Page 1 of Wrong Number, Right Grizzly (Dial M For Mates #7)

NIX

I kicked off my dress shoes when I walked through the front door, letting them land wherever they wanted.

My home was a no shoes inside residence.

Wearing shoes that had been treading on who knew what was gross.

And after twelve hours of back-to-back meetings and dealing with the boss’s latest urgent project, I was done being a professional or even human for the day.

Not that I was human, but that side of me wanted to forget the day and chill.

We could shift?

Not tonight, buddy. Tomorrow, I promise .

The house welcomed me with silence. Walking in the door was bliss.

There were no roommates eating the food from my shelf in the fridge and pretending they didn’t.

I had no neighbors sharing my walls. Instead, I was greeted with the hum of my large refrigerator and the tinkling of wind chimes outside.

I'd bought this place three years ago so I could just exist.

One of the perks of my job was a huge salary, and while I wasn’t in love with the day-to-day office routine, my hard work paid off—literally.

I loosened my tie as I walked to the kitchen and pictured what was in the fridge that I didn’t have to cook.

I hated cooking and wasn’t much good at it.

Before I opened the door, I pictured the leftover Thai food from yesterday.

If I paired that with the documentary about otters I’d bookmarked, it was the recipe for the perfect evening, along with a shower to wash away the fluorescent lighting and recycled office air.

None of those activities required me to think, which was what I needed.

I grabbed a fork without bothering to transfer the pad thai to a bowl. One of the best parts about living alone was that no one told me to use crockery or a napkin or not to lick a plate. This was a no-judgment house, unless someone left their shoes on or didn’t flush the toilet.

The rain that had started on my way home was coming down hard.

When I left the office, I only needed the windshield wipers occasionally, but now it was a deluge.

I mentally patted myself on the back for not buying the house on a riverbank and instead choosing the one on land that had no record of flooding.

I checked my weather app but it was useless, telling me to expect scattered showers later this evening. I placed the phone on the windowsill so it could witness firsthand how wrong it was.

If anyone was stuck in this weather, they’d need a boat to escape or be winched up by helicopter. But I was safe and dry, and I closed the curtains, blocking out the weather.

I hadn’t checked my voicemail all day, and a quick glance at the phone showed me the little red icon, but I ignored it.

After spending over sixty hours a week at the office, and often more than that, I didn’t owe anyone my downtime.

While climbing the corporate ladder, I’d done the opposite and made myself available 24/7, but now I’d reached a position where I could divide my day into work and private time and not mingle the two.

“This is better than yesterday.” I shoveled the pad thai in my mouth, enjoying the multiple flavors that flooded my mouth.

The owners at the restaurant knew my order by heart which saved me having to scroll through their menu and use my brain.

The delivery guy and I were becoming friends, if you can call a hello and thanks and handing over a tip as a friendship.

After dinner, I changed into sweatpants and an old college T-shirt that had holes in it, but it signaled I was home and the real world was locked outside.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled onto the couch, the one I’d paid too much money for, and grabbed the remote.

I sank into the cushions and reckoned if one day I’d sink so low and disappear. And that would be fine by me.

Before turning on the TV, I glanced around the living room. Where the work environment was brash and distant, home was warm and comforting, with soft lighting and a feel-good color scheme. The color white had been banished.

The wall opposite was lined with my favorite books, some I’d read multiple times that I’d take to bed with me. Nothing from work touched those shelves.

I flicked the TV on and scrolled through to my documentary about otters.

The narrator’s voice almost soothed me to sleep, but I stayed awake, learning that the baby otters couldn’t go underwater until they were an adult because of the thickness of their fur.

I wondered what it said about me that I was home alone, watching baby otters frolicking with their parents.

You don’t like people? My grizzly would prefer that I went out and about more, as unlike some shifter grizzlies, he was a social animal.

No. People are okay .

You’re invested in babies .

There’s a huge difference between babies and baby otters .

As my hard work paid off, I’d gotten more anti-social, needing alone time so I could face the next day.

And dating became almost like a chore. I’d given up on meeting my fated mate because not all shifters did.

The otters didn’t demand anything from me.

I could fall asleep and continue watching again tomorrow and they wouldn’t care.

When my eyelids started to close, I turned off the TV and made sure my home surveillance was activated. With the lights off, I headed to the bedroom and charged the phone and laptop. But it was while I was brushing my teeth that I remembered the voicemail.

I’m not checking it. If it was important, the person would have phoned or turned up at my door. If it was my parents asking how to connect their streaming app to the TV, they could wait until tomorrow or ask their neighbor, which they probably had. Anything work-related I’d deal with tomorrow.

But something made me wander into the bedroom with a mouthful of toothpaste and tap the voicemail icon. There was only one message, and the voice wasn’t either of my dads or anyone from work. It was deeper, and I could picture the speaker raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Look, I don't know if this is the right number, but my name is Ronan and I'm stuck on Abercrombie Road about five miles past the gas station, and my piece-of-junk truck just died.” Gods, I hoped he was safe and not about to be carried away by the water.

"It's been pouring for the past hour, and I've been sitting here for almost two hours. I need someone to come and tow my vehicle before I lose my mind."

He wasn’t just frustrated, he was scared. Shit.

He paused, and the message was filled with rain pounding on his vehicle. Gods, no. When he spoke again, his voice had risen and he was panicked.

"I know it's late, and the weather's terrible, but I'll pay extra if you can get here tonight. I can't stay out here much longer. My number is?—"

The message cut off, leaving me with my toothbrush in one hand and a mouthful of toothpaste. I stared at my phone, hoping it would provide an answer.

I played the message again, and the number he’d called from wasn’t in my contact list. Abercrombie Road was a scenic winding country road that turned treacherous at night, especially in wet weather.

The guy thought he was calling a tow truck service, but he’d misdialed. What could I do? Drive out of the city for an hour and look for him? I had to think he wasn’t in danger or he would have called 911. He’d probably figured out his mistake by now and called the tow truck company.

But I hesitated, thinking the universe had chosen me to get his message.

I couldn’t stop thinking of him stranded in the dark, unable to leave his car.

And the rain hadn’t eased any. The road had no streetlights, it was in the countryside, and I wondered if he had somewhere to be.

He’d sounded desperate and exhausted. Maybe he’d tried to fix the problem himself.

But what if he was waiting for a tow truck that never came? I had to do something, and I grabbed my laptop, looking for a towing service in that area. I called a couple and got no answer and one machine. They were probably in bed.

I had to do something, and that something was to go and look for him. As it was Friday, I didn’t have to be at work until Monday, so I pulled on the clothes I’d tossed in the hamper and grabbed my phone and keys.

Was I a fool going to look for a stranger in the middle of the night? Yup.

But as I headed to the door, the phone rang again. The same number.

I jumped in with, “Hello, Ronan, I’m coming to help you.”