Chapter 10 Guy
Guy
The convention center wasn’t large by big-city standards, but this wasn’t New York or LA; it was Pinevale, and we had no trouble filling the multi-purpose room with booths, each one a different vendor of various condiments and sauces.
The aisles were labeled by subcategory: ketchups, mustards, barbecue sauces, marinades and rubs (though that last one wasn’t technically a condiment, it snuck by on a technicality).
My table was stationed in the “sweet” aisle, with the chocolate sauces and dessert toppings.
The event hadn’t opened to the public yet, but all the vendors were here early to set up their tables. I’d had all my product shipped directly here, and I wove through the aisles to where my table was ready for me, with stacks of boxes waiting to be unpacked.
Fable’s eyes were already wide, mouth gaping, as he tried to take it all in. “Is that blueberry barbecue sauce? Parmesan sage?? Ohmigods, date and rosemary, yummm. I wish our cabin had a kitchen. I have so many ideas!” he gushed, his head on swivel.
My heart gave a heavy thud in my chest. He’d said “our cabin” like it was home, and I was filled with a strange mix of longing and regret.
I put my hand at his lower back and nudged to keep his feet moving. “I’ll be stuck here at the booth for the morning, but you should go browse. You can leave your stuff here with me, then do some shopping.”
Fable chewed on his lip. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not. I didn’t bring you along to be my employee.
I want you to have fun. Besides, I can already hear your stomach growling, and what kind of alpha would I be if I didn’t feed you?
” My beaver, on the other hand, was nagging at me to take him around to all the booths and feed him by hand, make sure he was well taken care of, before taking him back to the cabin and marking him as ours.
That’s too much, I told my beast. He hasn’t agreed to be our omega yet. Have a little patience. Just because Fable was our fated mate, that meant nothing in the eyes of a human.
I agreed with my beaver that this would’ve been so much easier if Fable had been a shifter too, but I didn’t regret the man fate selected for me. He was soft and sweet and funny and made me so curious to learn everything there was to know about him and his world.
Arriving at my booth, I took off Fable’s jacket and draped it over one of the chairs, then tugged my toque off his head and smoothed down his hair. “I wish I could go with you.”
Fable brought his hands to my waist as I ran my fingers through his soft brown hair. “I’ll bring you something to eat,” he said, grinning up at me.
And that was exactly what he did. In fact, he brought multiple somethings.
It seemed like every time he found a new and exciting sauce, he rushed back with a sample for me to try.
Some came in little cups to sip, some with bits of bread or crackers to dip.
I’d been worried I wouldn’t see Fable all morning, but I barely went five minutes without him making an appearance.
And every time he returned, his scent became richer, sweeter, spicier, with every new sauce lingering on his lips.
As soon as the doors had opened to the public, the sound in the room had risen to a dull roar, everyone hawking their wares at once.
It was a great turnout, and there were multiple distributors interested in picking up my brand.
I had brought a toaster for my samples, crisping up frozen waffles to cut into bite-sized squares, perfectly filled with syrup.
Toward noon, I noticed that Fable had been gone a while. I wasn’t too worried, because I could still sense him nearby, but just in case, I started packing up my leftover bottles a little early. As soon as the clock struck 12, I would go find him.
Just a few minutes later, though, Fable appeared, eyes bright behind his glasses. “You will never guess what I just did.”
“Hmm… did you participate in the hot wing competition?” I guessed, eyeing the hot sauce at the corner of his mouth.
“Wha— How did you know?” he asked.
I stepped in close and cupped his chin. “Lucky guess,” I purred, before I leaned in and licked the sauce from his lips. “Delicious.” And I wasn’t talking about the sauce.
Fable gave a little whine, hooking his fingers into my beltloops to pull me flush. “That’s cheating. You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left me the clue. Did you win?” I asked.
He laughed. “Not even close. I’m a wimp when it comes to spice. I was out in the third round, but it was super fun, and I got a free lunch out of it. I wish you could’ve seen me.”
