Chapter 2 - Callie

The first day on any job can be a trial by fire, but this? This is a whole new level of “welcome to the workforce,” complete with a side of unwarranted hostility. As I stand there, stunned by this guy's accusation, I take a moment to size him up. He's big, with broad shoulders and a commanding presence that practically oozes authority. His black hair is tousled, and there's a hint of stubble on his chin. I'd put him at least a decade older than me, early thirties at best, but he's still handsome.

No, handsome isn't the right word. This guy is sexy. Those green eyes, the sharp lines of his jaw, the full lips, and the thick muscles that bulge beneath his dark shirt. I could stare at him all day if it wasn't for the temper tantrum he's throwing.

He's like a storm cloud ready to burst at any moment, and no matter how much I try to play it off otherwise, he's damn intimidating.

But I'm not one to back down easily, especially when I know I'm in the right. So, despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach, I square my shoulders and meet his accusing gaze with a defiant one of my own. "I didn't kick your dog," I state firmly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He doesn't seem convinced. "Save it," he snaps. "My employee saw you out there, yelling at them and trying to chase them off. He told me all about it."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Typical. Just because I'm new around here, everyone automatically assumes the worst about me. "Look, I don't know who your employee thinks he saw, but it wasn't me," I insist. "I've never even met those dogs."

"Are you calling my employee a liar?" he growls.

"Of course not. I just said that I didn't kick them, and that's the truth."

"Nice try, but I'm not buying it," he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest in a display of defiance as his eyes trail down to my nametag. "He described you perfectly, Calista."

I grit my teeth in frustration. This guy is impossible. No matter what I say, he's determined to believe the worst about me. "Fine," I concede, my tone laced with annoyance. "Believe whatever you want. But just know, you're wrong about me."

He takes a step closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over me. "I'm not wrong," he insists, his voice low and menacing. "And mark my words, I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm warning you," he replies, not missing a beat. "I don't care who you are or where you're from. If you mess with my dogs again, I'll make sure you regret it."

This guy is a total ass, and I'm not about to let him get the best of me.

"Don't worry," I quip. "I won't touch your precious little puppies."

I don't care how big he is. I’m not about to let this guy intimidate me. Not today, not ever. I may be small, but I've got enough fire in me to match him tenfold. His jade eyes bore into mine, searching for any sign of weakness, but he won't find one. I stand my ground and set my jaw in defiance, even when he takes another step toward me.

"Puppies?" he questions. "These are elite military dogs. They're veterans, and they don't deserve to be harassed."

I shrug. "I wasn't harassing them."

He moves toward me with such speed, I can't fight the instinct to back up, but the wall behind me prevents me from getting far. He towers over me, and the wolf inside me bristles at the way he's looking at me. She wants out. She wants to fight. And if he doesn't back the hell up, I'm not sure I can keep her contained.

But then, something shifts in his demeanor. His expression softens just a fraction, as if he's realized something. I watch, bewildered, as his gaze flickers over me and he leans in to whisper, "Don't even think about shifting in public. You know almost everyone here is a human, and you don't want to cause a scene."

"You're already causing a scene," I point out.

"I'm not the one that tried to kick a dog in the alley," he shoots back.

"I didn't kick your dog!" I shout, and I can feel my skin start to burn as the fur threatens to rise.

"Take a breath," he urges.

"I'm not gonna take a breath," I snap.

But underneath the stubborn wall I've erected, something strikes me. He knows. Somehow, he knows what I am, and that must mean... I take in a good whiff of the air around me and try to sort out the smell of food all around me from this guy's scent, and when I zero in on it, the truth is so obvious.

"You're a shifter," I whisper, looking around to see everyone staring at us. It's no wonder, given the argument we're having, but I'm not interested in everyone finding out about my true nature. Shifters are not exactly a welcome lot.

"Bingo," he comments with a cocky smirk on his lips. "Something wrong with your nose? I could smell you before I even got close to you."

I should come back with some smart-ass comment about keeping his nose to himself, but I'm too shocked. When I moved here, I had no idea there were other shifters in the area. I was under the impression that Stardust Hollow was a normal small town. Guess I should've done a bit more research on the area before settling in.

The door to the diner opens, and he glances in that direction before rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the ground. I look over to find another waitress passing by with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and eyes the same shade of brown as mine. She's wearing the same diner uniform as me.

He clears his throat. "Looks like it's possible I may have mistaken you for someone else."

