Lycans & Lattes (Maple Hollow #3)

Chapter 1

Willow

Harlow zoomed past me, a rag in one hand and a pumpkin-spice muffin in the other. Her hip grazed a guy in a long black peacoat as she exclaimed, “Oops, sorry! Coming through.”

Normally, I would apologize for her exuberant havoc, but the jerk had been lurking in the entryway for ten minutes without ordering. The café was pleasantly bustling, and I had no time for lollygaggers while I worked on whittling down the never-ending list of elaborate coffee orders I had to make.

It used to fill me with anxiety, but I was starting to relish the chaos.

I could make a hot apple maple latte with an expertly swirled dollop of cinnamon-dusted cream in under five minutes.

My newfound pace had been impossible before my little sister, Harlow, had moved in.

Though she was her own brand of frenetic energy, I loved having that wolf-cut-wearing whirlwind in my life.

The bell above the door chimed, and I glanced over to see a tall, dark-haired woman with stunning cheekbones stalk into the room.

“Hey, Ramona,” I called. “I’ll have your usual at the bar in a minute.”

The demon gave me a curt nod of approval.

I knew all the Maple Hollow residents’ orders by heart.

As much as they were creatures of the night, they were creatures of habit too.

Trying out new menu items during tourist season was a nice change of pace, but if I were being honest, the downside of Halloween was that fewer town residents frequented Witch’s Brew Café.

Most had their own spooky-themed shops and businesses to run while the influx was hot.

As much as I loved the autumnal padding in my bank account, I was looking forward to the Halloween Festival and the post-tourist season quiet that took us all the way to Christmas.

“I’m still waiting,” a crotchety woman snapped.

I painted on a tight customer-service smile as I turned and passed her the coffee order that had taken less than two minutes to make. “Here you go.”

“It’s about time. Don’t you know how to work that thing?” She motioned to the espresso machine with her chin but walked away before I could tell her that I’d had it for years and could tune it as precisely as Sherlock could a Stradivarius.

The police chief, Dougall McCleighton, caught my eye from across the café. The werewolf arched his bushy brow, and I subtly shook my head.

No, he couldn’t add the impatient Karen to the list of tourists who were “fair game” for the townsfolk to feast on.

We saved the title of monster chow for slightly more nefarious visitors, like the douchebag who’d come in here last week proclaiming he was “just being an alpha male” after he’d grabbed Harlow’s ass.

The local werewolves had seen no problem showing him what an actual alpha acted like.

Dougall deflated a little as he went back to eating his maple macadamia-nut scone. He’d conveniently forgotten to file the missing person’s report, and the guy and his car had magically disappeared into a hell portal.

Mr. Peacoat might be next if he didn’t order soon.

“Can I help you pick one of our new fall favorites?” I called over to the loiterer as I poured Ramona’s cold brew into a to-go cup and set it on the counter. “The red velvet cake pops with a nice oat milk, cinnamon roll chai are a great combo.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure just yet.” Mr. Peacoat stroked his thumb over his cleft chin and contemplated further.

I rolled my eyes and got back to work as Ramona swept over, picked up her order, and placed a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

She always overpaid, but seeing as she was a literal demon who was rich beyond measure, I didn’t feel guilty about pocketing the extra cash.

I turned back to the espresso machine and called out another when I spied a crumpled-up note sitting on the teaspoons.

My brow furrowed as I picked up the scrap of torn paper.

Jagged letters were written on it: Keep to your own kind.

What the . . . ?

Who had written this?

Was it meant for me or someone else?

I looked around the shop for who could have left the note, but all I could focus on was last year’s demon-vampire alliance that wanted to ban humans from residing in Maple Hollow. Thankfully, that notion had quickly dissolved after the whole Juniper-trying-to-kill-my-sister incident.

I shuddered remembering it, but things seemed back to normal now, so where did this note come from?

I crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the trash can, resigning myself to the idea that it was probably just some kid trying to spook one of the only humans living in town. The paranormal youth around here did have a tendency to get a little overzealous . . .

I was calling out the last of my waiting orders right as the back door opened and shut with a thud.

I knew exactly who it was without having to glance over.

Only a few people came in through the back.

Even as I kept my gaze focused on the espresso machine, the tall silhouette and flash of tousled blond hair told me enough.

The hairs on my arms stood on end, and a familiar jolt of electricity shot up my spine like it did every time he was near me.

I blamed it on the stupid butterflies that lived in my gut and only came alive when we stood too close.

It was either that or my overly anxious disposition.

But no matter what I told myself, I was always aware of him.

“Hey, Wyatt,” I said to the werewolf and resident town baker in what I hoped was a breezy voice. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

I looked over my shoulder at him and saw a plate stacked with my favorite cookies that only Wyatt could make: brown butter, apple cider caramel, and dark chocolate chunk.

