I’m so surprised by her question that I drop my ball of yarn, then stifle a curse as I try collect it off the floor before it gets dirty and tangled. Juliet also flinches, tearing the delicate tissue paper she was cutting.

“I’m actively not dating right now,” the librarian states, conviction adding an edge to her tone.

Ms. Hanson opens her mouth, but Courtney is faster.

“Actively not dating? What does that mean?” The wolf tries leaning around me again so she can meet Juliet’s eyes. “Do you chuck books at people who approach you, carrying flowers?”

“Of course not,” Juliet grumbles. Then, she gives the table a smirk. “I value books too much.”

Some of the women chuckle, and most at least crack a smile. Mrs. Applewood, who’s been throwing me disgruntled looks ever since I sat down, glares at the fabric in her hands.

Suddenly, the quilter’s comments from the day Warner escorted me to lunch come rushing back.

“I don’t associate with dogs.”

At the time, I thought she meant my mastiff. Now, I’d bet all the softest flannel in Minnie’s closet that she wasn’t referring to Bruce.

Guess I found another townsperson in the know. Just not an ally.

“Well,” Ms. Hanson says, bringing attention back to her, “maybe you just haven’t met the right man. My son, for instance.”

Juliet’s lips flatten, and she doesn’t respond.

Courtney swoops in with a wicked smirk. “I’m single! Why haven’t you ever set me up with your son, Karen?”

The woman scowls at Courtney. “Because you already dated my son and broke his heart,” she growls.

“Did I? Wait, who’s your son?”

“Fredrick.” Her face has turned the same bright red as Courtney’s vodka cranberry.

“Fredrick?” The wolf seems to mull the name over, as if the memory of him is hard to recall. “Oh! Freddy!” She settles back in her seat. “Well, I wouldn’t call what we did dating.”

Juliet snorts up half her drink, and the poor Ms. Hanson gasps, reaching her hand toward her throat, as if expecting to find a string of pearls to clutch.

“Courtney …” Amy, unofficial leader of the Sip ’N’ Stitch gathering, uses a warning tone even though I swear I catch a quiver at the corner of her mouth. “Let’s keep the discussion of other members’ offspring PG-rated, okay?”

“Okay, Amy.” But the werewolf immediately leans over to whisper in my ear, “Freddy is selfish in the sack. I spent a good fifteen minutes explaining the importance of quid pro quo as it relates to oral. Better off with a vibrator.”

“Oh, Juliet. Dear, are you feeling all right?”

Some of the women at the table stare at the librarian with concern etching wrinkles in their brows.