“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Bring her by the house Tuesday.”

Casper looks down at his phone with a smile. “Maybe, she’ll come over tomorrow and stay until Tuesday. I’m gonna ask her to lunch.” He laughs.

CHAPTER 3

Sunday morning, I wake to bright sunshine coming through my curtains. When I picked up my phone to check the time, I have two surprises, the first being the time, I’d slept in much later than usual since it is almost noon, and the second, I have a message waiting for me. Opening the screen, I read the text that came through at ten forty-five am.

Sniffer: any plans today

Wondering if I should respond, I place my phone back on my nightstand and go shower. After going over my options while showering, I decide why not. Maybe he can help me understand some of the things my parents never got around to telling me.

Me: no plans today, you?

The response comes fast, like he was waiting for it.

Sniffer: want to grab lunch?

Me: sure, I was hoping I could ask you some questions? So is my place okay?

Even faster than the last time, the text dings.

Sniffer: address time

I send my address and tell him two o’clock works for me.

My dark, wavy hair is almost dry, so I add a little mascara and lip gloss and call it good. Skinny jeans and t-shirt round out my attire, and I’m ready to make lunch.

I make a quick salad and a steak on the grill of my range. While letting the meat rest, I grill some sourdough bread and grab some condiments to place at the island bar so he can build his own sandwich. I slice the meat thinly, and as I’m washing up and making sweet tea, the doorbell rings.

“Here goes nothing,” I say as I make my way to the door, praying that I’m not making a mistake.

Sniffer holds true to the name I’ve given him as soon as he walks through the door he says, “It smells so good in here, did you cook?” Doubt clear in his voice.

“Yes...” I say slowly. “Should I not have?”

“No no, I mean yes you should have... can. If you want to,” he says with a small smile while rubbing the back of his neck. I think it’s a nervous habit, but what does he have to be nervous about?

“Okay well, I was just making some sweet tea. The kitchen’s through here.” He follows me through the hall and living room, his eyes sparkle as he takes in my home like he likes what he sees.

While he’s busy looking around, I take a few moments to really look at him. He’s tall, maybe six feet, lean with full shoulders. His navy blue tee is tight enough that his biceps strain the sleeves. I can tell his chest and stomach are firm with muscle. His eyes match the dark blue of his shirt. But the most notable feature has to be his white-blond hair that falls like fine silk to just above his shoulders. He’s quite handsome. Not ours, says my wolf with a sneer.