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Of course, Dad refused to be soothed by my half-hearted text. I should have guessed as much, but I was still surprised to find three missed calls from the male parental unit when I checked my phone on the walk up to Harmony’s apartment building half an hour later. One I could have ignored, two might have been staved off with a second text...but three meant business.
Leaning my head against the smeared safety glass of the entranceway, I sighed and accepted that dealing with Wolfie’s worry was a mandatory prerequisite for collapsing into my own bed. On the bright side, the scent of werewolf around the front door was fading, no additional shifters having passed by the spot since I walked out the door this morning. So that was one danger out of many that appeared to have become less tenacious than formerly anticipated.
Still, I wasn’t quite ready to don a happy face for the sake of my discerning father. So, when my phone rang yet again, this time with my mother’s name showing up on the screen, I decided to take the easy way out and use Mom as a conduit to Dad.
“Why are you avoiding your father?” Terra greeted me the instant I accepted her call. Rolling my eyes, I dropped down onto the concrete planter—devoid of life but full of cigarette butts—that marked one corner of the grungy doorway.
“I’m fine, Mom, and how are you?” I teased half-heartedly.
“Not so fine when I’m saddled with a worried mate,” she muttered. I could almost see Mom’s pursed lips and drumming fingernails. “Wolfie thinks you’re mad at him. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Mad at him?” And now I felt like the worst sort of scoundrel. I’d been evading my father’s calls so Wolfie wouldn’t show up on my doorstep with the cavalry in tow...and here Dad thought I’d somehow gotten pissed off enough to give him the silent treatment. How was it possible to hold a grudge against the teddy-bear/rottweiler hybrid that was my adopted dad? “I swear I’m not angry. Can you tell him that for me?”
“I’d make you tell Wolfie yourself, but your father’s out putting the pups through their paces,” Mom countered. Then, caving as she always did when faced with a potential breech in family cohesiveness, she added, “He’ll be glad to hear you’re doing well. Any sign of your brother?”
And that, likely, was what Dad really wanted to find out with his frequent calls anyway. Luckily, I trusted both of my parents with my life, so I downloaded every little detail...well, except for the nearness of my own miss earlier in the evening. Okay, and I might have left out my supposed engagement and the crazy attraction I felt for a human professor too. But other than that, I told her everything.
Mostly.
Mom was no dummy—she knew I was sidestepping key points. But unlike Dad, Terra wasn’t adept at pushing the right buttons to get me to spill. So, after a few minutes of increasingly idle chitchat, she finally let me go.
And even though I hadn’t told the whole truth and couldn’t feel the Haven pack through the invisible tether that bound us together, I climbed the stairs with renewed energy. Because just touching base with home had put a spring back into my step. Meanwhile, as I exited the stairwell at the proper level, I could hear Rosie’s laughter creeping out from underneath the Garcia door.
The portal in question opened before I even had time to knock, and my favorite toddler ran out crowing “She’s here!” in baby-ese. Okay, so I’m totally guessing at the words. But the sentiment was obvious. Regardless of the details, the sight of welcoming faces was sufficient to carry tired feet over the last few paces between the outside world and my current safe harbor.
Today I’d baked and fought and hunted and lied. And now, at last, I was home.
***
“WE DON’T HAVE PIZZA for dinner every night,” Harmony informed me, biting her lip as if she expected to be judged for lackadaisical culinary decisions. “But the lawyer I work for just won a big case, which means I get tomorrow off with pay. This is a celebration.”
Rosie babbled something that sounded like “sick bay” but might have actually been a repeat of her mother’s final word. Grinning, I pulled the sticky mass of pudgy limbs and boundless energy into my lap and snuggled her close while eying the final slice of pizza in the box. Maybe I should consume that lonely triangle of cheese and dough...just to make my hostess feel better about not cooking from scratch, of course.
There were only three of us sitting on the floor around the coffee table at the moment, the matriarch having disappeared into her room the moment I walked through the door. And despite the momentary wet blanket the older woman’s absence caused, our celebratory mood was now so powerful that I had a hard time reminding myself that these people weren’t pack.
