Her widowed Lycan

Dinner with books

*Leah*

As I continue on, several people greet me, and I know I will miss living here when I get married. I'm well aware that my future husband, regardless of his title, will have a posh residence in an exclusive area of the city that he will expect me to share with him.

To be a proper ranked she-wolf, I will have to give up managing my shop. Even though Gina still runs her tavern, it's always been understood that I'm destined to become a scion of Society, and that won't happen unless I fully immerse myself in that culture by making morning calls, hosting afternoon teas, dinners, and balls. And, of course, providing my husband with an heir and spare, along with a daughter or two.

But until my official introduction into pack Society, I am free to do as I please, and it pleases me to have dinner at The Blue beard, a pub Gina opened in the area six months ago.

She's busy managing her bar, the rogue and the maiden, overseeing her Luna duties, and raising the daughter she has delivered to the Alpha, so she handed the reins of her new venture to Roger, also known as Bluebeard, who had assisted her at the rogue. The cook, who also happens to be his love, came over with him. Hannah prepares simple fare that delights my palate and often reminds me of my mum's cooking.

Although I appreciate having my own lodgings, I do miss my mum quite a bit, just as I did when I was off at a posh finishing school paid for by Kai as the first step in achieving her dream of seeing me well married. As a result, my manners are above reproach, my speech is more refined, and I don't sound as though I crawled out from the gutter.

I have never truly spoken as if I came from humble origins. Gina insisted all her siblings should speak well, with clear pronunciation, because she believed proper speech was essential for bettering one's life, and her first employer had educated her on correct enunciation.

Before I ever attended a formal classroom, Gina sat me down and taught me how to speak like those who lived in the most affluent areas of the city.

While I made the most of my time at finishing school and understood the need to learn how to speak, walk, and eat as those among the upper class packs does, I resented the time it required to be away from my family.

Although my brothers and Gina are much older than me and had moved to their own lodgings before I was half a dozen years old, they remained a constant in my life, frequently visiting, taking me on outings, and bringing me sweets, dolls, and other gifts.

They spoiled me rotten… they still do… and I love every one of them for it. I don't want to let them down by not earning a place within pack Society that would make them proud. The magnitude of what I need to accomplish weighs on me constantly, but I will see it through and not give my family any cause to be ashamed of me.

Enough thinking about that. I'm going to spoil my dinner if all those thoughts keep rumbling around in my mind. I head to the pub for the distraction it will provide. Opening the heavy door, I step over the threshold and stumble to a stop, very nearly smashing my nose against the broad wall that appears before me.

Not a wall. A chest. One that had been in my shop only moments ago. I plaster a smile on my face and look up. "Hello again."

"Hello." He says.

Although undeniably handsome, if he would only sport a grin, he would be quite devastating.

"You ate rather quickly." I point out.

"I have been waiting for a table. It seems none are to be had." He mumbles.

"Oh." I have arrived later than usual. Glancing around, I can see he has the right of it, but then on the other side of the room,

"Look! One at the back there is becoming available now." Two gents are heading away from a small square table nestled up against the wall.

"I will snag it for you." He says.

Before I can tell him that it's his by rights for being there ahead of me, he is gone, his long legs and lithe frame making short work of edging his way between the crowded tables until he reaches the empty one only seconds before the lad with a small copper tub does.

Without being told, the young man who has probably seen fifteen or sixteen years begins gathering up platters and glassware before using a damp linen to wipe the top of the table and the wooden seats of the chairs.

The customer who had been in my shop earlier lifts his arm and beckons me over. I'm struck by the ease with which he communicates a great deal with so simple a movement, as though he is accustomed to commanding and being obeyed without question.

With no help for it, I wend my way around the tables, chairs, benches, and people, greeting those I know as I pass by. Finally, I reach him. "While I appreciate your gallantry, you were here before me. The table should be yours."

"You would have arrived ahead of me if I had not delayed you in your shop." He points out.

His mien reminds me of my brothers, and I'm well aware of the time involved in striving to win an argument with them, so I graciously accept my defeat, but decide one last rally is in order. "As there are two chairs, I don’t see why we can’t share the table."

He narrows his eyes slightly, in what appears to be disapproval, as though I have suggested we strip off our clothes and dart about through the establishment. "You are an unaccompanied she-wolf."

"Which is the reason the other chair is available." I keep my tone amiable and pleasant, rather than pointing out I know exactly what I am. For the span of a heartbeat, I think he is going to smile, but he seems to be fighting his inclination to do so. "Please. You can read your book and I will read mine. We needn’t speak. It will be as though we are both dining alone."

"You have a book?" He asks.

"A miniature. In the pocket of my skirt. Please join me. Otherwise, guilt shall gnaw at me for delaying your dinner, and I won’t enjoy mine." I don’t know why I'm insisting when he seems so uninterested in my company, but I never have liked the thought of inconveniencing another.

