Shift Happens (Fur Real Love #3)

Prologue

I was halfway through alphabetizing the new manga shipment when the bell above the door jangled with unusual urgency. Something crashed immediately after, which wasn’t a great sign for whoever had just entered Panels & Prose, my carefully curated comic book haven.

“Sorry! Sorry about your—what is this? A cardboard person?” A voice called out from the entrance.

“It’s a life-size Wolverine standee,” I replied without looking up, continuing to sort Assassination Classroom volumes. “And it’s survived worse than whatever you just did to it.”

When I finally glanced up, I found myself staring at what had to be the most fidgety human being I’d ever encountered.

He was tiny—maybe five-foot-four on a good day—with a mop of chestnut hair that looked like it had been styled by sticking fingers in an electrical socket.

His amber eyes darted around the store at a speed that made me slightly dizzy.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked, setting aside the manga.

“Job! I need a job. Here. With you. Working.” His words tumbled out as he took a step forward and promptly tripped over absolutely nothing, catching himself on a display of Batman figurines that wobbled precariously.

I lunged across the counter, saving the Dark Knight collection from certain doom. “Careful! Those are collectibles!”

“Sorry!” He winced, then stuck out his hand with such force I was afraid he might dislocate his own shoulder. “I’m Milo. I need to work for a human. You’re human. I checked.”

I hesitantly shook his outstretched hand. “I’m… glad I passed your species verification. I’m Finn. Finn Reed. I own this place.”

His hand was unusually warm, and I noticed calluses in strange places. He also seemed to be… sniffing me? While maintaining uncomfortable eye contact?

“Um, about the job,” I said, pulling my hand back. “I didn’t actually post—”

“I can do things!” Milo interrupted, bouncing on his heels. “Human things! I need practice at human things. My pack—I mean, my family says I should integrate better. Learn to blend.”

Blend? With that energy level and those social skills? Good luck with that.

He was wearing what appeared to be a hoodie three sizes too large, jeans that bunched awkwardly at his ankles, and sneakers with the laces knotted in a way that defied physics. His entire outfit screamed “I’ve never dressed myself before today.”

“Look, Milo—” I started.

“Please,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter. “I really need this. I promise I learn fast.”

Something in those amber eyes made me pause. There was an earnestness there, a vulnerability that caught me off guard. Also, if I was being completely honest with myself, business had picked up lately, and I could use an extra pair of hands around the store.

“Do you have any retail experience?” I asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“Customer service?”

“Does talking to squirrels count?”

I blinked. “No. No, it doesn’t.”

“Then also no.”

I sighed. “Any experience with inventory management? Cash registers? Computers?”

With each question, he seemed to shrink a little, shoulders hunching. “I’m good at… finding things? And I can lift heavy stuff. I’m stronger than I look.” He flexed one arm, and despite his small frame, I could see defined muscle under the baggy sleeve.

Great, so he can bench press comics but can’t sell them.

Against my better judgment, I found myself saying, “Okay, how about this—trial basis, part-time. You can help with stock and cleaning while learning the rest. Minimum wage to start, and we’ll see how it goes.”

His entire face lit up with such joy that I half expected him to start glowing. “Really? Yes! When do I start? Now? Can I start now? I can stay all night!”

“Whoa, easy. Let’s start with paperwork. Do you have ID? Social security number? Tax forms?”

His smile dimmed slightly. “I have… some of those things?”

What have I gotten myself into?

“Well, bring whatever you have tomorrow morning at 9 AM,” I said, already mentally calculating how much extra accounting this was going to create. “And maybe wear shoes you can actually tie properly.”

He looked down at his disaster of footwear. “These are difficult. Too many strings. In the wild—I mean, at home—we don’t…” He trailed off, then looked back up with determination. “I’ll be better with shoes tomorrow.”

As he turned to leave, he knocked into a stack of comics, sending them cascading to the floor. He dropped to his hands and knees so quickly it was almost inhuman, scrambling to collect them.

I crouched down to help, and for a brief moment, our hands touched over a copy of “Silver Surfer.” He froze, and so did I. There was something unusual about the way he looked at me then—head slightly tilted, nostrils flaring subtly, eyes focused with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

Was that… did he just growl? No, that’s ridiculous.

“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling back. “I’ll be more careful.”

As he scurried out the door—knocking the Wolverine standee over again—I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just invited chaos into my meticulously ordered life.

What I didn’t realize was just how adorable chaos could be, or how completely it would transform everything I thought I knew about myself.