Claws & Crochet

Part 54

ZOEY

"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 cunnalingus. 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.

My friend does seem distressed, with her hands covering her face, shoulders shaking. A passerby might think she was quietly sobbing. However, sitting next to her, I make out the muffled sound of unsuccessfully stifled giggles.

Courtney isn't the best at whispering.

"I'm fine," Juliet finally chokes out.

Ms. Hanson's knuckles are white on her knitting needles, and I consider if I need to escort Courtney home so she doesn't end up murdered in an alley with crafting supplies. "And you, Zoey?" The tightness in her voice makes the question sound like a threat.

"Me?"

Ms. Hanson nods. "Are you dating?"

"I . . ." Shit. Shit shit shit.

Dating. One step away from a relationship. Then on the fast track to commitment.

This isn't a question I thought I'd have to answer.

But, once again, Courtney comes to the rescue.

Kind of.

"She's fucking—"

"Courtney," Amy chides.

"Sorry. She's holding hands with Warner Jameson."

Okay, I guess I can deal with that description for now. Also, I think Juliet is going to pass out if she tries any harder to suppress her laughter.

I'm fine with being the butt of a joke if it makes my friend more comfortable.

"Well. Then." Ms. Hanson takes a long sip from her white wine, before putting her full attention on her project. Matchmaking is officially off the table.

After a minute or two of awkward silence passes, side conversations start back up, and Courtney seems content to bedazzle her boots.

Juliet is more relaxed now that the spotlight is off her and after the fits of hilarity Courtney put her through. Amy pulls the librarian out further by asking about the latest bestsellers.

After another sip of my drink, I relax back in my chair, estimating how many rows I have left.

"That's a fun pattern." Cortney reaches out to touch the scarf I'm finishing. Her finger traces the raised design repeated along the length of the scarf. The symbol is simple, two triangles, each bisecting at a single corner. Almost like a bow tie. I realize I incorporated it without thought. Crocheting is often like that for me. An activity I can do instinctually as my mind relaxes or focuses on something else.

"Thanks. I hope Warner likes it, too. This is for him."

"You made it. Which means he'll love it." Courtney smirks, then her expression softens. "How are you adjusting?" Her quiet question has me meeting her gaze. There's a quick flash of black, and I realize she just gave me a glimpse of her wolf, clarifying the underlying meaning of her question.

How are you adjusting to the whole mythical-creatures-are-real thing?

"Getting better. Not great at first." I hook my yarn and debate saying more. After a second, I admit. "Normally, I talk about life changes with my therapist." This time I'm the one who tries to convey extra meaning with my gaze.

At her slight nod, I know she gets it. Normal therapists aren't equipped to deal with a werewolf discussion.

My eyes trace over the table, and I wonder how many of the women here know.

An idea forms.

"Are there any therapists in town?"

Courtney smiles and tilts her chin toward the leader of the club. "Amy has a practice."

"And she"—I keep my voice low—"serves all populations?"

After another subtle nod, the woman leans in close, and I discover Courtney does know how to whisper properly.

"Her partner is pack."

Something small and happy flares in my chest. A little glow. Something like hope.