“Well,” I said, glancing at my watch, “there should be another round this afternoon, and I am getting awfully hungry…” For more than wings, but the rest could wait.
Fable bounced on his toes. “Yes! Come eat hot wings with me!”
He seemed an entirely different man from the nervous wreck he’d been last night. I loved this side of him. He was confident and relaxed, and I loved that I was the one who brought it out in him.
I felt someone’s curious gaze on us, and when I peeked over Fable’s shoulder, I saw an older woman watching us, a tight frown on her face. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of place that welcomed public displays of affection.
So, I grabbed Fable’s coat and bag, now overloaded with bottles of sauce, and led the way down the aisle. “Come on, let’s get messy.”
We spent the rest of the day at the convention.
There was a whole new set of vendors in the afternoon, so there was plenty to sample.
As much as I loved trying all the food, the real joy was from watching Fable’s reaction to each new sauce.
He kept a notebook, writing down possible recipe ideas to try when he finally got to a kitchen.
We also competed in the hot wing competition, and Fable showed me that, indeed, he did not handle spice well.
I, however, had a little help from my beaver who happened to adore spicy food.
It was so unlike anything he would eat in the wild, so this was his chance to indulge.
By the time we reached the final round, my mouth was on fire, and it was down to just me and one other.
“Come on, Guy! You can do it!” Fable cheered.
Easy for him to say, he wasn’t chowing down on over a million Scovilles.
“Ughh, that hurt,” I moaned on the way home, a hand to my stomach. “Why did I let you talk me into that?”
“Because you can’t say no to a challenge. And to think, all you got was this lousy trophy,” Fable teased, though he was currently hugging that trophy like he’d won it himself. I’d already decided that it would be going home with him. Something to remember me by…
That thought twisted my stomach into knots. Maybe my stomach-ache had nothing to do with the hot sauce at all and everything to do with the fact that I was going to lose my mate in two days.
“So, which sauce was your favorite?” I asked as I parked the car, changing the subject, stuffing all my insecurities deep down where it was easier to ignore them.
“Maple syrup, obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes like he couldn’t understand why I’d even bothered to ask. “Sweet and surprisingly versatile. I could do anything with it!” It made my beaver preen, as if he were choosing us personally.
I climbed out of the car and helped him unload his goodies into the cabin. It was such a domestic task, I could easily visualize doing this back home, with Fable as my mate, pregnant with my kit. He’d said we could be as casual or as serious as I wanted; had that offer extended to forever?
As we walked into our little cabin, Fable let out a sigh that I couldn’t interpret.
Was it blissful? Sad? Lonely? If we were mated, I could get a better read on his emotions and then provide whatever it was he needed.
Instead, I was forced to read his body language…
although it certainly wasn’t a hardship to stare at him.
I kicked off my boots and watched him unpack all his sauces, lining the bottles up along the top of the dresser.
I could watch him all day, doing anything at all.
His phone chimed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, tensing as he took in whatever was on the screen.
Huffing, he shoved it back where it came from without replying.
When Fable turned back with a tight smile, I got the hint—he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Did you try this one?” he asked, cracking open a bottle.
“I think it would make a really nice chicken marinade if I mixed it with some maple syrup. What do you think?”
“Let’s mix the two and try it,” I suggested, following his lead.
He poured a little of both into a lodge-provided cup and then used his finger to stir them together. He went to lick off his finger, but I caught his wrist before he could and brought it to my mouth. Laving my tongue along the length of his finger, I took it fully into my mouth and sucked it clean.
Fable’s breath shuddered, his gaze fixed on my mouth. “H-How is it?” he asked breathily.
I pulled his finger out slowly. “It’s delicious. Why don’t you try it?”
He nodded, but instead of going to the cup for his own taste, he lifted onto his toes and claimed my mouth instead, chasing the sauce on my tongue.
Taste test immediately forgotten, I pulled Fable into my arms, and together, we fell back onto the bed.