4. Carissa
CHAPTER FOUR
CARISSA
M y heels clicked against the sidewalk in perfect rhythm with my racing heart. The morning sun filtered through the perpetual mist, casting a hazy watercolor glow over the downtown businesses. Had the air always smelled this sweet? Had birdsong always carried such promise?
My lips still tingled from last night’s kiss.
I touched them absently, remembering the press of Torain’s mouth, the scrape of his tusks, the way his hands... Focus, Carissa. You have a business to run.
But for once, that thought didn’t fill me with dread. Sure, the filing system was a nightmare and half the inventory tags were missing. But I could handle that. I could fix this place and still make a profit. And maybe Beverly had a point about the imported wine. Maybe some bridges were worth rebuilding.
I was Carissa fucking Morton. Risk assessment queen. Numbers whisperer. And tonight? Tonight I had a date. With an orc. An unbelievably attractive, incredibly thoughtful orc whose lips felt like heaven against mine.
“Good morning, dear!” Beverly’s voice rang out from behind me as I reached the store’s entrance. I turned to find her approaching with her knitting bag, right on schedule. “You’re looking particularly radiant today.”
“Just the lighting.” I fumbled with my keys and swung the door wide, hoping my face wasn’t as warm as it felt.
Beverly swept past me to claim her usual window seat, settling in with the air of someone preparing for a long siege. “Mmhmm. Nothing to do with a certain tall drink of wine who left rather late last night?”
News really did travel fast in small towns.
“We were cleaning up after the event.” I busied myself with the morning checklist, deliberately not looking in Beverly’s direction. “Nothing more.”
“Of course not.” Beverly’s needles never missed a stitch. “Though Mrs. Peterson swears she saw quite the passionate embrace through the window.”
I dropped the clipboard.
“But don’t worry.” Beverly’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I reminded her that her cataracts make everything look more dramatic than it is.”
The bell chimed with the arrival of my first real customer, and I seized the excuse to dodge Beverly’s knowing looks. But Beverly Morris was nothing if not persistent. She simply waited until the browser wandered deeper into the stacks before turning those all-seeing eyes back on me.
“Did you know Torain carved the new sign for One Hop Stop? Such talented hands, that boy.”
Yes, I could guess at the talent in those hands. And he certainly was no longer a boy.
I pretended utter fascination with yesterday’s receipts. “Did you need anything specific today, Mrs. Morris?”
“Just enjoying the view, dear.” She returned to her project, needles clicking away. “Though not half as much as Mrs. Peterson last night. I swear she was going to pull out her opera glasses the next time your tall friend bent to clean?—”
“I should check the office,” I blurted. “Lots of paperwork to catch up on.”
Her laughter followed me up the stairs. I shut the office door and leaned against it, trying to slow my racing heart.
I sank into the chair and cracked open my laptop. The desk remained a disaster area, but I’d made progress sorting papers into piles that actually made sense. Invoices here, employee records there, an ever-growing spreadsheet with shifting priorities to rule them all. If I could just focus on the numbers instead of remembering the way Torain’s mouth had?—
The corner of the screen jumped with a new email notification. Tate Gerrard hadn’t wasted any time.
My stomach lurched as I opened the attachment. The offer wasn’t insulting. Actually, the number was… reasonable. Higher than I expected, given the store’s financial state. Room for negotiation, clearly. Tate knew what he was doing.
It was exactly the kind of straightforward business transaction I’d been hoping for when I first arrived. Clean. Simple. Profitable enough to satisfy any remaining guilt about selling Mags’s legacy.
So why did the thought of accepting make my skin crawl?
I shoved away from the desk, needing to move. To do something productive with my hands before I spiraled into analyzing every heated look and lingering touch from last night.
The boxes piled next to Mags’s desk offered an outlet for my restless energy. I attacked the chaos with perhaps more force than necessary, sorting receipts into piles and tossing half-empty pens into the trash.
A leather-bound book tumbled from beneath a stack of invoices. A sticky note in Mags’s distinctive scrawl clung to the cover: Special order for T. Axebreaker .
