3. Emrie

On Monday morning I laid in bed for a while, just thinking about the past few days, before dragging my lazy bear self out of my comfy, cozy, warm bed and took a shower.

When I'd built my house, I had five important features that were must-haves for me. One, a beautiful, relaxing, large bedroom that I could section off to have a sitting area. Two, an ensuite bathroom big enough to fit an Olympic swim team, with a huge walk-in shower and bench, a jetted tub, and a vanity that with two sinks. Three, an attached shop for my woodworking. Four, a space in my backyard that was beautiful and relaxing, with a pool and a waterfall, a firepit, a shade awning, a built-in barbecue, and lots and lots of flower boxes with fairy lights strung overhead. Five, a unique vibe. I hadn't wanted a cookie-cutter house. I'd wanted something quirky and fun and unusual.

I'd gotten all of those things.

Most days I felt a little spoiled. But if I was spoiled, it had come from my own hard work, so it was acceptable to me.

Even though I don't cook, Roarke had insisted on my having a full chef's kitchen, so I'd included one to satisfy him. But a few months after my house had been completed, we'd been hanging out one day and then suddenly I'd woken up feeling bewildered and groggy, and startled to find him leaning over me.

I want to go on record and say that I don't have an eating problem; I just have a remembering problem. I frequently forgot to eat because I got sucked into my projects and doing other things. Hence the passing out and waking up to Roarke with a frantic look in his eyes.

And then when he'd found out I'd passed out because I'd forgotten lunch—and breakfast—he hadn't yelled or raised his voice. He'd just quietly asked if he could use my kitchen on Monday afternoons so that he could make quick meals for him to grab and eat during the week.

Of course I'd agreed. I knew how hard cooking was for him when he got home. Doing it all day, he for sure didn't want to go home and do more of it, so I fully supported his meal prep days, sadly lacking the foresight to realize they would also be my meal prep days. By the time I realized it, it had been too late. He'd somehow conned me into taking better care of myself. I'd wanted to protest then—still did sometimes—but then I remembered the look in his eyes when I came to after passing out, and I held my tongue.

Remembering this, I popped a few pieces of toast in the toaster and slathered them with butter, peanut butter, and honey when they came out nice and golden brown. I washed them down with ice water, and filled up the jug of water I usually took into the shop with me.

I was wearing jeans and the new Moonhaven Cove Bear Clan tee shirt that Taco and Drew had given me last night, their faces brimming with remorse and forgive me eyes.

Of course, I'd forgiven them. I loved their silly faces too much to be upset with them for very long. But I had set some boundaries, which I should have done in the first place, and they'd squeezed me in a hug before I'd left.

My ruminations were interrupted by a soft knock at my door. Each of my Clan had their own knock, but I didn't need that as a determiner; I just used my nose.

Matteo.

All bears had a slightly musky smell that was pleasant to my nose, but each bear also had a fingerprint smell completely unique to them. And Matteo smelled like coffee and chocolate toffee, which was just a yum combination.

"Come in, Matteo," I called out, shaking the ice in my huge water jug to make sure it had enough and wouldn't go warm on me. I hated warm drinking water. I only drank it if I was desperate.

Matteo came in, his caramel brown skin looking slightly pale, and his warm hazel eyes upset. Matteo walked like a fae. In other words, like he'd taken comportment and grace lessons his entire life.

I'd met actual fae who were less graceful, and while bear shifters aren't clumsy, we certainly aren't as graceful as Mateo. I mean, most people don't look at a bear shifter and wonder if they're a dancer, but I kid you not, Mateo got asked that question all the time.

"You should be in ballet, or at the very least a dancer. All of that grace is just gone to waste." I shook my head. "It's a shame, really."

Matteo sat at my bar. "Emrie," he began in a troubled tone, but I shook my head at him.

"Nope. You're not going to apologize."

He sat back, scrutinizing me. "Why not?"

"Because I'm an adult. If I was uncomfortable, it's on me to say something. It's not on you."

Matteo sighed and closed his eyes. "Emrie," he said, without opening his eyes.

"Yes?"

He opened his eyes. "I can apologize if I want to." His lips twitched, and I laughed.

Message received.