"Looks like it," I grumble, shoving past him.

He opens his mouth to speak, likely attempting to apologize, but I don't stick around to hear it. My heart's pounding so loud I can barely hear myself think, and I storm back into the diner, leaving him standing there with his apology hanging in the air.

As soon as I step inside, I'm greeted by the disapproving scowl of my boss, Mrs. Henderson, who's wiping down the counter. She's a stout woman in her fifties with a perpetual frown etched onto her face, and I've learned the hard way not to cross her.

"Calista, where have you been?" she demands. "You've got tables to wait on, and customers are getting impatient."

I swallow hard, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. "Sorry, Mrs. Henderson. I, uh, had a bit of a run-in outside," I explain. Or at least, I try to.

Her scowl deepens. "I don't pay you to have 'run-ins' outside, girl. I pay you to work. Now get back out there and tend to your tables."

I nod quickly, not daring to argue. Mrs. Henderson may be tough, but she's not unreasonable, and I can't afford to lose this job. It's the only thing keeping a roof over my head and food in my stomach.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Henderson. It won't happen again," I assure her.

She gives me a curt nod before turning her attention back to the counter, leaving me to hustle back out to the dining area. As I weave between tables, taking orders and delivering food, I silently curse myself. I can't believe I let that guy get to me like that. I've dealt with plenty of jerks in my life, but something about him... he struck a nerve. And what's worse, he's a shifter, too. I never would've pegged him for one, not in a million years. He's much too reactive. Werewolves tend to have more control over their emotions, but that guy? He's like a powder keg, waiting for the slightest spark to light the fuse.

But now that he knows that I'm here... I shudder to think what might happen if word gets out. I've worked too hard to build a life for myself here, and I won't let it all come crashing down because of some arrogant local.

As the lunch rush finally begins to die down, I steal a moment to catch my breath in the back of the diner. Leaning against the cool metal of the refrigerator, I close my eyes and try to calm the storm raging inside me.

My past is a tangled web of secrets I came here to escape. But no matter how hard I try to bury it, the memories always find a way to resurface, haunting me like ghosts in the night.

I shake my head, banishing the thoughts from my mind. Now's not the time to dwell on the past. I've got a job to do, and I won't let anything—or anyone—stand in my way.

The day drags on, and with each passing hour, I find myself growing more and more on edge. It's like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, half-expecting that arrogant jerk to come barging back in here, ready to pick another fight. But as the lunch rush fades into the late afternoon, there's still no sign of him.

By the time dinnertime rolls around, I've almost managed to convince myself that our earlier confrontation was nothing more than a one-time occurrence. But as I make my rounds, clearing plates and refilling drinks, I freeze in my tracks when I spot him.

There he is, sitting in one of the booths near the window. He's hunched over a menu, studying it intently, but I can tell he's aware of my presence in the way he actively avoids looking up.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the uneasy feeling creeping up my spine. I don't want to deal with him. Not again. He's probably here to accuse me of spraying his cat with a hose this time. Hasn't he caused me enough trouble for one day?

Before I can muster up the courage to approach him, Mrs. Henderson intercepts me with a pointed look. "Table seven needs their check," she says.

I nod, tearing my gaze away from the man in the booth. "Right away, Mrs. Henderson."

As I make my way over to table seven, I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull like lasers. It's unnerving, to say the least, but I try my best to ignore it.

I force myself to plaster on a smile as I approach the table, but it feels brittle and fake, like a porcelain mask ready to crack at any moment. "Here's your check," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

The woman at the table nods, barely sparing me a glance as she reaches for her purse. But the man—her husband, I assume—fixes me with a curious look. "Is everything okay, dear?" he asks. "You seem flustered."

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Should I tell him about the guy in the booth and how he all but threatened me earlier? Or would that only make things worse?

But before I can make up my mind, Mrs. Henderson's voice cuts through the air like a whip. "Quit dawdling, Calista. We've got customers waiting."

I swallow hard, nodding quickly as I retreat back to the safety of the kitchen. But as I pass by the booth, I can't resist stealing a quick glance at the man sitting there.

He's watching me, but his expression is unreadable. And for the first time since our encounter earlier today, I can't help but wonder what he's thinking. What does he want from me?

But as quickly as the thought crosses my mind, I push it away. I've got enough on my plate without adding him to the mix. Whatever his game is, I'm not about to play along.