Chapter Pineridge Potluck
Pineridge Potluck
Antonia wasn’t entirely certain how she’d been roped into organizing Pineridge’s annual Moonset potluck, but it was definitely her sister’s fault.
She liked to think that as an experienced healer, she wasn’t easy to ruffle.
After all, she’d cut her teeth in the emergency ward of the largest hospital in the Shifter Alliance.
Hardly a moment went by without some life-or-death emergency she was required to handle promptly and with the stoic professionalism her kind were known for.
Compared to bloody forty-eight hour shifts and sedated wolves trying to take a bite out of her backside, her new practice in Pineridge was comically easy.
Or it was until her sister volunteered them for potluck duty.
“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry before you forgive me?
You know how I get flustered when people start asking me for things!
And I forgot I promised to bring Isabel to her dad’s parents’ this year.
I swear it wasn’t intentional,” Dara sighed.
She had to speak loudly into the phone’s speaker to be heard over the music of her daughter’s favorite new boy band.
Grimacing at the yellowed piece of paper in her hand, Antonia replied, “I don’t know. How many people are in this phone tree? Let me count.”
“Phone tree? What is this, this 1950’s? Has no one in Pineridge heard of a groupchat?”
Getting up to make herself something hot to drink, she snarked, “Maybe you should ask the town council — you know, since you’re such good friends with them.”
“Annie, this is a great opportunity for you,” Dara needled. “You want to get to know the community, the community wants to get to know you…”
She snorted as she set the kettle on the cooker. “Wow, thank you for the amazing opportunity.”
Ignoring her sister’s sarcastic tone, Dara replied, “You’re so welcome. Okay, we’re pulling up now. Good luck!”
“Dara—”
Antonia pulled the phone away from her ear with a groan. Watching the steam begin to rise from the kettle’s spout, she drummed her nails on the counter and tried to think of a plan.
“It’s just a potluck,” she muttered. “I’ve done surgery before. How hard can it be?”
Two weeks and approximately a hundred phone calls later, Antonia discovered that organizing a community potluck could, in fact, be harder than surgery.
Paloma, her heavily pregnant patient and neighbor, stood beside her at the long, plastic-covered table. Holding her hands to the small of her back, she noted, “Well, at least we didn’t get all cookies. Look, there’s mac and cheese! And Laura brought biscuits.”
Antonia stared at the sad spread with resignation. “It’s all desserts,” she muttered, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what happened, Paloma.”
“Well, what’d you tell people to bring?”
“I… said to bring a dish,” she answered, counting the trays of sweets again, just in case she’d hallucinated the first time.
Paloma made a knowing sound. “Is that all you said?”
Glancing at her patient who’d quickly become a friend, she replied, “Yes? Why?”
“Ah.” Paloma laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a good, pitying pat. “You made a rookie mistake. See, if you don’t tell people explicitly that they need to bring an entree, everyone chooses store-bought dessert. It’s potluck 101, Antonia.”
“What? Since when—”
“Where’s all the meat?” A playful, lightly accented voice came from behind her.
By the time Antonia had turned to see Artem, the dragon had already swooped in on his mate. His long tail wrapped around Paloma’s heavy belly with a possessive stroke as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re early!” Paloma exclaimed, half-turning to grin up at her mate. “I thought your meeting—”
Artem, dressed in a fine suit of navy velvet with gold trim, stroked his mate’s cheek with the back of a claw. “Not even elves can say no to wrapping up early when I explain I have a pregnant mate waiting for me,” he rumbled.
“That’s nice,” Antonia butted in, “but did you happen to bring an entree with you?”
Artem glanced between her and Paloma, his horned brow furrowed with confusion. “No, Healer Belton. My mate said she was bringing brownies.”
Throwing up her hands, Antonia groaned, “Everyone brought brownies! Or cookies! Or lemon bars!”
The hair rose on the back of her neck a moment before a low, amused voice murmured in her ear, “Then it’s a good thing I decided on ham, then.”
A full-body flush rolled through her, entirely involuntary and unwanted, as she whirled around to find a golden-haired shifter hovering behind her.
Jack gave her a slow smile. Dressed in a leather jacket with his hair perfectly wind-swept, he carried a massive covered platter in his gloved hands.
Her heart leapt, and if she pretended it was because he’d probably rescued the potluck, then that was fine.
“You brought ham?” she gasped, already reaching for the platter.