Well, back home I would have honored a success by baking. So even though my legs ached and my eyelids drooped, I leveraged Rosie down onto her bare feet and padded into the tiny kitchen in search of supplies.
“What are you looking for?” Harmony asked, coming up to stand behind my left shoulder. She and I were still getting to know each other, so my companion left three more inches of air separating us than rightfully belonged. Still, the human’s voice was easy when she added: “If you’re still hungry, I think there’s leftover stew in the fridge.”
I opened the door of the appliance in question, but I wasn’t looking for stew. Instead, I pulled out a jug of milk and a carton of eggs, then went hunting other baking paraphernalia in the nearby cupboards.
“Which do you like better—cookies or cake?” I asked Rosie after ascertaining that the bare minimum ingredients for each were indeed present. Then, realizing my mistake, I swung around to face her mother instead. “Except I’m betting it’s past Rosie’s bedtime and maybe she’s not allowed to have sweets anyway....” The human metabolism, I knew, made werewolf-level consumption of sugar unrealistic.
But Rosie was already dancing around my feet shouting “kak, kak, kak!” at the top of her lungs. Oh boy—I’d created a monster. I winced as I raised pleading eyes to the mother who was bound to shoot us both down.
Only, she didn’t. Instead, Harmony flicked on some music and lifted Rosie up to twirl around in the small space. Then, setting the munchkin down on the counter beside my baking gear, my hostess put me out of my misery.
“Usually this would be too late for dessert. But I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I can stay up and wait out Rosie’s sugar high. Plus,” my companion said, lowering her voice and leaning in closer, “we never get homemade treats. Mama doesn’t approve and I’m a terrible baker.”
“You won’t be after tonight,” I promised, donning my teaching hat and feeling excitement course back into my veins at the same time. Harmony needed to know how to whip up something delicious at the drop of a hat—that was an essential life skill. “This recipe is so easy I could make it in my sleep. Actually, I think I did make it in my sleep once,” I clowned, causing my smallest helper to hoot with laughter.
Of course, happy toddlers are clumsy toddlers. In her merriment, Rosie kicked her heels with delight....and knocked the entire carton of eggs off the counter. Only quick shifter reflexes managed to nab the container before its contents splattered all over the kitchen tiles.
That was a close one—in more ways than one. Glancing at Harmony out of the corner of one eye, I was glad to see the human’s attention had been sidetracked by holding her daughter steady on her elevated perch, causing Harmony to miss out on my supernatural speed.
Time for a bit of distraction.
“Here, how about you take pictures?” I offered, pulling out my cell phone and swapping it for the container of salt Rosie was about to upend. Sure enough, the human toddler was just like the pups back home—obsessed with the idea of taking selfies—and the plaything became an immediate hit.
Child safely sedated, Harmony and I got to work...or rather, to play. Because despite baking for half the day already, moving around a tiny kitchen with my cheerful landlady filled my stomach with a strange sort of melty happiness not so different from the sensation I knew I’d get once the cake popped out of the oven and I imbibed the first steaming bite.
Of course, the kitchen was really too minuscule for two bakers. At first, we bumped into each other, laughing at our own clumsiness. But then something clicked and we were more dancing than cohabitating. Harmony’s arm reached out to grab the measuring spoons and I instinctively leaned the other way to pluck flour out of the cupboard behind my back. We were on a roll.
“And that is how you bake a cake,” I intoned in my most serious, professorial voice as we slid the second round pan into the hot oven. Harmony’s cheeks were glowing and she appeared five years younger than when I’d first met her. Meanwhile, Rosie was still snapping photos with the vigor of a born paparazza.
“Let’s see if you caught any good shots,” my hostess said, pulling Rosie onto her hip and beginning to page back through the photos her daughter had recently taken. Predictably, the toddler reached forward to grab at the phone, and her mother tweaked the youngster’s nose playfully while holding the device just out of reach.
But then fun fell away as Harmony’s face paled. The other woman’s chin rose and her brow furrowed, then she turned the screen around to face in my direction.
“Why do you have a picture of Derek on here?” my hostess demanded, her voice abruptly both brittle and cold. “Are you the reason he left his daughter behind?”