Chapter 5
The Itsy Bitsy Distraction
June
The silk underwear is driving me absolutely insane.
Every step is a reminder of last night, of strong hands and cunning mandibles and the way Riven’s voice dropped to that rumbling purr when he called me his “intended.”
His intended.
I fumble a package and nearly drop it on the concrete floor.
God, I need to get it together.
But every time I move, the silk shifts against me like a caress, and I’m right back to being trapped in that web, completely at his mercy and loving every second of it.
The memory makes my cheeks burn and my pulse spike in ways that are absolutely not appropriate for professional package handling.
I grab the manifest from my clipboard with more force than necessary. Focus on the routes. Focus on efficiency. Focus on literally anything besides the fact that you let a twelve-foot spider tie you up and—
“Morning, Junebug.”
Dad’s voice from the office doorway makes me jump like I’ve been caught stealing. I spin around, clutching the clipboard to my chest like armor, certain that somehow he’ll take one look at me and know exactly what happened on that mountain.
But Frank Hartwell looks like hell, and he’s too absorbed in his own pain to notice anything unusual about his daughter. He’s hunched slightly to favor his bad back, deep lines of discomfort etched around his eyes as he shuffles toward me with a stack of delivery manifests.
The sight of him struggling makes my chest tight with guilt. He should be taking it easy, not worrying about route logistics at dawn.
“Hey, Dad.” I force my voice to sound normal, professional. “How’s the back this morning?”
“Same as always,” he grunts, which means it’s terrible but he’s too stubborn to admit it. He hands me the paperwork with the careful movements of someone trying not to jar anything. “Got your routes optimized for minimal backtracking. Standard runs today, nothing too challenging.”
“Oh, I should probably mention…” I clear my throat and reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out the thick roll of bills Riven pressed into my hands. “I got a pretty generous tip yesterday from that new mountain client.”
Dad’s eyes widen as I hold out the cash. “Jesus, June. What’s this?”
“Tip from yesterday’s delivery. The client… appreciated my service.” That’s one way to put it. “I thought maybe this could help with some of the bills?”
The change in my father’s posture is immediate and heartbreaking.
The tension across his shoulders melts away, and for the first time in weeks, he looks like he can actually breathe.
He takes the money with hands that shake slightly, counting through it with the efficiency of someone who’s been juggling bills for too long.
“This is…” He stops, swallows hard. “This is enough to cover the truck maintenance we’ve needed, and the insurance payment.”
Before I can react, he pulls me into one of his rare hugs. It’s the kind that smells like coffee and motor oil and makes me feel like I’m ten years old again. The embrace is fierce but careful, mindful of his back, and I can feel some of the constant worry he carries start to ease.
“Thank you, Junebug,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “I know this hasn’t been easy, taking over the routes. But you’re saving our asses out there.”
The gratitude in his voice makes my throat tight. If he only knew that my mysterious benefactor had his own very specific ideas about compensation and courtship rituals. But seeing Dad’s relief makes every confusing, terrifying, exhilarating moment worth it.
“Just doing my job,” I manage, pulling back before my expression gives anything away. “I should get moving. Long day ahead.”
Dad nods, already turning back toward the office with noticeably lighter steps. “Drive safe, Junebug.”
“Always do.”
I finish loading the truck in record time, my mind still spinning from yesterday.
Will Riven need another delivery from us? Will I ever get to see that horrifying, magnificent creature again?
By the time I’m behind the wheel, I’m wound so tight I might snap. I need coffee, carbs, and a dose of normalcy before I start my routes.
Merry’s Diner it is.
The bell above the door chimes as I step into the warm, grease-scented sanctuary of Merry’s Diner. The morning rush is in full swing. Loggers grab coffee before their shift, early-rising retirees claim their usual booths, and the comforting chaos of small-town breakfast service fills the air.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite delivery girl,” Merry Thompson calls out as I slide onto my regular stool. She’s already pouring my coffee before I can ask, her practical bun fighting a losing battle with her gray curls. “Though you’re three minutes late by your usual standards.”
I check my watch. “You know my schedule?”
“Honey, you’re the only person in Pine Ridge I can set a clock by.
When you’re off schedule, it makes me begin to worry that the apocalypse is finally happening.