My fingers traced the embossed knotwork sprawled across the front, all flowing lines and interconnected patterns. This was what he’d come to collect that first day. I imagined his huge hands caressing the binding, running reverently over the pages as he read. I pictured him hunched over his worktable, carving delicate details into wood. Creating. Breathing life into beautiful things.
My phone buzzed, an unknown Seattle number lighting up the screen. Probably another vendor calling about overdue payments. I answered with my most professional voice, “Carissa Morton speaking.”
“Carissa! Thank goodness you picked up.” Amelia Berdino’s familiar voice burst through the speaker. She’d been my favorite coworker at my first job out of college. “I heard you finally left Grayson’s firm in the dust.”
I sat up straighter. News traveled just as fast in consultancy circles as small towns, it seemed. “Amelia? I’m… managing. How are you?”
“I heard about your aunt. I’m so sorry.” She paused. “But listen, that’s actually why I’m calling. You remember that idea we kicked around last year? About breaking away and starting our own firm?”
“Vaguely.” My pulse quickened. We’d gotten drunk at a corporate retreat and plotted our escape over stolen mini-bar scotch.
“Well, I did it. Or rather, I’m doing it. Already have three major clients lined up, and I need a partner I can trust. Someone who knows their shit.” She paused for effect. “Someone like you.”
The world tilted sideways. “Partner?”
“Full equity stake. Complete autonomy over your clients. No more kissing ass in boardrooms that didn’t want us there in the first place.” Her enthusiasm crackled through the phone. “We could build something that’s truly ours.”
Seattle’s familiar skyline beckoned—all clean lines and calculated risks. No nosy book club members. No nasty financial surprises lurking under every stray page.
“I...” My eyes fell on Tate’s email, still open on my laptop. “The timing is complicated.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually considering staying in—where are you, exactly?”
“Silvermist Falls.”
Amelia barked a laugh. “The monster town? Come on, Carissa. You’re better than backwoods bookkeeper. You were born for bigger things.”
Isn’t this what I wanted? Get the estate settled, sell to the highest bidder, return to my real life?
My eyes dropped to the book still open on my lap and the intricate patterns that reminded me of tattoos trailing up strong forearms.
“I’d need to wrap things up here first.” I ran a finger down the edge of the book. One afternoon of signing paperwork and I could be free. Back to spreadsheets and projections and knowing exactly where I stood.
“Of course! You can have as much time as you need to get your affairs settled.” Amelia’s tone stayed bright. “But I’d appreciate an answer by the end of the week to plan around.”
I thanked her, promised to think it over, and hung up. The smart move was obvious—accept Tate’s offer, negotiate it up a bit, then take Amelia’s partnership. Clean break, fresh start, exactly what I’d planned.
The cursor still blinked on my empty spreadsheet. Numbers didn’t lie. Numbers made sense.
So why couldn’t I make them add up to the future I thought I wanted?
I had until the end of the week to decide. Surely I could allow myself one dinner first. One perfect night to remember when I was back in Seattle dealing with corporate mergers and hostile takeovers.
Just one night.
I touched the book’s spine one last time before forcing myself back to work. After all, I had a business to run.
For now.
TORAIN
“Take your pick.” I nodded between the neon pizza slice glowing in Lust for Crust’s window and the Tilted Anvil’s tasteful sidewalk canopy down the block. “Casual or fancy, up to you.”
Carissa’s eyes darted between the options, an adorable crease appearing between her brows as she weighed pros and cons. “Pizza sounds good, actually.”
I sucked in a dramatic breath and shook my head. “You were supposed to pick the other one. Now the bribe’s wasted.”
“Bribe?” One perfect eyebrow arched as she reached into her bag. “I didn’t know this place ran on bribes.”
She pulled out a leather-bound book. My special order from Mags, had to be. She held it aloft, eyeing it from every angle.
“I wonder how much this would fetch on the open bribe market.” A wicked grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Looks valuable.”
