Chapter 1
ONE
TUCKER
“Oops, sorry, sweetie.”
I rubbed the spot on my back where the door had hit me when Betty White, Key West’s favorite shifter real estate agent swung it open. I growled a little, but managed to choke out a strained, “No problem,” paired with a tight smile.
Betty didn’t seem to notice, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.
“Wow. It’s packed in here.” She wasn’t really talking to me, but I still looked around the bakery, trying not to wince.
The garish pink and red decorations matched Betty’s hot pink cardigan and the red glitter heart clip in her white hair.
Someone called her name, and she waved, then hustled across the room leaving only the subtle scent of floral perfume in her wake and not sparing me a second glance.
I scowled at the pink and red hearts and cherubic Cupid cutouts hanging from the ceiling and plastered on the walls.
Vases of pastel flowers sat in the center of every table on a heart-shaped paper doily, and pastel heart bunting hung over the pastry cases.
It looked like a box of those chalky, disgusting candy hearts had exploded all over the bakery, and I felt my scowl deepen as I realized the tables were mostly full of cozy couples sharing a pastry and coffee to mark the holiday.
Almost everyone was, like Betty, ridiculously festooned in some shade of red or pink, and my all-black ensemble stood out in the crowd, mirroring my mood.
Maybe it was because I thought Valentine’s Day was an overblown commercial holiday designed by greeting card companies to make you spend money to prove your love, or maybe it was because I’d never been lucky enough in love myself to have someone to share the overblown commercial holiday with, but either way, it was a day I didn’t care to celebrate.
It was nothing more than a coincidence that I had decided to pick up pastries for my staff on today of all days.
Nico’s bear claws were to die for, and I’d apparently brave even the Valentine’s Day crowd for one.
Fine, maybe two.
My mouth watered, and the line moved forward incrementally.
Surveying the display case, I noticed even my beloved bear claws had been subjected to the Valentine’s Day treatment.
They were sporting tiny red heart sprinkles dotted in among the slivered almonds, and the citrus glaze had been tinted light pink.
I was scowling at the unnecessary modifications so hard, I didn’t realize it was my turn until someone tapped the top of the case to get my attention.
“Can I help you, sir?”
While Key West was a decently sized city, the shifter community was pretty small, and I knew almost everyone at least by face if not by name, but I didn’t recognize the man behind the counter.
It seemed almost like some sort of joke that he looked like one of the Cupids on the walls come to life.
White-blond curls spilled over his forehead, and his cheeks were rosy pink blotches of color on his smooth, creamy pale skin.
His eyes were icy blue, the color so light they were almost unreal.
He was short and lean, and as I stepped closer to the counter, I caught a whiff of lavender.
He was an omega and a shifter, and though I’d never been good at figuring out which kind by scent alone, I had a feeling he was something small and soft in his animal form.
He was fucking gorgeous despite looking like an arrow-shooting minor god come to life, and for a second, I forgot why I was there.
“Pick up for Sharpe.”
“Of course. It’ll just be a second.”
“Not like I haven’t already been in line for twenty minutes.
” I hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but they had, and I felt instantly bad about it as the beautiful blond’s face fell.
It wasn’t his fault I was in a shitty mood, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on him, but before I could apologize for being a jackass, he was apologizing to me, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red.
“I’m so sorry, sir. It’s Valentine’s Day, and we’ve been super busy. I promise I’ll be right back. Just a few more minutes.”
“It’s fine.” I tried to keep my tone even, but all the hearts and love floating in the air were starting to make me itch.
Could a person actually develop an allergy to Valentine’s Day?
Probably not, but I should call my sister who was a doctor just to be sure.
Maybe she could prescribe something to remove the stick from my ass which seemed to inexplicably be connected to this particular holiday.
Though what I really needed was to hole up in my office with my tablet, a cup of strong coffee, and one of Nico’s bear claws and continue working on the tattoo design I couldn’t get out of my head.