With a slight bowing of his head, he pulls out a chair and indicates it's for me. Gracefully, because I have mastered the lessons that have taught me it's the only way a she-wolf sits, I ease down to the wooden seat, grateful when he takes the one opposite me, yet surprised he exhibits almost as much grace. I have watched countless men drop into their chairs within these walls. Few do it with such deliberate care, as though every muscle, bone, and bit of sinew has been trained to respond with an elegance of motion, as if their owner were accustomed to being observed and intended to ensure none found fault with him.

He tugs off his gloves and sets them aside, while I place mine across my lap.

"Evenin', Miss Tempest."

I glance up at the young woman whose face is flushed with her efforts and her bosom in danger of breaking free of her black bodice's restraints. "Hello, Becky."

"Wot ye be havin' this evenin'?" She asks.

"What has Hannah prepared?"

She smiles. "A lovely shepherd's pie 'n' mutton stew."

"I will have the pie and half a pint of light beer." I decide.

"Yes, miss. And ye, sir?" She asks.

He looks thoughtful for a second. "I will have the pie as well, along with a pint o' Guinness."

"Very good, sir. I will be back in a tick."

I watch as Becky hurries off, grabbing empty tankards and glasses as she goes, nodding toward those asking for another pint or beverage. The woman is like a juggler, tossing far too many balls in the air, yet effectively keeping each one from landing on the ground.

"Miss Tempest."

The quietly spoken name, drawn-out almost like it was a bit of confection to be savored, causes my attention to swing back to my table companion. "You say that as though you didn't know who I was."

"I didn't. I assume you are related to Kai Tempest." He says.

I can't stop my pride in my brother's accomplishments from beaming forth. "I'm his younger sister. And you are not to blame. We never introduced ourselves. I'm Leah Tempest."

"The Tempest Book Emporium." He mulls it over. "The name of your shop is lacking an apostrophe and an S."

Trust a man to point out the obvious or seek to correct what needs no correction. "Their omission was intentional. It's a play on my name you see. A bit of fun. You have yet to tell me who you are."

A hesitation as though he weren't quite sure of himself. "Michael Sol…man."

I hold out my hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Michael Solman."

The smile he bestows upon me fairly steals my breath. I have seen hints of it, a twitch here, a small curl of a corner there, but when he spreads his lips into a full smile that reveals perfect straight teeth, when his eyes sparkle as though he is truly pleased, I find myself astounded by the seeming swiftness with which he has been transformed from a man of such seriousness to one who projects an image more welcoming, more inviting, more sensual, more... everything.

"A pleasure, Miss Tempest." His palm, hinting at the slightest roughness like the finest grains of sand on a beach beneath my soles, comes to rest against mine. For some reason, I envision him kissing the tips of my fingers. He possesses an elegance and refinement that reminds me of courtly gestures. But he merely releases his hold, then opens and closes his hand as though wanting to hoard the sensation he has experienced while touching me.

"I assume you live in the area," I say.

"The next street over. 86 Mae’s Lane. I can see the back of your shop from my upstairs window." He tells me.

Which means he has a view of my bedchamber, or at least the light from it before I close the draperies. I doubt he could actually see inside to make note of the furnishings, although I might be visible walking about. "Kai named the street after our mother. Have you lived there long?"

"A little over a fortnight now." He says.

"How are you finding it?" I ask curiously.

Another smile. "To my liking thus far."

"My brother has worked hard to make the area welcomi…"

"Here you are, loves," Becky says, setting the pewter tankards on the table. "Drink up 'n' enjoy. Food will be here shortly."

After the girl wanders off, I continue, "Welcoming, I was going to say." I lift my tankard. "Cheers."

While he lifts his pint, I take a sip, enjoying the crisp flavor. Gina serves only the best. Watching as he turns back the cover on his recent purchase, I remove the miniature book from my pocket, taking satisfaction from his gaze darting over to capture my movements, unsure why I want to bask in his attention. Perhaps because I have never garnered a man's full interest before. It's no secret in the area where I have grown up that my family considered me destined for greater things, so most of the boys had kept their distance, none of them wanting to face my irritatingly intimidating brothers.

"What are you reading?" he asks.

"Aesop's Fables." I tell him.

He nods approvingly. "Have you a favorite?"

"The Ant and the Grasshopper, I think. It applies to my family. They have always worked hard, seldom taking time for play. Have you one you favor, one to which you can relate, perhaps?" I ask.

"The Fox and the Crow. Be wary of flatterers, or something to that effect." He says.

I could have sworn a tinge of bitterness laced his voice and wondered at the cause. Yet I don't know him well enough to ask for the reasons behind his selection. Although his choice of fable is certainly one I should take to heart when I begin making the social rounds. Although as I understand it, the entire Season revolves around flattery. "Have you any advice on how to differentiate between flattery and honest compliments?"

"Unfortunately, no."