Chapter Eleven-Ryan
She was gone in a flurry of hips, perfume, and sass.
Donny practically sprinted out of The Tasty Tart, clutching her turnover like it was a weapon and leaving me standing there with a smile I couldn’t shake off my face.
Damn.
She was everything.
Curvy. Commanding. Chaotic in the most delicious way.
And totally, completely mine—if I believed for even one second, she’d ever give me a real chance.
My Bear? Oh, he believed.
He was pacing inside me like a damn caged animal, grumbling at me for letting our mate escape. Again.
You let her leave, idiot. She sparked. We sparked. Claim her.
Yeah. Great plan, buddy.
Right after I win a Nobel Peace Prize for Shifters, and get the mop out for the magical explosion that would definitely follow.
I blew out a breath and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling that familiar ache settle in my chest.
The ache of wanting.
Of knowing who she was—what she was—to me, and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
“She zapped you again, didn’t she?” Jaxson asked, strolling in through the back door, smug as ever.
“She did not,” I grunted, but the static still dancing over my fingers gave me away.
Conrad was right behind him, arms crossed and smirking like he’d just seen a particularly juicy soap opera scene play out.
“Was it a little zap or one of those kiss-me-or-die level jolts?” Conrad asked, tilting his head. “Because if she fried your frontal lobe again, I call dibs on your croissant recipe.”
“You two are the worst,” I muttered, turning away before either of them saw the dumb grin creeping back onto my face.
“She wants you, bro,” Jaxson said, dragging a stool over and dropping onto it like he owned the place. “No sparks without a charge. It’s basic supernatural physics.”
“Is that a thing?” Conrad asked.
“It is now.”
I shook my head and grabbed the towel off my shoulder, using it to wipe down the already spotless counter.
Anything to keep my hands busy.
Anything to keep from thinking about her scent lingering in the air—something warm and floral with a hint of honey and defiance.
“She doesn’t want me,” I muttered. “She avoids me like I’m a walking tax audit.”
“She’s scared,” Conrad offered, surprisingly thoughtful. “You’re a lot of Bear. And let’s be honest, Donny’s used to being the strongest person in the room.”
That shut me up.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
Donatella Andrews was the kind of woman who could shatter a man with her stare, then fix his whole damn life with a flick of her wrist and a perfectly timed hair appointment.
She ran a salon, wielded scissors like a sword, and kept this whole magical town safe with her two best friends.
She didn’t need a mate.
She chose people.
And clearly, she hadn’t chosen me yet.
But my Bear?
He was done waiting.
“You think when I show up for my haircut, she’ll finally talk to me?” I asked, rubbing my jaw.
“Depends,” Jaxson said. “Are you gonna tell her you’re her fated mate while she’s holding sharp objects?”
“No. I just thought maybe I’d ask her out.”
“Okay, then. I say go for it,” Conrad shrugged. “Worst case, you end up with a man bun and a wounded ego.”
“Or no ears,” Jaxson added.
I stared at my reflection in the bakery’s glass case.
Beard like a forest fire.
Hair like a Bear who’d just rolled out of hibernation and lost a fight with a wind tunnel.
Yeah. It was time.
“I’m confirming my appointment,” I said.
Conrad clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, you big lovesick biscuit.”
Jaxson grinned. “Just don’t growl when she touches your neck. That’s how restraining orders happen.”
I flipped them both off and grabbed the bakery phone.
Time to face the Witch.
And maybe—just maybe—win her over.
One trim at a time.