Dana Bell: The Wallflower

Sunlight gleamed on his golden blond hair, hair that brushed his wide shoulders, just long enough to make a stubby ponytail. Even under the bulky leather jacket you could tell he was built, his body muscular without being a temple to the god Steroid. And he had the brightest, clearest blue eyes in the state, not that she got to look at them often. He usually had them trained on someone else, like one of the sleek, beautiful women who flocked around him all the time. God, he was gorgeous. His face was almost too beautiful to be real; the only thing that marred his perfection was a small scar just along one side of his nose, barely noticeable unless you looked for it. When he spoke to her, which hadn’t happened in more years than she cared to count, Emma kept her eyes trained on that scar.

When the finest ass in the world turned the corner, Emma and Becky leaned back with identical sighs.

“All I want for Christmas is a piece of that.” Becky sighed again, her green eyes gleaming with laughter.

Her untamable brown curls danced around her head in wild abandon as she shook herself all over like a wet dog. Becky was too thin, bones showing through at wrist and ankle, and if Emma didn’t know for a fact that she ate like a horse she’d have worried she was anorexic. But Becky had been cursed with a metabolism that just wouldn’t quit, forcing her to eat more than most people just to maintain her weight.

Emma had the opposite problem. The best that could be said about her figure was Marilyn Monroe had also been a size twelve. No matter what she did, Emma couldn’t seem to drop weight. Neither woman envied the other.

“What, not a piece of Simon Holt?”

Becky blushed bright red. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, sinfully handsome Simon had featured in more than one of Becky’s drunken fantasies. Emma slicked a hand through her hair. “As for me, Max Cannon could be naked and tied up with a bow under my Christmas tree and the first thing he’d probably say is,

‘Hi, Edna, right? Could you untie this please? I have a date tonight’.”

Both women looked at each other and giggled, then got back to work.

Emma was so proud of what she and Becky had accomplished. Friends since grade school, both women had been wallflowers. Boys didn’t go for the frizzy, too-skinny Becky Yaeger or chunky, dull Emma Carter. Especially when there were girls like Livia Patterson and Belinda Campbell, both beautiful, blonde cheerleader types, around

Both Becky and Emma had decided to go to the local college and major in business, while a number of people, including Max and Livia, had chosen to go out of state for college. After graduation, Emma had taken the inheritance from her maternal grandmother and used it to buy the building that now housed Wallflowers.

Wallflowers was a business that catered to people who enjoyed hand-crafted, artisan-made pieces.

Emma loved it. Their eccentric store carried hand-carved cuckoo clocks, paintings, old-fashioned mirrors, masks, plaques…anything that could be used to decorate a wall. Becky had come up with the idea for the business and talked Emma into it over a long night of burritos and margaritas.

Emma paused to look around their “parlor”. An antique rug covered the distressed hardwood floors. A small Victorian sofa covered in soft cream brocade graced the center of the floor. A Queen Anne coffee table in rich cherry wood sat before it, a silver tea service placed on it. Two Victorian chairs in that same cream fabric faced the sofa, creating a cozy little conversation group that the two women, and the occasional customer, used frequently. Against one wall was a gas fireplace with an ornately carved mantelpiece. On that mantelpiece were silver-framed photos, all of them either black and white or sepia toned. In one, Emma was dressed in a Victorian dress of ivory lace, a black cameo at her throat, her hair done up, a sweet smile on her face. In the other, Becky was dressed as a Wild West saloon girl, her frizzy hair teased out and feathers stuck in every which way. Her dress was pulled up on one side to show black boots and striped stockings. Neither photo had a place of prominence, both intermingled with other pictures. Unless you stood and went through the pictures thoroughly, you’d never find them.

A cherry and glass counter, as Victorian as they could make it and still have it be functional, graced one wall. On it sat an old-fashioned looking cash register; hidden underneath the counter was the credit card reader.

They’d done their best to have the atmosphere of a by-gone era and still keep the place warm and inviting. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace on this cool October evening; the walls had a lovely cherry

wood wainscoting, with rich rose floral wallpaper above it. It was very feminine, and both women loved it.

They’d had the store now for three years, and while they knew they’d never be rich off it, they also knew they’d never been happier.

Emma sighed, a smile of satisfaction on her face as she finished polishing the old, gilt-edged mirror they’d hung just behind the counter.

Life was good.

Dr. Max Cannon’s life sucked. Once again he crossed the street, determined to avoid Livia’s obvious attempt to get his attention. He’d been back in his small hometown for three months now, but she just couldn’t get it through her overly highlighted head that he just wasn’t interested. Hell, the woman’s vision was perfect and yet she’d tried to schedule three different eye exams in the last three months! Thank God his partner Adrian was willing to run interference, or Max might have been forced to some extreme measures. Until he had a Curana who could safely deal with the woman, Livia was going to continue to be a serious problem. He ducked into the workshop of his best buddy and Beta, Simon Holt, determined to get away from the blonde barracuda bearing down on him.

“Hey, Max.”

“Simon.”

Simon’s deferential nod was all that it should be from his Beta. “Hiding out from Livia again?”

The laughter in Simon’s voice nearly had Max growling. “She’s getting persistent.”

“Have you told her to fuck off yet?”

Simon’s approach to the pushy female was beginning to appeal. The idea of her as his mate made his skin crawl. The Puma inside him yowled in protest. There was no way in hell he’d make her his Curana.

“No, but I’m getting there.”

Simon pointed discreetly towards the workshop’s front window. “Incoming.”

Max gritted his teeth just as the door opened.

“Max, how nice to run into you!”

Soft, perfumed arms tried to circle his neck. In a swift move, Max glided away, turning to face the woman who’d tormented him since his return to Halle. “Livia.”

It wasn’t a greeting; it was a warning. Her eyes flared briefly with fear before she laughed it off. “I just wanted to remind you about the masquerade party over at Marie’s. You’ll be going, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

Livia frowned, her expression turning hard and calculating. “Most of the Pride will be there.”

Max nodded; as Alpha he was well aware of that. Marie’s father, the old Alpha, still held the annual masquerade at his house just outside of town. It was his pride and joy, that house, and he loved to entertain. His daughter, safely mated to Jamie Howard, acted as his hostess since the death of his mate some four years ago. Human and Puma mingled at the masquerade, the humans totally unaware of the Pumas in their midst. The Pride did its best to make the event a night to remember, for both races, and Jonathon Friedelinde did an excellent job of that. It was also the event at which an unmated male could unofficially signal his interest in a female. Hence Livia’s interest in his attendance; if she could get him alone long enough, get him to signal in some way that there was a spark of interest, she could force him into a declaration he didn’t want to make.