My laugh subsided as he folded his hands together and rested them on the bar. "But seriously, what if the situation were reversed?"

"Reversed?"

He nodded, his face serious. "What if I were a male bear shifter, sexy as all get out, and rare. But I'm a huge introvert who doesn't like putting myself out there, and I have these really annoying Clan sisters that keep handing my number out to anyone that breathes.

"I desperately want a family, and I know they're just trying to help because I'm so shy, but they're putting me in danger by giving my number out to greedy females that just want to get their paws on me.

"And it certainly doesn't help that the females I go out with can also be incredibly cruel because I'm different and special. And with all of this, I have a hard time setting boundaries with my Clan sisters because they mean well, and I can't tell my alpha because I'm such a private person and that would require I tell him things of a more personal nature, which I avoid unless absolutely necessary."

I groaned. "Matteo, I don't even know what to unpack first in that. But let's start with—are you saying that in this scenario females can't keep their paws off of you?" I mean, I got it. He was me in the scenario, but I didn't really doubt females had a hard time keeping their paws of Mateo. Other than Alpha Riggs, he was one of my more devastatingly handsome Clan brothers.

Mateo waggled his eyebrows and I laughed, shaking my head. Then his expression grew serious. "You are special, Emrie," he said softly.

"Only because female bear shifters are rare."

Matteo shook his head, but let it go. "So, what advice would you give me in my scenario?"

I sighed. "One, that you probably need therapy to help you work out why you have trouble setting boundaries with the people you love, and two, that not every person in the world is going to treat you with the care you would treat them, but that's on them, not on you."

"And three," he said gently, "it's completely okay to go to your Clan brothers and tell them they're being obtuse idiots with sludge for brains."

I shyly looked down at the blue and white flecked marble of my bar top. "I know you guys care." They did. They showed it every day, and they were seriously the best Clan a bear could have.

Matteo got up and came around the bar to give me a hug. With my face full of his tee shirt, because he's at least a head taller than me, he said, "Now that I know about this weakness you have, I'll keep a keener eye on the guys."

I laughed, but it was muffled by his tee shirt. "Weakness, hah! And if your eyes were any keener, you'd be the next Sherlock Holmes."

He scoffed.

"It's true!"

"I'm just observant, nowhere near solving murders with a glance yet."

I pulled away so that I could breathe and patted his back in thanks before scooping up my water jug. I was touched by his hug, but I needed to gently kick him out so I could get to work. Roarke would be here before I knew it.

"Yeah, observant like a savant. I feel sorry for your wife and children when you find your mate. Your children will never get away with anything."

He smiled wistfully as I tried to nudge him gently toward the front door. "Ah, but my mate will be the best loved mate in the world."

"Yeah, yeah, lover-boy. Thank you for stopping by. Go away, please. I need to work."

I gently pushed him out the door and followed him out. After he tousled my hair and headed back in the direction of the Clan lodge, I unlocked the padlock on my shop roll-up door and pushed it all the way up so it was out of my way for the day, and so that it would let in the maximum amount of light and fresh air. Some of my paints and stains could get pretty toxic if you worked with them in an enclosed area with no ventilation, even sometimes with a mask on.

I was currently working on a massive ocean coffee table for Roarke. It was a table made of wood at the legs and base, and then had an epoxy resin on the top that was made to look like an ocean with several different shades of blues and white. They were gorgeous but very tricky. I was still working on the Blue Mahoe wood base and legs. I hadn't even gotten to mixing the epoxy and resin yet.

I hung up my coat and worked through the morning, taking water breaks as needed. My full mask respirator, eye protection goggles, and noise canceling earphones make my face sticky and hot, even with the icy breeze coming in from the roll-up door, but I ignored it and continued working, shaping the table legs with my lathe and shaving and shaping tools. After I got a table leg just right, I looked up, feeling someone watching me.

Roarke was leaning against my back wall with his arms folded across his massive chest. The moment my eyes found his, his inscrutable expression turned into an easy smile that made my heart skip a beat every single time.

I shut my lathe off and put my hand tools away, taking off all of my headgear and looping it on the hooks where it went. Roarke came over and gently took the mini blower out of my hands, and I closed my eyes as he blew all of the wood shavings and sawdust off of me. I didn't like tracking it into my house, and we'd done this song and dance so many times we both know it by heart.

