the ocean gave the rubber ducky hope that he might escape one day, which was kinda sad. But the information on the town’s tourist site was vague and just mentioned a local retired artist taking years to create it.

We’d decided on our destination by closing our eyes and pointing at the map, not knowing about the rubber duck. The coastal town was within driving distance, so we booked the bed-and-breakfast and we were off.

We’d decided on a mission statement for our mated life, or one of them, and it was “Don’t put things off.” Our families chuckled and nodded their heads, assuming we’d come to our senses and get rid of our mission statement due to the messiness of life. Maybe we would, but for now, this was us.

We’d made some big life changes and one was Brock working for Flint full-time while I was back to being a midwife and dreaming about creating that mobile midwife service for pregnant omegas.

I needed more experience, I’d decided, but spent a lot of free time creating spreadsheets detailing how much it would cost to create and maintain.

“It’ll be memorable, that’s for sure.” Brock leaned over and kissed me, and I almost said we should put off our trip and spend the next few days in bed.

“Go.” He giggled. “I know that look.”

I side-eyed him. “Oh yeah, and what’s that, mate of mine?”

“The put-cock-in-hole look.”

“Pfft. I don’t have a fucking expression.”

My mate put a hand on his belly and bent forward as he laughed. “Do you hear yourself? You don’t have a fucking expression or you don’t have a fucking expression. Which is it?”

“Ummm, the first one I think.”

He gave me a thumbs-up but told me I was wrong and I did.

During the drive, we debated baby names but agreed to wait until our little one was born.

“We need to see the baby before naming them. What if the name doesn’t suit them?” Brock cackled as he read out names from a baby book. “Oswald. A baby has to have a very specific expression to be an Oswald.”

“Maybe with a twirly mustache and a monocle.”

We giggled, and I mentally crossed that name off our list.

Having taken the scenic route rather than the highway, I stopped at every small town so Brock could investigate their snack offerings because he was into his cravings trimester, which was how he described it.

“This is pretty.” Brock wound the window down as we entered Winter Brook “Oh, smell that ocean aroma. It’s so strong.”

I yanked my mate back, worried he’d topple out the window he was leaning out so far. But the smell of the ocean put me in a holiday mood.

The town itself could be described as charming, but a better description was whimsical. It gave the impression that anything was possible. I pulled up in front of our B&B painted blue and white and decorated with shells, anchors, ship wheels, and rope.

“This is cute. I love it already.” Brock bounded out of the car.

We were greeted by the owner, Felicity. “You must be the Durands.”

I caught Brock’s eye and grinned. While he kept his own name and I was fine with that, we also got a thrill being referred to by our married name, signifying we were a bonded couple.

Felicity congratulated us on the pregnancy and chatted about the weather, the town’s history, and what she recommended we do during our five-day stay. She said nothing exciting ever happened in town, so it was the perfect place for a quiet getaway.

I was tired of adrenaline-induced excitement, and Brock had agreed to work in the La Luna Noir office while he was pregnant. We were looking forward to walks on the beach, afternoon naps, and eating fresh seafood.

As Felicity opened the door to our room, a small dog appeared and bounded toward Brock and jumped up, licking his face.

“He usually hides from guests, so he must really like you.” She picked up the dog and he snuggled into her. “Maybe it’s because you’re pregnant.”

Our room had portholes for windows, and the bedding was emblazoned with nautical motifs. Brock gushed over everything, and Felicity told us breakfast was served between six and nine. She whisked the dog out, and we were alone.

“Just think. No pack business, no drama, and me not having to prove my loyalty. It’s just us and the world’s largest rubber duck.” My mate giggled and hugged a pillow to his belly, and I kicked off my shoes and got on the bed with him.

“It feels a little decadent being in bed in the late morning.” I kissed the top of his head.

Brock curled into my side, his belly pressing into me, and said he could get used to it. Me too, but I suspected we’d both be bored if this was our life.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Brock dozed off, and not wanting to look at my phone, I grabbed a book I’d started months ago and began reading. An hour later, my mate stirred and announced he was hungry. I assumed he was going to say he needed crab cakes or fish and chips, maybe garlicky shrimp.

“The sea air has me craving… ummm, pickled mussels.”

Was that something sold fresh? I got out my phone. Nope. They were available in jars, but when I checked the grocery store website, they didn’t have them. But a town fifteen minutes away did. Okay, that was doable.

“And…” Oh, he wasn’t done yet. “Fried bread with anchovy butter.”

A local seafood place had that on their menu. But my wolf said he was going to sleep so he could block out the images in his head. That’s gross. I loved anchovies and might have me some of that too.

