Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
M eara followed him outside, watching him pace the perimeter while coordinating with the power company. The morning sun highlighted the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he scanned their surroundings for any other signs of tampering. Her heart squeezed at his dedication to keeping her safe.
When he caught her staring, his stern expression softened into that half-smile that never failed to make her pulse race. He extended his hand, pulling her close when she took it.
“Two days for repairs,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m staying until then.”
“Don’t you have meetings?”
“They can wait.” His arms tightened around her. “This is more important.”
The simple declaration threatened to overwhelm her. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky to find someone who put her first without making her feel weak.
“Well!” Vida’s voice shattered their moment. Artek’s mother swept into view carrying several insulated bags that smelled divine. “A little bird told me someone’s been skipping lunch lately.”
Meara shot Frenchy a betrayed look. He shrugged, unrepentant. “What? You can’t create masterpieces on an empty stomach. I’m just looking out for you, honey. Besides, Vida promised to bring those honey cakes Artek’s been raving about.”
“Don’t even try to resist,” Trey called from the porch. “She’ll just follow you around with a spoon until you eat.”
“It happened once,” Vida sniffed, sweeping past them into the kitchen. “And he was twelve. Now, everyone, inside!”
Soon they gathered around the kitchen island, steam rising from bowls of rich vegetable soup. Vida fluttered between them, refilling bread baskets and fussing over portions while regaling them with increasingly dramatic tales of Artek’s childhood appetite.
“This one,” she pointed her spoon at her son, “once ate an entire honey cake meant for the sleuth elder’s birthday. Claimed a wild bear must have broken in.”
“Mother.” Artek’s pained expression made Meara bite back a laugh.
“What? You had crumbs in your fur!” Vida turned to Meara. “He was the worst liar as a cub. Those big innocent eyes fooled no one.”
“I can picture it.” Meara grinned at Artek’s mock glare. “Bet you were adorable.”
“Oh! I have photos!” Vida brightened. “Remember that phase where you wouldn’t shift back from bear form because you thought your human teeth were coming in crooked?”
“And on that note...” Artek reached for his phone as it buzzed, putting it on speaker. They listened to his power company contact confirm the deliberate nature of the damage. Could take more than the initial estimated two days for repairs.
Vida’s spoon clattered against her bowl. “Those Lopez thugs dare to threaten my future daughter-in-law like this?” She jabbed her finger at Artek. “You need to take better care of your mate!”
Heat flooded Meara’s cheeks at “mate,” but warmth bloomed in her chest when Artek’s hand found hers under the counter, squeezing gently. The casual intimacy of it, the way he sought to comfort her even as he discussed security measures with Trey, made her heart flutter.
“That’s it.” Vida stood, hands on her hips. “You’re all coming to the carnival. No arguments.”
“Vida, I should really stay here and?—”
“And what? Stare at cut power lines? The repair crew won’t arrive until tomorrow.” Her expression softened. “One afternoon of fun won’t hurt anyone. The whole sleuth will be there—safety in numbers, yes?”
“She’s right,” Frenchy chimed in. “Plus, I heard there’s a ring toss booth. Nothing says ‘take that, saboteurs’ like winning oversized stuffed animals.”
Meara glanced at Artek, surprised to see hope flickering behind his usual stoic expression. She realized he wanted this too—a chance to be normal, to share his community with her without crisis looming.
“Well...” She pretended to consider. “I suppose I could use a break from watching Frenchy rearrange candles.”
“Excuse you, I am creating ambiance.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
Their bickering carried them through cleanup, and soon they were piling into cars for the short drive to the carnival grounds. Artek helped her into his SUV, using the moment to steal a quick kiss that left her breathless.
“What was that for?” she asked as he pulled away from the cabin.
His free hand found hers across the console. “Because I can.”
Meara’s arm linked through Artek’s as they strolled past vendors. He pointed out each booth’s history—how his father had started the ring toss tradition, which food stall made the best honey-roasted nuts (all of them, according to his sweet tooth). His quiet excitement at sharing these memories with her made her heart swell.
“You’re different here,” she observed, watching his face light up as he waved to another sleuth member.
“Different how?”
“More relaxed. Like you can breathe easier.” She squeezed his arm. “I like seeing this side of you.”
His eyes softened as he pulled her closer. “You make me want to show it more often.”
Before she could respond, Frenchy’s voice carried across the path. “Oh. My. God. Are those deep-fried honey buns? Vida! You didn’t tell me there’d be deep-fried honey buns!”
“There’s a reason,” Vida sighed, watching Frenchy practically skip toward the food stand. “Last year he ate six and spent the entire hayride complaining about his pants being too tight.”
“It would be so worth it,” Frenchy called back. “Besides, I’m almost single again. Gotta maintain my girlish figure for all these handsome bears.”
Meara raised an eyebrow. “Almost single again? What happened to Gustavo?”
“We’re having some creative differences.” Frenchy waved dramatically. “I told him he can’t make demands if he won’t put a ring on it. He’s off sulking. For now, we’re taking a few days off so I can have some fun. But he’s still in my speed dial for anything land related. Don’t worry, boo. He loves me; he’s just being a hardhead.”
A burst of laughter drew their attention to where Trey chatted with several muscular shifters by the ring toss. Frenchy’s eyes lit up.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he smoothed his already perfect hair, “I spy some gentlemen in need of fashion advice. Those cargo shorts are a cry for help.”
They watched him sashay away, already launching into what appeared to be an impromptu style consultation. The shifters seemed more amused than offended, especially when Frenchy demonstrated sexy “casual lean” technique against a wooden post.
“Frenchy is...” Artek trailed off, shaking his head.
“A force of nature?”
“That’s one way to put it.”