When I was all wood-shavings free, he helped me grab the roll-up door and closed it. I usually had to jump a little to reach the pull-down rope. I really needed to add more rope to the bottom of it to make it long enough for me. The rope had frayed and broken, so it was shorter than usual now. I blamed Roarke and his dragon strength.

We still hadn't greeted each other when I climbed into the shower, leaving Roarke to bring in the bags of groceries he always brought with him. My dragon bought me groceries, brought them to my house, and made enough ready-made meals for us during the week so he and I wouldn't starve, and all under the guise that he didn't like to cook during the week.

I didn't know what I was going to do with him. Kiss him, was what I wanted to do; be loved by him was second on my imaginary to-do list. I think everyone deserved a Roarke in their lives. And if you couldn't have them for your mate, a best friend was nice too. Just so long as he stayed.

Getting out of the shower, I toweled off and found comfy sweats and another tee shirt to throw on, both in robin's egg blue. My tee shirt said I enjoy romantic walks through the hardware store. I'd just gotten it in through the Moonhaven Post—which was magically sent here to our Moonhaven Cove Post office, or trucked in by paranormals.

Roarke, who was chopping vegetables at my island, and using the cutting board that had Yoda on it and said "Emrie, cook you must, or hungry you will be," read my tee shirt. He looked like he wanted to smile, but didn't. His earlier smile might be the only one I got today.

I was always greedy for his smiles. The ones that lit up his eyes, and made his whole face come alive.

"No remarks on my tee shirt?" I said, gulping down some ice-cold water from my jug and sighing onto the stool. I tried to help sometimes, but Roarke had once gently told me, after I'd set fire to my saute pan, cut my finger deep enough to need stitches, and made my toaster spontaneously combust, that I could help by sitting at the island and talking to him so that he wasn't lonely. It was amazing that a girl who could make furniture and build houses without issues was so very awful in the kitchen.

So, I was helping by not helping, and I was completely okay with it.

"My only remark is that I also enjoy long walks through the hardware store." He dumped the vegetables he'd been chopping into a huge wok, adding different oils and seasonings and then letting them simmer.

I wanted to accuse him of being a big flirt, but I knew he wasn't. And he would get that unreadable look in his eyes that always made me want to re-examine my life choices, so I didn't say anything.

"How was work?" The sleeve of his white tee shirt slid up his arm, and I saw a river and forest on his bicep. I'd never seen Roarke without his shirt off, but he was really secretive about the rest of his tattoo, so of course by now I was so dying of curiosity that I kinda wanted to yank his shirt off.

For science, of course.

I eyed the river and trees that peeked out and pondered what the rest of it could be, and why he was so secretive about it, then I pulled my mind back to Roarke and work. He was facing away from me, so I couldn't read his expression, but he was unusually quiet today.

"You okay, big guy?"

He nodded, stirring the vegetables in the wok, and then moving to another prep area, layering a handful of ingredients into a baking dish for what looked like lasagna. Another workstation had all the fixings for a chef's salad, and still another pot had what smelled like white bean chili with the little green peppers that he knew I loved. His hands moved effortlessly from chopping to stirring to seasoning, and I could tell he did it all without needing to think about it. It was just rote for him.

"Lyonel came by Flame today."

I froze. He had? Whhyy? That was...not at all smart of him. I winced. "What happened?"

Roarke shrugged. "I threw him out." He eyed me, and I could see the flames in his eyes were stoked high. I was almost afraid to ask.

"And?"

He slid the lasagna into my pre-heated oven and set the timer. "And he broke his arm."

"He broke it, or you broke it?" I pressed.

He turned and leaned against the oven, completely comfortable despite the fact that the stove was giving off a lot of heat, and the flames on the front burners were turned on for the chili and the vegetables. "He broke it. I dumped him in the big dumpster. My kitchen staff happened to be dumping a bit of trash at the same time."

"Okay..."

He smirked. "A lot of it was slippery. When he tried to climb out, he fell and broke his arm."

I groaned. "What did Sheriff Finn say?"