Heaven on a doily.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice making my stomach do that little flippy thing. “Now that Eloise is taking over the bakery, I guess my hours can shift.”

“Ehh,” I said, making a jokey voice at the pun.

Werewolves couldn’t get away with saying the word “shift” without a little side-eye snicker.

Then I realized it was Harlow who was the hokey-jokey sister while I was type A, so I might have inadvertently borrowed my sister’s personality for five seconds there.

“What do you mean she’s taking over?” I asked, pinning him with a judgmental glare. “I thought you said she just needed a place to work after moving home from college?”

Wyatt paused as if I’d caught him saying something he shouldn’t have. “Oh yeah, not . . . taking over, just taking charge, you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just the usual. You know how little sisters are.”

“Oh,” I replied with a chuckle. “That I do.” I glanced at him. Usually, he was the lighthearted teddy-bear type, but right now, he seemed troubled. “Uh, so do you want your usual?”

Coffee was my love language, after all, just like baking was his.

“Sounds good,” he said with a nod.

Wyatt set his plate below the countertop next to my keys and leaned against the counter while I started making his standard order of a cinnamon flat white. Normally, it was easy for us to fill the space, but today, something about him felt . . . restrained.

The entire town had long suspected that there was something more between us, but neither of us had ever confirmed or denied.

Harlow called it a “situationship,” but it wasn’t like we’d ever sat down and talked about the tension or flirting or the time he’d watched over me for days after I’d been poisoned.

Yeah . . . we danced around that topic better than Misty Copeland.

I always kept the same sentiment when it came to our will-we-or-won’t-we game: if Wyatt wanted to ask me out, he would’ve done it by now. So until that happened or one of us started dating someone else, we would just be good friends. Even if it was confusing and a bit frustrating at times.

I was working up the courage to ask him if there was something more to his mood when I was interrupted by Billy Bacchus, our unofficial town mayor and giant green Frankenstein-esque monster.

It was easy to know when Billy came around because he was a real crowd pleaser.

This time, he was flanked by Dean, his even taller nephew.

Dean was a broad-shouldered mountain of a monster who had to duck so as not to whack his head on the ceiling fan.

The whole café erupted into claps and cheers, and people hopped up to take selfies with the monsters, as if they were Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.

Billy dutifully, albeit moodily, took photos with everyone who wanted one before leaving Dean to take the brunt of the adoration and sidling over to the counter.

“Willow,” he said in his usual scolding timbre.

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Billy?”

“I thought I told you that the current allotment of outdoor dining tables was five, and yet I see six outside your establishment.”

“Someone must’ve split the four-seater table in two,” I grumbled, rubbing my forehead as I passed Wyatt his flat white. “I’ll go push them back together now.”

“I’ll do it,” Wyatt volunteered. “Or you could on the way out,” he added pointedly to Billy.

The tall green man scoffed as if that were beneath him. He always acted like his store, Midnight Market, was the premier destination in Maple Hollow.

“Thank you for rectifying it,” Billy said directly to me. “It is, after all, against the rules.”

“Your rules,” Wyatt bit out, taking a step between Billy and me. “Why don’t you give her a break?”

“Whoa,” I said at the sudden growl in Wyatt’s voice. I clapped a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and tried very hard not to notice the rippling muscle beneath my palm. “It’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

“A little too close to the full moon, hmm?” Billy goaded. Nothing could scare a six-foot-five monster, not even a snarling, fully grown werewolf.

I squeezed his shoulder. “If you wolf out in my busy café, I will make you pay for all the damages,” I hissed. “Now, take your coffee and go chill.”

“Go chill?” Wyatt asked incredulously, the spell on his aggression snapping just as quickly as it had appeared.

“I realize the irony of me saying that to you,” I muttered. “Don’t make me be the mellow one of the two of us.”

A lazy smile stretched across his face when I said “the two of us.” And there my stomach went, doing somersaults again. I didn’t get it. He seemed to like the idea of an “us,” but maybe just as friends? God, I need to get a life. Small-town dating pools were more like puddles.

“I should get back anyway.” Wyatt idled for a second before offering me an awkward half wave. “Bye.”

I tried not to focus on him or the push and pull between us, but I never felt in control of my emotions when it came to him.

I couldn’t keep feeling like this anymore.

Something had to give. We either needed to get closer or much further apart .

. . and I had a terrible feeling it would have to be the latter.

I turned back to Billy, whose eyebrows had practically lifted into his jagged black hairline.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing,” he answered in a mocking way that told me he was holding his tongue.

I let out a disgruntled groan and threw a dish towel over my shoulder. “I’ll go deal with the tables.” I jutted my chin at the gathering crowd of new patrons who were clearly waiting to ask for a photo. “Your audience awaits.”