Page 16 of Wrong Number, Right Fox (Dial M For Mates #6)

JOSS

It was date night, and I couldn’t wait.

Well, technically, I had to wait, because it was the official last day of the project. I’d already wrapped everything up this morning, my goodbyes half-said, the desk I’d been using unusually tidy, all my spare binder clips sitting in a nice pile on Garner’s desk.

I’d planned to sneak out early, maybe even grab a few extra minutes to get ready for my time with Garner.

It was our first official date, and while we were already miles past that stage, I was just as giddy.

His secret was behind us, I no longer worked for him in any capacity, and I’d gotten past most of my insecurities.

This was the reset we needed… and it was time to head home.

Only it wasn’t. Geoff, one of the administrative assistants, casually told me I needed to “accidentally” wander past the large conference room at exactly 2:45 p.m. and not to be late.

I think, on some level, I already knew something was up. He’d made the right call telling me about it. If he hadn’t said anything, I probably would’ve bounced. But his tone, the way he grinned and waved me off with a little wink, told me to trust the process.

And I’m glad I did.

As I turned the corner and strolled past the room like I was just stretching my legs, the door flew open.

There were claps and cheers, everyone was calling me in, pulling me into the room like I belonged there.

At the center of the table was a massive cake, decorated with the company logo…

and my own. Someone had taken the time to add our personal consulting logo right next to theirs. That little detail floored me.

I’ve worked with a lot of different companies over the years. Bounced around more than most people would be comfortable with. It was the nature of my kind of consulting. You go in, you solve the problem, you get out. No one gets attached.

But this place—this company—was different.

Even putting Garner aside, there was something in the culture that ran deep.

People cared. Not in the performative way a lot of places brag about, the whole “we’re just like family” thing that really means “we’re a toxic mess, please work weekends and don’t complain.

” No, this was real. People here gave a damn. They listened. They problem-solved.

And somewhere along the way, without me even realizing it, I’d become one of them.

I didn’t even fully understand the connection yet.

I knew the company was tied to the den in some way, the politics and business side intermingled in a way humans wouldn’t consider.

And it worked. It took a while to get used to it, waiting for the toxicity to leach in, but it never did.

I was starting to get the hang of that now… now when I had my foot out the door.

There was still so much I didn’t understand about Garner’s world—about my world, maybe, if things kept going the way they were. But I had time. According to Garner, I had a lifetime.

Not that we were officially mated. Not yet.

That was its own confusing little limbo.

We were mates , in the way that shifters used the word, but we weren’t mated .

That required something called “marking,” which I was still wrapping my head around.

Garner had tried to explain it to me, in between soft kisses and playful warnings that it wasn’t just about the fun part.

That mark meant something, something deeply personal and emotional.

Still. The fun part did sound like fun.

After cake, the enormous, frosting-covered slab of sugar that I absolutely didn’t need but fully devoured not one, but two slices of, I collected the stack of cards they’d given me, said my thank-yous, and offered to help tidy up.

They waved me off immediately, promising they had it covered.

And when they said it, I believed them. That was the kind of place this was.

I rushed home, practically skipping to the bathroom, and jumped in the shower. I might’ve squealed. Fine, I did squeal. I was excited. I tried on five different outfits— five —before finally settling on the one for the evening.

A pair of dark jeans, the perfect cut, which sat low on my hips were the easy choice.

Dressy enough for a sit-down dinner, casual enough for a walk in the park.

I layered a snug tee under a button-down so I had options—buttoned up if we ended up somewhere classy, unbuttoned and relaxed if we went a different route.

Either way, I was ready. Comfortable. Pulled together. And looking pretty darn good.

I sent Garner a text: Ready whenever you are, just like he’d asked.

Then I waited outside.

I tried to wait inside, I did. But the second I heard the soft rumble of a vehicle, I bolted out the front door. It wasn’t his, but why go back inside? At least that was my logic.

When he finally arrived, I jogged toward the street, grinning like a fool. He parked and climbed out, shutting the door behind him. His smile when he saw me mirrored my own and made my chest ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he said softly, coming to meet me.

His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin. I leaned into his touch instinctively, greedy for it, soaking in the grounding presence of him.

“I’m so excited,” I whispered. I was practically bouncing, fighting the urge to drag him in for a kiss before he could even say another word.

For one wild second, I thought, Screw it. Let’s go back inside and screw.

But I wanted this night. I wanted the date.

We’d spent so much time together already—at work, on that trip, at each other’s places, even waking up next to each other on lazy mornings, but this was different. This was intentional. A line drawn between the everyday and something more.

Something romantic.

And then he reached into the back seat and pulled out a bunch of daffodils.

I stopped. Just… stopped, wondering if this was real or if I’d fallen into the most wonderful dream. “You remembered,” I whispered.

He nodded. I kissed his cheek.

I’d told him once about how my grandmother used to plant daffodils in our front yard. It was one of my best memories of her. Of that whole era of my life, really. Summers with her had been the best. And he’d remembered.

“I’m gonna go put these inside,” I said, blinking fast. “I’d invite you in, but then we might not come back out until morning.”

He smirked, and I ducked inside before I changed my mind.

By the time I came back out, he was standing by the passenger side door, holding it open for me. Helping me in. He didn’t need to, but he did it anyway. He was being a gentleman.

That was him , though. From the very first night we were together, he’d made sure I felt safe, seen, comfortable. He never pushed. Never expected more than I was ready to give.

And now, seeing that same care in the daylight, with my heart fully his and my mind beginning to catch up—it hit differently.

He knew who he was. He knew who I was. And from the moment he saw me, he’d already decided I was it for him.

But he let me get there in my own time. He led the way without pulling.

And now, knowing everything I knew about him— fox shifter , protector, mate—it only made what we had feel even more solid.

We went to a dinner theater. One of those murder mystery set-ups with actors pretending to be patrons, where everyone got a little menu card and had to guess who the killer was.

It was cheesy. Delightful, and did I mention… cheesy?

We could spot the actors right away with their abundant stage makeup, overly enunciated speech, a little too eager to chat, but we didn’t care. We were in it together. Laughing, whispering guesses between bites of too-dry chicken and slightly overcooked pasta.

We didn’t talk about anything serious. Not about the den. Not about contracts or consulting or shifter politics. Just the murder of a fictional restaurant owner by an overly ambitious busboy.

It was perfect.

And when the evening wound down and we drove home, the air was quiet and warm, and I didn’t hesitate this time.

When he pulled up to my house, I didn’t play coy. “I’d like you to come in.”

An invite. One I had wanted to make the day we came back from our trip but was afraid to. I wouldn’t let that happen again.

He didn’t say anything. Just parked, followed me through the door like he belonged here. Because he did.

And like I predicted, like I promised , he didn’t leave again until morning.