Michele Hauf - The Witch And The Werewolf

“I don’t want to. I’m not like that. I’m not a guy who can—Do you know how hard it is for me to walk up to a woman and talk to her?”

“Couldn’t have been that hard. You followed me out here!”

“I wanted to start over and hoped that maybe you’d talk to me.” He stopped moving closer, knowing he’d blown it. He should not torment this beautiful woman anymore. Where the hell were his manners? “Forgive me. I’ve no talent approaching women. I mean, I do it all the time. Not like a stalker or anything—ah hell. I just... I’m embarrassingly awkward when it comes to this kind of stuff. I wanted to see the pretty woman who smelled like flowers once more. Sorry to have bothered you.”

He forced himself to turn and walk off. Idiot, Lars! Way to spoil the chick’s night. And to spoil his chances of getting to know her better. Yes, he’d seen her naked. And he remembered that image much better than he would ever admit to her. Soft, generous curves, and so much golden light glinting on her skin, which still had beads of water on it. Hell. His werewolf had been attracted to her. He was attracted to her.

“Wait!”

Now across the street, he stopped and turned back to her. The tiny witch toed the opposite curb with one of those sexy shoes, and offered a shrugging smile. “It was a remarkable beginning, that was for sure. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lars. I couldn’t be sure if you were leering at me that night—”

“Oh, never, no. I mean, I don’t know. Honestly? I might have leered a bit. You’re worthy of a long, lingering look.”

She clutched the weird purse tightly, and he realized what he’d said.

“I’m not saying anything right tonight.” He checked his watch. Almost midnight. Shit. He had to stop by the compound, and soon. “It was nice meeting you, Muriel.”

“Mireio.”

“Right. You make great beer. And you have the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever had the chance to look into. But I promise I won’t come back to the brewery. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He turned away again, and this time when she spoke, his shoulders straightened.

“Can we start over?” she called.

He nodded, and turned a look over his shoulder. All his anxiety swept downward and flooded out across the sidewalk. Offering her a confident smile, he said, “I’d like that.”

She approached him and, as she did, tugged something out of her purse. It was her cell phone, which she handed to him. “Put your number in there for me, and we’ll try again.”

He almost shouted score! but controlled his nervous energy. If she knew how much courage it had taken him to cross the taproom to talk to her, and then to follow her after she’d run out on him...

And now he was entering his number into her phone. Some kind of awesome, that.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He handed her back the slim pink phone. “What would you think about going out for something to eat tomorrow night?”

“I have to work tomorrow night.”

“Oh.”

“But lunch tomorrow could work. Why don’t you stop by my place around noon? I think you know where I live, right?”

“I should be able to figure that out.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Lilacs. Thanks for the second chance, Mireio.”

“It’s—oh. Right. Mireio.”

He winked at her, because he’d known her name since she’d first told him, then turned and wandered off. Halfway across the parking lot he turned and waved at her. She remained in the middle of the street. Probably waiting for him to leave before she returned to the bus stop. He wouldn’t be rude and force her to wait long. Picking up his pace he aimed for his truck around the corner.

He’d talked to the girl! And it had turned out almost okay. Which was about how he rated his life right now. Almost okay, with a side of what the devil. The almost okay waited for him right now, so he shoved the key in the ignition and fired up the truck.

As for the what the devil? He’d been having weird symptoms for over a year, more than just shifting without volition, so had finally gone to see a doctor a few days ago. The doctor told him he’d give him a call in a week when the test results were complete.

But he wasn’t going to worry about that. He’d been invited to a pretty witch’s house tomorrow for lunch.

So he did indulge in a shout out loud. “Score!”

Chapter 3

Lars strode up the sidewalk to the little red cottage placed at the end of a cul-de-sac. He didn’t recognize the area by sight, but by scent? He’d been here before. Yet, besides the naked woman, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He remembered someone screaming, and then the sight of a beautiful woman—naked. He wasn’t going to tell Mireio that as werewolf he saw things as he did when in man shape. His instincts and thoughts were more animalistic, but he did recall sights and sounds and smells.

And she had the sweetest curves on that tiny package topped with red curls and a Kewpie doll smile.

Now as he took the steps up to the door, he inspected the flowers he’d picked up at a gas station on the way here. Blue daisies. He liked blue. Her eyes were blue. But the flowers didn’t have a scent and now he studied them closer, they actually looked...dyed.

“I can’t even do flowers right.” Thinking to toss them aside in the little flower garden that hugged the front of the redbrick house, he paused. “She’ll see them there.”

For once he would like to get it right with a woman. It would be a bright spot in his life. And he really needed one. But his nervousness around the female sex could never be allayed by his usual confident alpha surety. Women made him go all stiff and fumble for his words. And hiding the stiff part could sometimes prove a problem, as well.

Smirking at that thought, he grabbed the door knocker and muttered, “Please let her like me. Give me this one, okay?”

Who he was asking, he wasn’t sure. He believed in the possibility of God, so if there existed a higher power, he hoped his words would, at the very least, be noted by some force.

Rapping the knocker a few times, he then waited. After ten seconds the door swung open to reveal the flour-dusted face of a witch who sported a surprised look on her face. Hell, he should have called first. But she had told him to stop by for lunch. He must have misunderstood. Par for the course with him.

“Uh...?” Thick black lashes blinking over her blue eyes, she glanced to the flowers in his hand. “Oh! Right! Lunch! I forgot.”

“I should have called.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“You weren’t expecting me. I can leave and—”

“Don’t be silly.” She grabbed him by the wrist and coaxed him over the threshold. “Come in! I was baking some bread.”

“It smells great.” He followed the scent toward the kitchen more than he followed her. Yeast and warmth and crisp browned crust. Mmm... He scanned the many loaves on the kitchen counter. He counted eight but also noted the oven light was on and there was another loaf inside. “That’s...a lot of bread.”

“I know, it’s crazy!” She flung up her hands in surrender, then noted the flour on her fingers and wiped them across her pink frilled apron, which was covered with a white dusting of flour. “Whenever I get the urge to bake homemade bread I always go overboard. I really like the kneading process.” She punched the air with a tiny fist. “Gets out some of my frustrations.”

Lars wasn’t sure if he should sit on one of the stools before the kitchen counter—that might seem too presumptuous—so he stood there holding the bouquet with both hands. Feeling out of his element and, as usual, awkward. “You’re frustrated?”

“It’s because of a decision I’ve been mulling over recently. A witch thing. A spell, actually. So, you brought some pretty flowers for me? I love blue.”