Lainie’s mouth quirked, as though she was about to say something, but she just smiled and clinked her wine glass against Harrison’s.
He tucked into his meal, a triple serving of chowder with a side of pan-fried bass and a sprinkling of salad. Lainie began to pick at her own food, apparently encouraged by his appetite.
The break gave Harrison a chance to think, though thinking in the face of so much of Caro’s delicious food was a difficulty at the best of times. With food and his mate in front of him? It was almost impossible.
He glanced down at Arlo, who was making short work of his meal with resigned determination. If Lainie had noticed that the waitress had placed a bowl of prime beef in front of the “dog,” she didn’t say anything.
In the ten years Harrison had lived in Hideaway, he’d seen maybe a couple of dozen human visitors to the town, not including the regular visits from county officials. Everyone in Hideaway knew to keep the town’s secret safe from outsiders. But so far as Harrison knew, no one had ever recognized an outsider as their mate.
If old Mr. Mackaby had still been around, Harrison could have talked to him about it. Arlo thought he should bring it up with Caro, which seemed like a good idea. Until he’d stepped into the restaurant, and seen his mate sitting at the window table.
Lainie. Lainie Eaves. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
Well, so much for Plan A. Plan B—wine and dine a beautiful woman, in the best restaurant in the best town on the coast—was going perfectly.
He didn’t want Lainie to think he was staring at her, but he couldn’t help shooting quick glances her way. She ate quietly and neatly, with small bites, and Harrison was struck by a sudden vision of them both together, in front of a roaring fire, eating together in the quiet comfort of long familiarity.
His pulse quickened. Beneath his skin, his griffin chirruped with contentment.
For the last ten years, Harrison had felt a hole in his heart. He’d lost both his parents suddenly when he was in his teens, and with them dead, his home—their nest—had lost its soul. He’d left the empty home in the hopes of finding someone to fill that hole.
His parents, both griffin shifters, had had the perfect marriage, and all Harrison wanted out of his life was a mate he could love as his parents had loved one another. To have his mate at his side, in a warm, cozy home he had built with his own hands. Every plank, every nail, every stick of furniture lovingly crafted by him, for her.
A nest, warm, safe and secure.
And this was it. This was her.
Maybe it was a good thing he’d met Lainie in person for the first time here, around so many other people. If they’d been on their own, he might have blurted out what he was imagining, and left her thinking he was drunk, insane, or both.
Harrison took a deep breath, bracing himself. He was lucky his griffin had always been a placid creature, content for him to spend most of his time in human form, even here where people were free to take their animal forms whenever they pleased. Even now, meeting his mate, it was happy for him to take the lead.
Given what he’d heard about other shifters’ reactions when they met their mates, he was glad. There were so many curious eyes on the two of them as they ate. A more aggressive shifter might have taken offense. He didn’t want Lainie’s first impression of him to be ‘that guy who picked me up in his talons and spirited me away to his lair’.
Not that he had a lair, unless the rooms above his workshop counted.
Lainie cleared her throat, instantly getting Harrison’s attention.
“So, I guess you don’t get many visitors here?” Lainie’s expression was neutral, but her gaze flicked to the window, which reflected the room. Harrison didn’t need to look around to see his friends and neighbors sneaking glances at the two of them. He didn’t blame Lainie for feeling unsettled.
“Not a lot,” he said. It was only a small white lie. Hideaway Cove did see some tourists, hence the existence of the solitary B&B. But they were all shifters, friends or family of the people who lived here already. A human visitor was as rare as hen’s teeth. Or as rare as a griffin shifter, maybe.
Lainie slumped almost imperceptibly. Harrison noticed her eyes darken, as though she was resigning herself to her status as the object of the other townspeople’s keen interest.
Harrison leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially. “Want to get out of the spotlight? I can give you a private tour of the town, if you like. You won’t be able to see much in the dark, but the lights on the water are worth a look.”
This time, Lainie was too slow to catch the smile that darted across her lips. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Accepting an invitation is hardly intruding,” Harrison argued gently. His heart glowed as Lainie smiled, the last traces of her reluctance melting away like sea-mist in the sunlight.
“All right,” she said. “If you insist! I’ll just settle my bill.”
“No need. I’ll let Caro know to add it to my tab.” Lainie looked like she was about to protest, so Harrison raised his hands in a gesture of surrender—and refused to back down. “You’re my guest! Please, let me make up for my dog stinking up your dinner.”
*Hey, man, that’s not fair!*
“Oh, your dog isn’t…” Lainie shook herself, and held up her hands in mock defeat. “Okay. Thank you. That’s very kind of you, even though we both know your dog isn’t stinking up anything.”
Her dark eyes flashed at Harrison as she gathered up her purse and coat, sending shivers down his spine. He caught Caro’s eye across the room.