My heart stuttered. Not at her teasing threat—at how the setting sun caught her hair, loosened from its severe bun after a long day. At how her eyes sparkled with mischief instead of stress. At how perfectly she fit into this moment, this street, my life.
She extended the book, but didn’t let go when I grasped it. Our fingers brushed, sending sparks racing up my arm. “Where would you go?” she asked softly. “If it was just you?”
“One Hop Stop,” I admitted. It wasn’t fancy, but it was home.
But she brightened. “Perfect. Let’s go there.”
“You sure?” I hesitated, remembering Miranda’s advice about taking things at human speed. “There’s not much of a food menu.”
Carissa’s cheeks flushed pink. “I, uh, may have stress-baked an entire pan of brownies earlier. Dinner’s a lost cause anyway.”
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “Lead the way then, little baker.”
One Hop Stop welcomed us with its usual Friday night bustle. The exposed brick walls soaked up just enough sound to make conversation possible, while strings of bulbs cast warm pools of light between dark wooden beams. My home away from home.
Vanin caught my eye from behind the bar and nodded. He moved with the efficient grace of someone who’d memorized every inch of their domain. A scowl deepened the lines around his tusks as he glanced toward a corner booth where Molly held court with a gaggle of college-aged women.
Vanin glowered at Molly’s table for another heartbeat before turning his attention to us. “Welcome back to civilization,” he told me flatly then asked Carissa, “What can I get you?”
“First, my thanks for saving my event last night. The paint-and-sippers are apparently accustomed to drinking their body weight in wine,” she said smoothly. “Second, I heard there was a special dark ale available?”
Surprise bubbled up at her request. She’d remembered. One half-formed invitation she cut off at the knees, but she remembered. I’d heard the shifters talk about their inner beasties preening over their mate’s attention, and I fully understood the sensation. Every cell in my body seemed to dance with pride at taking up space in her head.
Vanin’s tusked grin held a hint of warmth. “Consider it down payment on getting back to even terms. Mags did good business before...” He shrugged. “Well, before.”
I tensed, ready to change the subject, but Carissa just nodded. “I’ve been finding invoices. Looks like she burned a lot of bridges.”
“Not all fires stay lit.” Vanin set two perfectly poured pints in front of us. “Especially in a town this size.”
I gave Vanin a grateful nod and guided Carissa toward my usual corner. She slid into the booth and I caught a hint of cinnamon as she moved past. My fingers itched to touch her, to pull her close and breathe in that scent until it filled my lungs. But I kept my distance as I settled across from her. Her speed , I reminded myself.
“So.” I stretched my arm along the booth’s back. “Stress baking?”
Her cheeks flushed again. “It’s a bad habit. Mags taught me. Said there was no problem a good batch of cookies couldn’t solve.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, this is good.”
“My brother knows his stuff.” I watched her lips press against the glass, remembering how they’d felt against mine. How they’d taste now, sweet with spices...
I cleared my throat. “You were close with your aunt?”
Carissa’s fingers traced the rim of her glass. “Not really. We saw each other at holidays, exchanged birthday cards. But that summer...” She shrugged. “Mom was a mess, Dad was… gone, and Mags was my lifeline.”
The loneliness in her voice made my chest ache. I curled my fingers around my glass to keep from reaching for her. Even at our worst, Osen and I had each other. Who did Carissa have?
“Mags never promised anything she couldn’t deliver,” she continued. “If she said she’d teach me to bake, we baked. If she couldn’t watch me, she said so. No excuses, no pretty lies about ‘next time.’“ She took another sip of ale. “I guess that’s why the store being such a mess hit so hard. It felt like she’d stopped showing up, too.”
Show up . The message rang clear as temple bells. My mate didn’t need flowery words or grand gestures. She needed someone who kept their word. Someone who proved their intentions through actions, not promises.
Someone who didn’t forget their obligations at the first pretty smile flashed their way.
“Well,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I solemnly swear that if you ever need someone to eat snickerdoodles at three in the morning, I’m your orc.”
That startled a genuine laugh out of her. “Careful. I might hold you to that.”
“Please do.”