“Anything else?” We should probably eat outside on the deck so the room didn’t smell.

“Salt-and-vinegar-drenched whelks.”

More research told me a third town, thirty minutes away, sold them at a seafood shack.

“Wanna come for a drive?”

“Nah. I plan to nap some more.” He blew me a kiss and said I was the best mate and husband he’d ever had. That was our little joke. I gave my much-repeated reply, “The only mate and husband you’ll ever have.”

“I know it's a lot.” My mate gave me a hopeful smile.

“It's what you and the baby need, and I'm going to get every item on that list.”

I took a cooler with me and headed to Inglewood to pick up the whelks. I’d get a double portion because I’d had them previously. Crossing my fingers they weren’t sold out, I picked up two servings and decided to get a third.

Then I backtracked to the second town and bought four jars of pickled mussels. Feeling proud of myself, I returned to Winter Brook and ordered the fried bread. While I was waiting, I dashed to a stall on the water’s edge and grabbed sea salt fudge because Brock loved something sweet after a meal.

“You're back!” My mate was sitting up in bed watching a soap opera on the tablet, and he beckoned me closer, his graspy hands saying, “Gimme, gimme. I can smell the anchovy.”

We sat on the deck with the sea breeze blowing our hair, and my mate devoured the treats and told me how amazing I was to think of the fudge.

“I am amazing.”

Brock rolled his eyes, but he leaned forward for a kiss, and I licked the anchovy butter off his lips.

“Ready for the rubber duck?”

The town was small enough that we could walk. The huge duck sat overlooking the ocean as a few tourists took pics in front. There were internal stairs, and we walked to the top, standing on a viewing area just under its beak.

“Well, it is a duck and it’s yellow.” Brock touched the walls. “But it’s not rubber.”

We snapped pics and sent them to our family. Knowing Ranger would reply with a smart remark, I turned the phone off, and we walked barefoot, hand in hand, along the beach.

“Maybe we could move here. It’d be a great place for the baby to grow up.”

I quirked a brow. “Far from your dad?”

“Ummm, well, he could visit. Or live here too.”

Niles was already shuttling back and forth to visit us, so I supposed he’d come a little further.

“How about we discuss it in the upside-down boat café?” I pointed to the boat fashioned into a small restaurant on the headland.

Brock flung his arms around my neck. “I’m feeling peckish, so that’s a yes.”

I had a feeling we’d be spending a lot of our time here doing food-related activities.

Brock ordered the seaweed-and-cheese toast, while I was content with a pot of tea. I checked out the remaining sites in town and suggested we take in the pirate museum.

“Does that display dead pirates or some of their booty?”

“Dead men tell no tales.” I shrugged. “Ahoy, matey.” I lifted my tea cup and smacked his butt.

“What?”

“I thought you were getting into the mood by saying booty.”

Brock giggled and ordered fresh oysters in hot sauce. “A pirate’s life for me.”

I told him to keep some of the pirate talk for the museum, and when he’d finished eating, we strolled to the museum. There was a large X at the entrance, and we both stepped on it and yelled, “X marks the spot.”

The staff member at the door rolled their eyes ‘cause they’d probably heard that many times before. Inside there were old maps, barnacle-covered anchors, log books, and navigation tools.

But Brock grabbed my arm and squealed. “Look.” There was a place for a photo op where we could dress in pirate clothes and pretend to walk the plank over a section of the floor painted like the ocean with hungry sharks waiting for their next meal.

We put on the pirate tricorn hats, picked up plastic cutlasses, white shirts with billowy sleeves, and short jackets and breeches. Brock had to leave his britches unbuttoned because of his bump, but he eyed my lower region and licked his lips.

“Do you think they’d sell us those breeches?” He leaned in close. “They’re very sexy.”

“Not these ones in particular, but I’m sure they sell them in the gift shop.”

He pulled me close and stuck his tongue in my ear. “Shiver me timbers.”

My cock swelled, making the breeches extra tight. “A pirate’s life for me,” I managed to get out.

We took more photos of us “in jail,” and I considered whether to share all of the pics with our family. Brock urged me to do it, saying we’d get a laugh at their responses.

“Here goes.” We both hit send and waited, and we weren’t disappointed.

Hope the sharks don’t bite.

About time you learned to balance.

I guess we’ll keep your dinner warm for the next three to five years.

Do they take gold doubloons as payment for bail?

We finished the day by tossing coins into a wishing well crab pot. It had crabs at the bottom that the locals kept well fed, and your wish would come true if they touched your coin.

“What did you wish for?” I asked Brock.

“To keep every day just like today.”