Chapter 1 #2
“How may I help—” The words fade on my lips. I back up involuntarily, stomping into the pile of broken wallboard I just swept, staring slack-jawed at the gorgeous Nordic god standing in the doorway.
A weird thought flits through my overactive brain: Am I hallucinating? Or did my magic somehow conjure this giant, muscular Norseman in his periwinkle button-down shirt and pressed khakis? The big, blue-eyed blond man clears his throat uncertainly.
Alright, at least I know he’s real. But that means… wow.
I’m struggling to process why this hot Viking-type with flowing blond locks, chiseled, clean-shaven jaw, and biceps the size of tree trunks has entered my not-yet-open bakery.
He has an expectant look on his handsome face, and the corners of his mouth are tipping up ever so slightly, like he wants to smile but is restraining the impulse.
As I peer into his sea-blue eyes I notice flecks of gold around the irises, which are darkening all of a sudden; his posture is friendly but slightly guarded.
He’s watching me carefully without trying to appear he’s doing so.
Snap! Suddenly I’m on guard too, because now I know what he is.
This man is neither a lost human tourist nor a misplaced Scandinavian model—he’s a werewolf!
Of course, only another super like me would recognize his true form, since his appearance is one-hundred-percent hunky male at the moment.
But during a full moon, when his inner wolf emerges, woe to any tourist who happens to be taking a late-night stroll.
Not that werewolves are dangerous, but the average human would still have a coronary if they came face to face with one.
I sigh inwardly. I know every werewolf in my cousin Jake’s pack, and this guy isn’t one of them, which makes him a stranger and possibly a lone wolf. And lone wolves nearly always spell trouble.
The werewolf nods at my dirt-and-dust-strewn appearance. “Are you alright? Do you need to see a healer perhaps?”
I rake a hand through my long brown tangles, bits of wallpaper drifting to the floor. “Um, no. Um, yes. I mean yes, I’m alright, and no, I don’t need to see a healer.”
“Are you sure? You have a cut on your arm.” He takes a few steps toward me, but I don’t know this guy, and the way he’s gazing at me makes me feel all nervous and fluttery.
Raising my hands, I sputter, “Stop right there. I… I’m fine.”
He immediately stops in his tracks, but the way he continues staring at me is really freaking me out. It’s like he’s never seen a grimy faerie before.
“Look, as you can see, we’re not open.” I wave a hand around the imploded interior.
“And I have a lot of work to do before we’re able to open.
So if you don’t mind coming back during the Riddle Hill Summer Fest, I can promise a much more welcoming experience.
” I say the last part cheerily, as if I’m taping a promo reel for my bakery’s SuperSuite page.
Mr. Tall, Blond, and Drop-Dead Gorgeous arches one perfect eyebrow at me. “I realize I’m a few days early, but by the looks of it, I think you could use my help now.”
It dawns on me I’m all alone with a strange man who’s obviously confused and possibly dangerous.
I glance around, wondering what I could use as a weapon if he tries anything, since my defensive magic is non-existent.
Keeping my eyes firmly trained on the werewolf, I bend down to retrieve my broom from the floor.
Gripping the handle firmly, I ask, “What do you mean, you’re a few days early? ”
“I suppose introductions would be helpful here.” He chuckles nervously. “Is it safe to assume you are Sophie Spellman Brownlee, ninety-percent owner of the Rhyme ’N Riddle Bakeshop?”
My mouth starts to gape open again, but I clamp it shut.
Is this one of the attorneys overseeing Auntie Dragonfly’s estate?
I attempt to brush the dirt off my t-shirt and jeans, leaving behind more dark smudges everywhere my grubby fingers touch.
It’s useless; I look like a walking demolition experiment gone awry.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
The sculpted features of his face soften as he beams down at me. When the werewolf smiles, his teeth are pearly white. “Splendid!”
But I still don’t know his name. “And you are?”
“Ah yes, of course.” The man nods, clears his throat, and then clears it a second time. “I’m your new employee.”
“But I haven’t hired anyone yet.”
“It’s all in the will,” he says, suddenly very serious. “Miss Dragonfly made sure of it.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering whether I should have studied Auntie’s will in more detail. What am I missing? “What’s in the will?”
“The employment clause, of course!”
Employment clause? The only person I need to employ is Leslie T. Barker, ten percent owner of my bakery. Leslie sent me an email last week, informing me she’d be arriving in Riddle Hill the day after tomorrow.
Unless… no way.
It’s not possible… is it?
But then I notice how this curious werewolf is gazing at me, his blond head tilted slightly to the side, like a very large dog waiting for his owner to catch on it’s dinner time.
“What a minute… you’re not… your name isn’t… you can’t be…” I’m stammering, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Idly I wonder whether I’m suffering from a magical hangover, which can happen after a faerie expends a large surge of spelled energy.
The werewolf breaks into a smile so dazzling I take one step back, sending another curl of dust into the air.
“I’m Leslie T. Barker. Although everyone calls me Teddy.”