” Her fingers hook the handle of a fresh mug of coffee, sliding it my way like she’s done this a thousand times before.
“So what threw the great June Hartwell’s timing off this morning? Road closure? Truck trouble?”
The real answer is that I spent those extra minutes debating which pair of pants would best conceal the silk underwear currently clinging to me. Not that I’m about to share that with anyone.
“Just… took my time loading the truck today,” I lie, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
Merry narrows her eyes, not buying it for a second. “Uh-huh. And I’m secretly a mermaid on my days off.” She leans forward, dropping her voice. “You’re fidgeting like you’ve got ants in your pants, which is very un-June-like. What gives?”
I shift on the stool. “Nothing gives. I’m fine. I’m just… thinking about routes.”
“Routes, huh?” Merry’s eyebrows lift toward her hairline. “Must be some mighty interesting routes to have you blushing like that.”
I’m saved from having to respond by the bell over the door, but my relief turns to mild dread when I see who’s walking in.
Deputy Dale Brennan fills the doorway with his broad shoulders and that serious expression he wears like a uniform. His light brown hair is perfectly styled, and his pale eyes scan the diner with professional habit before landing on me.
“Morning, Dale,” Merry calls cheerfully. “Usual?”
“Thanks, Merry.” He settles onto the stool next to mine with an easy confidence. “June. Good to see you.”
“Morning, Deputy.” I keep my tone polite but not encouraging. Dale’s always been perfectly nice, but there’s something about his attention that can be a bit much sometimes. Like he’s constantly looking for problems to solve, whether I want them solved or not.
“How are the routes treating you?” He accepts his coffee with a nod of thanks to Merry. “I know taking over for your dad can’t be easy.”
“I’m managing fine.” I take another sip of coffee, hoping he’ll take the hint and keep the conversation brief.
But Dale’s never been good at reading hints. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. We had an incident earlier this week. Property damage out at the old Hendricks place. Looks like something went through there like a tornado.”
My stomach clenches with unease. “What kind of damage?”
“Systematic destruction. Windows, furniture, even the walls looked like something with claws had a tantrum.” His voice drops to that serious tone that makes every conversation feel like an interrogation.
“I’m concerned about you making deliveries to some of the more isolated properties.
Especially the ones with monster clients. ”
The defensive reaction is instant and surprising in its intensity. “My clients are perfectly respectable, regardless of species.”
Dale’s eyebrows raise at my sharp tone. “I’m not saying they’re not. It’s just… some of them have capabilities that could be dangerous if they’re having a bad day.”
I don’t like the implication. “I’ve been doing this job since spring without incident. I know how to handle myself.”
“I’m sure you do.” Dale’s voice gentles, like he’s talking to someone who doesn’t understand the danger she’s in. “But some of these monsters… they don’t think like we do. Their instincts are different. More primitive.”
Primitive. I choose not to take the bait.
“I’m a big girl, Dale. I don’t need you fussing over me.”
The words come out sharper than I meant, and I see hurt flash across Dale’s features before being replaced by professional stoicism.
“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
The awkward silence stretches between us until Merry appears with the coffeepot, refilling our mugs with the practiced timing of someone who’s mediated a thousand small-town tensions.
“Sure is some nice weather out there, isn’t it?” she says, offering us both a lifeline.
“Sure is,” Dale says, clearly grateful for the topic change. “Might be the last warm day of the year.”
I down the rest of my coffee before saying, “I should get going. Long day ahead.”
I leave money on the counter and slide off the stool, conscious of Dale’s eyes following my movement.
“Drive safe,” he calls as I head for the door.
Outside, the crisp morning air helps clear my head, and I manage to settle myself down. I know Dale means well, but his protective instincts feel more patronizing than reassuring sometimes.
Sure, there have been a few missing people and strange incidents on the mountain over the years, but that’s not all that uncommon in such a treacherous landscape. And the worst cases could be a bear just as much as it could be a monster.
I’d rather not assume the worst based on appearances alone.
Hell, Riven might look more alien and predatory than any creature of legend, but his careful attention to me, his adorable confusion about human customs, his almost shy pride in his craftsmanship—none of that felt primitive.
It felt considerate. Thoughtful, even.
More thoughtful than most of the guys I’ve dated, if I’m being honest.