Молли Харпер - How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf

“It’s a process,” I whispered as Dad waved from across the tarmac. My parents had on winter clothes that would have been fashionable in 1984. It had been that long since they’d needed anything heavier than T-shirts and shorts. My dad, however, was wearing sneakers instead of his usual flip-flops, so I appreciated their efforts at sensibility. They burst through the door and stared at me, as if they were trying to memorize every detail before I bolted.

“Hi!” I exclaimed as my father put his arms around me, awkwardly reaching around my swollen middle to hold me close.

“Oh, my little Moonflower.” He sighed into my hair. He leaned back and took in the sight of my swollen belly. His eyes swam with tears. “Look at you. I guess you’re not my little girl anymore, huh?”

“Daddy, this is Cooper, my husband,” I told him as Mom bid good-bye to her poor, harried Saint John’s wort convert.

“So, you’re the young man who had the nerve to steal my daughter’s heart and make me a grandfather without even talking to me first?” Dad asked, his voice suddenly stern. Cooper looked stricken. I gaped between the two of them, stumbling for a response. Dad guffawed, wiped at his eyes, and pulled Cooper in for a hug. “Just kidding, man. Welcome to the family.”

Cooper gave a nervous laugh and shot me a nervous glance, which only grew more panicked as my mother’s attention focused on me.

“Oh, baby, look at your hair!” my mother exclaimed, clutching my face in her hands. “It’s so pretty, grown out like that. It’s just the perfect length.”

I shook my head. Never once had my mother complimented my hairstyle. She’d never even mentioned it. I was the only person alive who’d never had to worry about her mother criticizing her appearance.

“And look at you!” she said, taking my hands in hers so she could get a better view of my stomach. “You look so healthy and happy! How have you been feeling?”

“I’m fine, Mom. The doctor says I’m the picture of health,” I promised as the four of us made our way to the luggage claim.

“Well, you know, you have to keep a constant vigil while you’re pregnant. Have you been eating organic? Getting enough vegetables? You’ve cut back on your processed-meat consumption, haven’t you? I brought you some special tea for nausea; it’s in my suitcase. Oh, and the most wonderful book on putting together an eco-friendly nursery. You’d be amazed at how easy it is to use cloth diapers now!”

Sensing a tangent coming on, I squeezed my mom’s hands and said softly, “Mom, we have it covered.”

And while I could see the struggle rippling across her face, instead of taking offense, miraculously, she smiled and kissed my cheek. “Of course you do. You’ve always been my sensible girl. A complete pain in my ass, of course, but sensible.”

“Oh, yes.” I snorted. “I was the pain in your ass.”

“You were always hassling us to pay our taxes, take you to the dentist, sign permission slips. You were more of an adult at twelve than we ever were. It made me feel guilty. And if I was . . . controlling or manipulative, maybe it was because I was trying to prove that you still needed me.”

I wrapped my fingers around hers. “It’s not important now. And by that, I don’t mean you’re invited to continue. Let’s just not worry about it.”

I watched as Dad and Cooper gathered not one, not two, but three huge secondhand suitcases and several boxes marked “Perishable Foods—Organic.” My heart started to hammer a bit. “Mom, isn’t that an awful lot of bags and supplies for a one-week visit?”

“Oh, well.” Mom gave a tinkling laugh. “Your father and I have talked about it, and we’ve decided that it would be best for us to stay until the baby’s born. You should be surrounded by family right now, Mo. And the bed-and-breakfast practically runs itself with all the help we have. There’s no sense in us staying home. We’re here for you, honey, for as long as you need us. Oh, wait. Ash, that’s the box with the wheat germ in it. I’m afraid some of it might have spilled during the flight. I thought I heard something crack.”

I stood speechless as my mom dashed over to direct my dad on the proper handling of spilled wheat germ. Cooper ambled over to me, a suitcase in each hand. He hadn’t looked this gray since I’d pried the bear trap off him. “Did she say they were staying until the baby is born?”

I nodded, my expression frozen in horror. “That’s two months.”

He dropped the suitcases and jostled me gently. “Breathe, Mo. Breathe. It will be OK. I love you.”

“It’s a damn good thing, because I love you, too.” I looked up at him. “How quickly do you think we could move to Australia?”