"He fined me a little for the assault, and then suggested it might be a good idea to throw away that marble gryphon statue by the front river walk if the mage ever found himself in my dumpster again."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. That really sounded like Finn. "And King Draven?" Roarke had told me that King Draven had been so swamped now that Draven was the Vampire King, capital V and K, that Roarke had asked him to step down from the Council for a while until the vampires were calmer, and Draven's rule was more sure.

When he'd first become king last December, we'd had so many vampires visiting Moonhaven it'd looked like a vampire convention.

Humans, I think, did that. They called it cosplaying. I shook my head. Why they wanted to pretend to be a predator that could rip out someone's throat I didn't understand, but they were interesting like that.

"Draven is Draven." And with that enigmatic statement, Roarke went to prepping another dish for our meal rotation this week.

"Can you make me the hummus and cheesy pita bread that I love?" I asked, clasping my hands in a pretty-please plea and batting my eyelashes.

Roarke smirked and nodded his chin toward the bag that he'd yet to unpack. "Already there. You ask for it every week."

I felt mildly insulted that I was so predictable. I peeked into the bag and took out a big, sealed, glass dish of hummus and a bag of my bread. "You never know. I've been getting a craving for those fat, warm pretzels and that nacho cheese sauce lately, I could have requested that."

His azure and opal eyes glanced my way as his hands continued to prep what looked like an Indian dish called Mughlai Chicken, if I had to guess.

Roarke was an eclectic eater, and while I usually favored more traditional American fare, he encouraged me to try new dishes. Even though I grumbled, I had to admit that I loved most of what he cooked. He seemed to have an amazing memory because whenever I didn't care for something, he never made it for me again.

When we were just starting out as friends, I'd worry I'd hurt his feelings when I didn't like something, but after a while, I'd figured out that he wasn't that sensitive. He allowed for personal taste, and if I didn't like something, it wasn't a big deal. This gave me the freedom to taste the unique dishes he made for us each week, because I felt like I could give them a thumbs up or down without offense.

"Big pretzels are easy. I can make those for our movie night this week, with some homemade jalapeno cheese sauce."

He was seriously making me hungry. My stomach snarled in anger that I had all of this amazing food around me, but hadn't fed it yet. Roarke, who had the ears of a bat, quickly rinsed his hands, then made me a sub sandwich, which he slid across the bar to me.

My irises were probably heart shaped as I stared at it. It looked delicious. "You're the best," I said, taking a huge bite. I had to wait to finish chewing before I could speak again. "Thank you. Is this movie night going to be here again?" I asked with a raised eyebrow, picking off a piece of lettuce and popping it in my mouth. "I'm starting to get my feelings hurt. You never invite me over to your place."

Roarke stopped what he was doing and turned to me. I was kidding. Mostly. But part of me was hurt that in the few years we'd been friends, he'd never invited me to his house. I knew approximately where it was, but... Yeah. There was a smidgen of hurt there.

Roarke was still studying me, and I wanted to fidget, or else shove the whole sandwich into my mouth. I hated it when he did his soul-read thing. Dragons were the only paranormal being that could read a being's soul, other than an empath.

But while an empath was limited to current emotions, dragons were not. I had the feeling that was one of the main reasons that Roarke had befriended me a few years ago. He'd done his soul-read thing on me and decided I was decent and interesting. Or pathetic and he felt sorry for me. If it was the second option, I seriously never wanted to know.

Roarke wiped his hands on the dish towel sticking out of his jeans and pulled a sticky pad and pen toward him. He wrote his address in a familiar masculine scrawl and pushed it across the counter toward me, then went back to his Indian dish prep as though he hadn't just given me the keys to the kingdom.

I gaped at the note, clutching it to me like it was a dragon's egg, precious and rare.

222 Bayview Rd.

"But there is no Bayview Rd," I said in confusion. I was very familiar with Moonhaven. We didn't have a Bayview. We had an Oceanside, but no Bayview.

Roark's lips twitched. "Plug it into your GPS."

I scowled at him, pulled my phone from my back pocket, and plugged it in. Sure enough, it was there. I scanned the topographical map and blinked to be sure that what I was seeing wasn't some hallucination.

The topographical map started at the pinned location, and then panned to include the street.

It was the only house on the street, and it was a very long street.