Our eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the bar faded away. There was only Carissa—brilliant, wounded, absolutely captivating Carissa. Her tongue darted out to catch a drop of foam clinging to her lip, and my cock twitched. By the gods, I wanted this woman. Needed to see her completely undone, gasping my name with pleasure.
“Refills?” I managed, grabbing our empty glasses before I did something stupid like drag her into my lap and kiss her senseless.
She nodded, and I made my way to the bar. I’d barely caught Vanin’s attention when I felt a presence on either side of me.
“Who’s your date?” Stella’s eyes sparkled with predatory interest.
I groaned internally. Of course the Moon sisters would be here tonight. Their matching grins promised trouble.
“She’s so pretty,” Luna chimed in. “Does she have a sister?”
“Or a brother?” Stella’s grin showed too many teeth.
I rolled my eyes. “Bad dogs. Humans are not for chewing.”
“Only if you do it wrong.” Luna’s laugh carried a hint of howl.
I was saved from having to answer by Vanin sliding our drinks across the bar. But as I turned to head back to the booth, my good mood evaporated.
Tate Gerrard loomed over our table, his expensive suit out of place among the regulars. Carissa’s shoulders were tight, her smile forced as she looked up at him.
I was across the room in three strides.
“—just need your signature,” Tate was saying as I approached. “The sooner we get this wrapped up, the sooner you can get back to your real life.”
Carissa’s shoulders were rigid, her spine perfectly straight. “As I said in my email, I need time to review everything properly. The estate isn’t even fully settled yet.”
“Come now.” Tate’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We both know this is just a formality. Your aunt and I had already come to an understanding before her unfortunate passing.”
“Everything alright here?” I kept my voice level and forced myself to set the drinks down gently instead of hurling them at his head.
“Just a friendly business discussion.” Tate’s tone dripped condescension. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“In the middle of a crowded bar?” I raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’re the one who doesn’t understand the meaning of private.”
Carissa’s hand brushed my arm. A silent thank you, or a plea to stand down? I couldn’t tell. The need to protect her from the snake overrode all good sense and tinged my vision red.
“Tell her your real plans.” The words ground past my teeth. “Tell her what happens after she signs.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But his pulse jumped, visible in his throat.
“You’ll tear it down,” I growled. “Just like the old theater. Just like the deli. Flatten everything that makes this town special and replace it with overpriced condos.”
“The theater was structurally unsound. Lieberman retired.” Tate straightened his tie. “Miss Morton, your aunt understood the reality of the situation. That building is worth more as part of our development project than as some quaint little bookshop. The sooner you accept that?—”
“The bookstore stays.” Carissa stood, matching Tate’s height in her heels. “I won’t sell.”
“Don’t be foolish.” Tate grabbed her arm. “You’re not equipped to?—”
I moved without thinking. One hand locked around his wrist, squeezing until he released Carissa. The other fisted in his expensive suit jacket.
“You heard the lady.” I lifted him off his feet. The bar went silent except for the scrape of chairs as patrons cleared a path to the door. “Time for you to leave.”
Tate’s feet dangled. His face turned an interesting shade of purple. “You can’t?—”
I could. And did.
The night air felt good against my heated skin as I launched him onto the sidewalk. He sprawled in an undignified heap, suit collecting grime from the concrete.
“Mark my words.” He scrambled up, brushing at his ruined clothes. His eyes locked on Carissa lingering in the doorway of the tavern. “You’ll regret this.”
The threat in his voice made my blood boil. But when I turned back to Carissa, her earlier warmth had been replaced by pale cheeks and rigid control.
“I should go.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Let me walk you?—”
“No.” The word came too quick, too sharp. She softened it with a forced smile. “Thank you for the drinks. And for... that. But I need some air.”
She fled before I could stop her, leaving only the ghost of cinnamon in her wake. I slumped against the brick wall, the mate bond aching with each step she took away from me.
Tate’s parting shot carried weight. The city council had already denied his permits once. All those delays and redesigns had to be costing him a fortune. He wouldn’t stop without a fight.
And my mate was caught in the crossfire.