Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
ROSE
With the sun’s rays streaming through the window, my sleep is interrupted by Ginger, who has planted himself on my chest and started kneading with his tiny paws. I sit up, yawning wide, and scratch his soft little head.
“Alright, I’m up. I’m up. I know you want breakfast.”
He pads after me on silent feet as I open a can of his favorite food and dump it into his tray before switching on the coffee machine. For the first time in weeks, I wake without that tightness in my chest—or the sense that someone is watching me.
Magic at my fingertips, I levitate my favorite mug, catching the glint of sunlight on the rim. The rich scent of brewing coffee fills the air as I pop in a pod. Back in my bedroom, I slip into casual business clothes and catch my reflection in the mirror.
I’m thinner than the last time I really looked, but there’s color in my cheeks again.
Maybe being around the wolf is bringing you back.
“No. I don’t need anyone but myself.” I pinch my cheeks, brush my hair back into a ponytail, and walk back to the kitchen.
I need to make a few arrangements for the upcoming opening before heading into the office.
A glance at my watch shows I’m an hour ahead of schedule—enough time to confirm orders before diving into the bustle of town.
The machine beeps, and I pull the mug free, setting it gently on the counter. I reach for the cream, twist the cap, and nearly gag as the acrid stench of rotten milk hits me.
“Of course.” I glare at the label. Two weeks expired. Has it really been that long since I went grocery shopping?
I shove the fridge closed and lean against it, irritation twisting in my stomach. Busy, distracted—sure. But letting something this simple slip? It feels like a reflection of everything else I’ve been letting slide. Maybe taking on the lounge’s opening was more than I could chew.
I yank open the pantry and dig, finally finding the creamer tucked behind the oatmeal. A quick shake, a twist of the lid—and only a sad dusting of powder clings to the bottom.
“Perfect.” I toss it into the trash with more force than necessary.
The memory blindsides me. Jett, smirking as he dumped the last spoonful into his mug and shoved the container back, practically empty. My jaw tightens. He must’ve left this here, and I hadn’t even noticed until now—too busy boxing up his crap, too busy trying not to break.
Netti had come the next day after I called her, calm and steady as we folded, taped, and labeled every box. I’d wanted to hex him into oblivion. Instead, I returned it all, neat and intact. And now, here I am, craving coffee with nothing but the stale taste of regret—and missing my best friend.
Netti’s with her boyfriend’s wolf shifter pack now, working as a healer. Perhaps when the club opening is over, I’ll take a week off to visit her.
Sighing, I glance down at Ginger. “Well, change of plans. Looks like I’m going to the store. Phone calls will have to wait.”
He looks up, lets out a disgruntled meow, then dives back into his food as if annoyed that my spoiled milk dilemma interrupted his breakfast.
So much for being ahead of schedule.
Five minutes later, I pull into the grocery lot and cut the engine. Out of the corner of my eye, a small wolf darts around the side of the building.
That’s strange. I don’t usually see wolves in town—and hardly any stray dogs since I’ve moved here.
Could it be the girl Carter’s looking for?
I shake my head and step inside. I should probably grab some other staples while I’m here, but I don’t have time to linger—not after spending yesterday afternoon with Carter.
My schedule at the hall isn’t fixed, but I still need to email clients and arrange a pickup for the lounge decorations. My stomach growls.
That settles it. Nothing was going to get done without caffeine and carbs. I make quick work of filling my cart with snacks, creamer, a few freezer meals, and a gallon of double chocolate fudge ice cream before heading to the register.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the teen at the counter drones, her dark hair and kohl-lined eyes reminding me faintly of something I can’t place. Over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed a lot of teens taking spring jobs before going back to university.
“Yes, thank you.” I glance at my watch, fingers tapping impatiently against my purse while she scans each item at a pace slower than the last.
“Do you need any ice or st—”
“No, thank you. I’ve got everything I need.” I swipe my card, the reader flashing green in approval, then scoop the bags into my arms. “Thanks,” I call over my shoulder as I head out the door.
A little over an hour later, I pull into the event hall’s lot—coffee in one hand, bag and laptop in the other. Later than I intended, but better a little late and caffeinated than never. After waving to the receptionist, I make a beeline down the hall to my office.
The back of the hall is divided into a dozen small offices, each sparsely furnished with a desk and chair. A practical use of space by the owner, renting them out by the week or month. I set my coffee on the desk, sink into the leather chair, and power on my laptop.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, dispatching a dozen emails in quick succession. When I finally glance up at the clock, it reads half past ten. I’m making good progress.
Was Carter making any progress finding the wolf pup?
My cell buzzes, and I grab for it, half-wondering if my thoughts had summoned him. Disappointment twists in my gut when the screen lights up with a reminder to call the decorations store. No new messages.
He doesn’t need to text me. He has his own life; I have mine. We’re both hardworking, career-driven people. Just because my stomach does summersaults every time he looks at me doesn’t mean I need to act like some schoolgirl with her first crush.
Pulling my planner from my purse, I flip to this week, drag out my highlighters, and cross off emails from today’s date. Next on the list: pick up decorations. Not worry about crazy ex-boyfriends. Not chase tails with handsome wolf shifters. And definitely not mope about what ifs.
I am happy. I am successful. And I’m going to throw myself into work—like always.
I hit call and put the phone to my ear. It rings once, twice.
“Enchantations Decorations. How can I help you?”
“Hello, this is Rosemary. I placed an order earlier for an upcoming event. I was hoping to check the status? I have the order number.”
“Oh yes, I believe your custom decorations have arrived. You can pick them up this afternoon.”
I sigh in relief. Getting the decorations early lifts a huge weight off my shoulders—I can start setting up now, since nothing’s perishable like the flowers or food.
“Fantastic. Everything came in? The balloon arches, banners, tablecloths, garlands, and branded gift bags?” I tick the items off on my fingers.
“Yes,” she replies, followed by the rustle of a box being opened. “What an unusual shade of—” The phone goes silent before she clears her throat. “Chartreuse?”
I sputter, choking on my coffee. Surely I misheard.
“Did you say chartreuse? As in the French liquor? As in yellow-green?” I shoot to my feet, pacing the length of my tiny office.
“Yes, miss,” she squeaks.
Oh no, no, no. This is not good. The decorations were supposed to be deep blue—like the sky at dusk, like the ocean in winter. Not split-pea-soup green.
“There must be some mistake. Are you sure those are the decorations for the Wise Fox Lounge’s opening? They should be blue.”
When I’d met with them in person, I’d pored over the pattern books for what felt like hours until I found the right shade to bring the lounge’s vision to life.
The hum of her sigh fills the pause.
“I’m not sure what happened. Your order very clearly states cerulean blue. Do you have another associate who may have called and asked for a color change?”
No one else was leading this project. No one even knew where I was sourcing my supplies.
“No.” I slump back into my chair, rubbing my temple. “Please tell me it can be fixed before the event.”
“Unfortunately, with your event so soon, I can try, but I can’t guarantee the replacements will arrive in time with such a custom order. Did you still want to pick these up? You can return them if the others arrive in time.”
“Thank you. I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon.”
I set down my phone and bury my face in my hands. It’s too late to order from anywhere else. I could piece something together, but nothing would coordinate. If only I specialized in illusions instead of emotions—I could spell them the right color and be done with it.