Roarke's lips twitched at my dumfounded expression, but his hands stayed busy as he separated food into glass dishes with lids so we could divide the spoils between us for the week. "The drive up to my house is so long that the town elected to give it its own street name years ago. It's all on my property. There's a gate with a code once you turn off Pacific. The code is 0814."

I set my phone down and stared at my best friend with my most serious expression. "Do you sometimes have delusions that you're the hero in a gothic romance?"

Roarke threw his head back and laughed. It was unfettered and completely beautiful, his laugh, and I didn't see it nearly enough. I smiled just to see him so happy.

"I know you won't have me committed to an institution if I say yes." He peeled labels off a sheet of paper and started labeling our dishes. One thing most people knew about Roarke: he was extremely organized. I wasn't going to call it OCD (because he was sensitive to that word) but it was totally OCD. He liked everything exactly the way he liked it, and woe to anyone that messed with that. We hadn't talked about it a ton, but I knew it was definitely something he needed in both his professional and his home life, so I tried to be as accommodating as possible.

It was because of his ability to slot everything in its own place that my workshop was so well organized. Organization affected work-flow and creativity—it was a proven fact—so I benefited from my best friend's obsessive-compulsive behaviors, and I was unashamed of that.

After he'd labeled all the containers with the correct, pre-printed labels, he put mine in the fridge, literally filling it, and he put his in a few reusable bags.

When he was finished, he crossed his arms and leaned on the island across from me. "Draven has asked me to ask you if you could fit in a meeting with him and Mia at any point this evening."

I frowned. "Do you know why?"

He shrugged. "I got the feeling it was to build something for them, but feel free to tell him to sod off."

I gaped at him. "I cannot tell the king of the vampires to sodoff."

"It's really easy. I tell him all the time to sod off."

"You're a dragon! The rest of us are little mice compared to you!"

"Ah, cailín, you know the way to my heart."

I scoffed. "I don't know why I bother. Normal supernaturals have rules, you know."

"I have rules."

"Name one."

"I like to be in bed by eleven."

I wanted to laugh, but I glared at him instead. "I meant rules that you have not made up for yourself and for your own life."

"Ah, but mo chroì, those are the only rules I have to abide by."

"How about don't unalive things, or cheat, or steal?"

"All of those are rules I decided for myself that I would follow."

You know, he was onto something. I doubted law enforcement could do anything about it if he chose to go on some rampage somewhere. It made sense that the laws he created for his own life were the ones that he abided by.

I nodded. "Good enough. Just out of curiosity, these rules of yours follow some moral code of ethics?"

"Just think of me as a knight from a bygone age."

I wrinkled my nose. "You mean the knights that only bathed once a month, didn't have deodorant, and baked in armor for a good portion of the day? The smelly knights?"

He shook his head mournfully. "You've killed the romance for me."

I shrugged and went to find my purse and keys. "I can't help it that you're memory is faulty. You were alive during the Medieval Era. You should remember more correctly."

He handed me my keys, which were on the table, and followed me out with his bags full of food. I was anxious about the meeting with Draven and Mia now. The meeting made sense, because it was likely they knew what I did for a living when others in Moonhaven didn't, but I was still nervous.

Draven was OG. He was the founder of the Council, and he had like a million people on his payroll, most of them ex-military. He probably knew what I ate for breakfast this morning.

Roarke gave me a tight hug, his body trembling a little as he towered over me. He'd never been sick a day since I met him, and dragons didn't get cold. I mean they had an inner eternal fire. Enough said. So, his trembling was probably something emotional and not physical. I rubbed his back, going for soothing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, the words hot on my neck.

"You sure? Cause you still haven't let go, and you're squeezing kinda tight," I wheezed.

He released me suddenly and stepped away, not meeting my concerned gaze. "Thursday at six?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'll be there. Are you planning on telling me why you've banned me from your house until now?"

He made a face. "I guess you'll find out Thursday."

"Unless you hide everything you're nervous about in a closet?"

He sighed. "Unfortunately, they're too big to be in a closet, or else they're too numerous."

"And I'll get to see at least one of your hoards?"

He scowled. "Yes. Probably two of them. Although I warn you, they're not all that interesting."

I patted his shoulder. "With you, big guy, I seriously doubt that."