1. Emily

Chapter one

Emily

T he tinkle of the bell at the front of the shop forces me to stop working on an arrangement of daisies and roses mid-cut. Sir Jon, my official shop cat and soul mate, meows from his perch by the door, alerting me, just in case I didn't hear the bell that someone else is here.

I'm so incredibly far behind.

It's barely nine a.m. and my feet and back are already killing me. Gremlin Baby kicks high in my ribs, knocking the wind out of me for a moment and reminding me why I'm busting my ass. I've got less than six weeks before he or she makes their appearance.

I've got four arrangements to complete by lunch so that A.J., the high school kid who helps with deliveries, can pick them up after his last class for the day. Multitasking is just part of the deal when you own your own business. My shop, Em's Blooms, is a jungle of flowers. Thankfully, the actual retail side is so tiny it's not hard to spot the gorgeous man walking through the door.

He looks absolutely out of his element here, but I like those kinds of customers. Men who spend too much time in flower shops aren't usually to be trusted. They're out there playing every girl on this side of town or sending identical arrangements to their wives and girlfriends to keep them in the dark.

This customer is definitely not that kind of guy. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in business. His expensive suit is carefully tailored. He wears matching shoes and his closely cropped blond hair and probing brown eyes give off the air of someone who has to negotiate often. He's probably a banker or some other finance type.

"Hey, how are you doing?" I toss out as I return to trimming the flowers to fit the vase on the counter. "Is there a special occasion you're celebrating?"

I let out a long breath as he spots me amid the chaos. Just speaking those few sentences is difficult these days with this gremlin of a baby sitting high up in my belly. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he or she had both feet planted firmly on my lungs.

"O-ccasion?" the man stutters, his eyes dropping to my ginormous belly. Far too many people to count have made it a point to guess how many babies I'm cooking, but thank God it's just the one. Not much I can do about how absurd I look.

"Yeah, is it her birthday? Anniversary?" He looks perplexed. I drop my voice low as he approaches the counter. "Are you in the doghouse? Because nothing can get you out of the doghouse like a nice dinner and an enormous bouquet of roses delivered to her work for everyone to see."

It's then that I notice it–his ears. Ears that I did not see because they were laying back flat on his head. Ears that are now slowly standing up on top of his head.

Fuck, he's a werewolf.

Did I seriously just ask a hot werewolf if he was in the doghouse? You really got a handle on this customer service thing, Emily…

His face changes slightly, as if he finally understands what I'm saying. "Not in the doghouse, but, um, that's a good idea. I've never sent her roses."

I smile. "She's going to be thrilled. Do you want to send traditional red or is there another color she's more fond of?"

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, his eyes falling back to my belly. The movement pulls his jacket away from his side and that's when I see it–a gun holstered to his side.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I've never felt unsafe in the shop, but between the concealed gun and the way this man keeps eyeing me, alarm bells are sounding in the back of my mind. Sir Jon picks that exact moment to jump up on the counter between us. I pick him up and hold him against my chest, rubbing his fur to soothe myself.

"I thought Old Man Grayson ran this shop," the man says, abruptly changing the subject.

"I'm the only Grayson around here." I smile a little too brightly as my hands begin to shake. "This is all mine."

"Hmm," is all he says.

"So, um, flowers–is she a red or pink rose kind of girl?"

"Rose?" he asks, his eyes meeting mine.

I try to smile, but my throat is dry. My cell phone sits depressingly far out of reach.

"For your wife? You wanted to send her flowers?"

He nods. "Yes, flowers. She's pregnant." His eyes fall back to my belly. I force myself not to put a protective hand on the huge swell of it.

"Oh, how far along?" I ask, trying to sound calm and nonchalant.

"Probably as far as you. Her back is always hurting her and it's hard to breathe, too."

"Oh, I know all about that. Let me just get some information from you and then I can give you prices of several options." I lower Sir Jon down and he gracefully drops to the floor. My hands are still shaking, so instead of getting out a pen and paper, I turn to the computer to input his order.

"Delivery address and recipient?"

The man gives me a woman's name–Lila Matthews–along with a work address of… that can't be right . I retype the address only to have it pop up the same–The Kitty Korner Klub–a strip club only a few blocks over. Rumor has it that it's run by a family of wolves, like a lot of shady places in this town. Instead of bringing it up, I turn the screen toward him. "Does everything look correct?" I ask.

He nods and I try not to shrug as I click onto the next screen. "Here are the options we currently have available. There are several price ranges, but if none of them works for you, I can work within your budget."

He studies the screen for far too long as I try to convince myself this guy isn't waiting for the right time to strike. God help me if the Gremlin Baby and I end up on the evening news.

"I like this one," he says, nodding to the most expensive arrangement. "Do you think she'd like that?"

I nod.

"Could you get it out to her today?"

There is no way I can get it out today, but I'm not telling this guy that. "Absolutely. Would you like to hand address a card to her, or would you rather I type it out for you?"

He looks perplexed. "I've never written her a note."

Maybe I've got this guy all wrong. Maybe he's just not smart.

"Well, there are several dozen options the computer can print out for you."

He shakes his head as he takes a small card from the stack on the desk. "No, I'll think of something." He does that patting thing men do when they're looking for something they've lost.

"I have a nice pen you can use," I tell him, as he grows more flustered. I slide the pen across the counter and he quickly prints something on the card, folds it, and then hands it to me. "My assistant will be heading out at one, so your wife should get her flowers no later than four. Thank you for stopping by."

"You forgot to run my card," he points out.

"Of course!" I take it from him and put the chip to the reader. Thankfully, the machine cooperates and spits out the receipt quickly. His eyes fall to my belly once again.

It's just because his wife is pregnant. I try to convince myself. He doesn't have a fetish for preggos. You're not going to end up on the news.

"Have a good day, Mr. Matthews."

He rips his eyes away from my belly at last and meets my gaze. "You too."

I count to ten as the door closes, then rush and lock it, flipping the open sign to closed. Sir Jon meows with concern at my quick movements. I pick him up from his perch on the window as I move to the back of the store. I have no business closing this early, but that's enough "peopling" for one morning. One possible werewolf mafia encounter is more than enough for a lifetime.