Jack swung it up and out of her reach effortlessly, showing off that notorious shifter strength. “Careful, Healer. It’s hot!”
“Well, put it on the table,” she ordered, already turning to move the many plates of sweets out of the way. “Come on, before anyone sees!”
Laughing, the shifter leaned around her — a little too close — to set the platter down with a theatrical flourish. “What happened?” he teased. “You didn’t let everyone decide for themselves what they’d bring, did you?”
Exasperated, she hissed, “How was I supposed to know everyone would bring sweets?”
“Coulda asked me for help,” he whispered, that charming half-smile still on his lips.
Antonia sniffed. “Really? Because last time I checked, you don’t answer my calls.”
His smile dimmed, but Jack was no less handsome when he was serious. In her experience, shifters were always magnetic. It had something to do with the raw energy they possessed. Even when they were the worst people you’d ever met, they were hard to look away from.
And Jack was hardly the worst person she’d ever met. He just happened to be entirely full of himself.
“That’s business,” he argued. “Now, if you want to talk about personal things…”
“A potluck isn’t personal.”
“It is if everyone talks about how it became a bake sale for the rest of the year,” he laughed.
“It’s her first time organizing a potluck,” Paloma interjected, laughter in her voice. “Cut her some slack.”
Straightening, Jack raised a hand in greeting. “Hey Polly.” His tone lost most of its warmth when he turned his attention to Artem, who watched him with a narrowed-eyed look of cool hostility. “A?daja.”
“Jack Jr,” the dragon drawled. One huge, leathery wing curved over his mate’s shoulder to drape over her belly.
Antonia watched the interaction with interest for all of a second before aiming her attention where it belonged: reorganizing the buffet table so it looked like there was an actual dinner to be had.
There was bad blood between those two, but not the kind she had any professional or personal investment in. So Antonia artfully arranged her edamame salad next to Jack’s offering and ignored the sounds of Paloma making a hurried excuse to put distance between the two men.
“The hall looks nice,” Jack noted. He leaned his hip against the table and crossed his arms.
Antonia looked around briefly, taking in the silver garlands and large, iridescent moons hung from string that dangled from scotch tape stuck to the ceiling.
She’d done her best with the decorations she’d found in the community center’s storage, but no one had ever said she had an eye for that sort of thing.
“Thanks,” she muttered, pulling the lid off the platter.
“Where’s your sister and Isabel?”
Antonia slid him a look out of the corner of her eye. “Where’s your father?”
Jack’s lips pressed thin. “With the pack.”
Shocker.
The Grand Sierra pack wasn’t the most social group she’d ever met, and Jack Sr. was even more reclusive.
According to Paloma, he hadn’t been a big fan of the previous healer, and it appeared that had been transferred over to her.
The only member who had any interest in her or her clinic was Jack Jr., and she was fairly certain that had nothing to do with her services.
In her experience, most shifters were incorrigible flirts. She didn’t take Jack’s advances any more seriously than she had from all the shifters who came before him. Or she tried not to, anyway. It was admittedly a little more difficult than normal.
“Well, you’ll have to take some cookies home for him,” she replied, handing Jack a paper plate.
Just when his fingers curled around the edge, she yanked it back toward her.
Leaning in close, she casually offered, “Or I could take them myself and save you the trouble. While I’m there I could give him that check-up he’s been dodging. ”
Bending at the waist, Jack whispered, “You don’t need an excuse to come by our territory, dream girl. I’ll give you a tour.”
Smiling, she released the plate. “Oh, I know. Your cousin Joshua offered to take me around last week. I’ll just give him a call, hm?”
Liquid gold flashed in his hazel eyes, but Jack’s easy expression didn’t falter. “Joshua, huh? Interesting.”
“Is it?” she asked breezily. Plopping a store bought sugar cookie shaped to look like a crescent moon onto his plate, she gave him what she hoped was a convincingly nonchalant smile. “Enjoy the potluck, mountain lion.”
Jack brought the cookie to his lips. “With you here? It’d be impossible not to.”
Knowing she had to get away from him quickly to escape the gravitational pull of shifter magnetism, she hurried toward where townspeople clad in fluffy winter coats were streaming through the doors.
Still, she was incapable of letting him have the last word.
Calling over her shoulder, she said, “Oh, and Jack?”
There was a husky note in his voice that made her stomach swoop when he replied, “Yeah, dream girl?”
“Try the salad.”