Red in the Blue

Chapter 3

The next day, I got to work at the Urban Arts Center late, unable to find the pants I had imagined wearing as I drifted off the night before. I finally had to abandon the outfit altogether and improvise, but at that point it was ten to 9:00. There were messages waiting for me when I got into the office and an inbox so daunting I opted not to start there right away. Instead, I wandered through the gallery, the new installation that had gone up just before I left at the end of the previous week. Though I had helped to coordinate its arrival, I hadn't gotten to take in the work yet—still, starchy fabric sculptures made from net petticoats, plastic raincoats. After my first cup of coffee, I tackled my email.

I worked  downtown, a few blocks away from any number of trendy little lunch spots. Often this was my downfall, but I justified it by reasoning it was good to sit outside for an hour in the middle of the day. As I finished up a poke bowl around the corner (fish was a favorite for me in wolf and in human form), seated under an umbrella, half-reading the same damn book, something caught my nose and jerked my head up. Sometimes my senses reacted before reason caught up, and this seemed to be one of those times. I wasn't sure why I was suddenly scanning the street, the other tables of diners, what had penetrated my vague concentration—until I saw someone familiar sitting at a corner table within the fenced patio. 

My seatmate from the flight the day before. I realized I was openly staring at him, but I was, for some reason, shocked to see him. It stood to reason we lived in the same city since we had deplaned together, but the odds of seeing him the very next day, a block from where I worked? It was his scent that had alerted me, even in the lunchtime crowd. He looked just as good as he had the day before, in a tight t-shirt and sunglasses, a hat turned backwards on his head. What did this mean? Seeing him here. I chewed my lip and tried to covertly watch him order lunch. My break was wrapping up. I finished my food, tucked my book back into my bag, and paid my server.

"Hey, do you happen to know that guy?" I asked her, something tugging at me, something I couldn't explain or understand. But my wolf—sometimes she knew things I didn't.

"No. I wish I did," my server answered, and we both laughed a little. I let myself out the little iron gate to my right and made to walk past him up the street to my office. As I did, he looked up, seemed to make eye contact with me from behind his dark glasses, and smiled. My stomach twisted. I smiled back, tucked my hair behind my ear. He held my gaze. I passed him. I walked the block back to work.

I didn't finish unpacking that night, either. I tugged on a baggy t-shirt stolen from Eric and plaid pajama shorts and posted up watching shitty TV. Occasionally, hot airplane guy flitted through my mind. I replayed the lunch meeting in my mind, but this time, in my imagination, I stopped and talked to him. He recognized me immediately, of course. He was crushed he hadn't gotten there minutes earlier, in time to pay for my lunch. He'd simply have to make it up to me—did I live nearby? I imagined I was someone else, that I'd called in sick the rest of the afternoon and brought him home with me. I would simply never. But maybe in another life.

A little after 9 pm, there was a knock on my door. It startled me nearly out of my skin. I was on my feet before I'd even registered what was going on, TV remote knocked from the arm of the couch. Down, girl, I thought to the growl in my chest and crept over to the door, avoiding the window to the left of it, to peer out the peephole. Whoever it was, they were so tall I was looking square into their chest. A man in a suit—open-collared dress shirt, no tie, a well-fitted suit jacket. A man alone. What the fuck was a man dressed like that doing at a place like this? What the fuck was a man doing at my apartment at all? I hesitated, considered not opening the door. Then he said my name through the door.

"Lenore?"

I started and stared harder at the chest, replayed the voice in my mind. Did I know this guy? Surely not.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"We haven't been properly introduced yet." He had a nice voice. There was something wry in his tone, a smile, some joke I wasn't party to.

"Who are you?" I asked again, harder this time. Why should I open my door to a fucking stranger at 9 pm?

"Please," he said. His voice was reassuring. Low and warm. "You don't have to let me in. But please do open the door and you'll see."

Grumbling internally, pushing down another warning growl, the feeling of heckles raising at the back of my neck, I cracked the door and peered out. My breath caught and my hand gripped the door before I let it swing slowly open, blinking up at him in shock.

He was tall. Well over 6'. Broad but trim. Tan. Dark, wavy hair swept back with a pomade. A well-kept beard. Dark eyes. One hand was balled in his pocket. He was holding his breath, looking at me urgently. I had never seen him before, but my wolf knew him. She scrambled against my ribcage, clawed at my belly, tore at the back of my throat, wheezed, strained, lunged for him. I had never met this man, but she knew him.

My mate.