I’d opened my tattoo parlor, Quills and Ink, seven years ago much to the utter horror of my parents and siblings.
I’d grown up in Atlanta, the youngest son of Samuel and Serafine Sharpe, which in Southern shifter society meant I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth and blue blood in my veins.
My parents were the very definition of old money and country club breeding, and I’d hated every second of that life growing up.
My mother had almost had a heart attack when I’d come home with my first tattoo at eighteen, and my father had almost had a stroke when I’d loudly and proudly proclaimed that I’d be going to art school and pursuing a graduate degree in business with the intention of opening my own tattoo parlor instead of becoming a doctor, lawyer, or investment banker like everyone else in my family.
I still wasn’t sure they’d forgiven me for the choices I’d made, but I was happy, and I didn’t much care what they thought anymore.
My siblings didn’t understand me either, and they frequently joked that if it weren’t for my prickly personality that they’d assume I was born a black sheep instead of a porcupine shifter.
The cherub-cheeked cutie still wasn’t back with my order yet, so I let my mind wander to the drawing that was half finished on my tablet.
A week ago, I’d gotten the sweetest email from a prospective client saying they were starting fresh in Key West, and they wanted to commemorate their move with a tattoo that showed they were on a new path.
We hadn’t met yet, but we’d spoken about his thoughts on the design, and I’d immediately started sketching.
He was learning how to care for bees, harvest honey, and make products from beeswax.
His excitement for his new endeavor was almost palpable even over email, and when I’d suggested a field of wildflowers with bees buzzing through it, he’d been thrilled with the idea, saying it sounded perfect.
I’d been sketching, resketching, and tweaking the design ever since.
It wasn’t quite perfect yet, and for some reason, I really wanted it to be.
I knew what it was like to start something new, to break the mold, and I had ink on my skin that spoke of my own journey.
There was a certain level of kinship in being the kind of person who could take on that kind of change, and I wanted the reminder on my client’s skin to be perfect so he’d always know what he was capable of.
“Here you go, s—” I watched as the blond who’d gone to get my order dodged around another member of the bakery staff and tripped, the box he held flying open and the pastry arching through the air almost in slow motion before falling to the floor.
The entire shop seemed to go silent as the employees stared at the carnage on the floor. Tears swam in the cutie’s eyes the second he looked up at me, and I knew it was because I was scowling again.
“I’m so sorry.” His lightly accented voice wavered. “I promise I’ll fix it. I’ll just box up your order again.” He sniffled as he bent to pick up the ruined treats and toss them into trash. “Give me a few more minutes. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”
I folded my arms across my chest because for some stupid reason, I didn’t understand, I wanted to pull him into my arms and kiss away the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes.
Maybe the longer I stayed in the bakery, the more the lovey-dovey Valentine’s Day particles I breathed in.
That was the only reason I could think of for wanting to hold a perfect stranger.
He hustled around behind the counter filling another pastry box with what I’d ordered, but when he returned to stand in front of me, the box still open and his lip caught between his teeth, I knew more bad news was coming.
“I’m so sorry. We just sold the last bear claw, and I don’t have any to add to your order. Can I replace them with something else? The mixed berry muffins are amazing today. Plus they’re pink. Perfect for the holiday.”
“I hate pink.” He flushed, and I mentally kicked myself for being a dick. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the kind of guy who got pissed off about pastries. “Never mind. The muffins are fine.”
He tried to smile but it wobbled right off his face as he went back to the case and replaced what should have been flaky, delicious, almondy bear claws with some berry abomination that would no doubt be delicious but wasn’t what I wanted.
“I just wanted a fucking bear claw.”
I hadn’t realized I’d muttered my frustration out loud until the cutie behind the counter whimpered, tears once again filling his eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” He pushed the box, which was now closed and taped shut, across the counter and dashed through the swinging doors into the kitchen before I could apologize.