eeks pink, and I look down. “I forgot you sense my feelings.”
Reaching across the table, he extends his hand. I place my smaller one in it, and his fingers close. “So tell me, what got you interested in pottery?”
Focusing on our connection, I let my mind travel back to that winter three years ago. “I was bored. The winter was terrible. It never stopped snowing. I thought I’d go crazy if I had to sit in that mansion one more day.”
“Still, pottery? Why not the silversmith?”
“I walked into town, and this little pottery studio had just opened. Mercedes, the owner, was in the back throwing a bowl. I asked if she’d let me watch her work, and she said yes. The rest is history.”
“She taught you?”
The waiter returns with two slim flutes of bubbling gold wine. Koa winks at me, and holds his glass to mine. “To first dates.”
Hopefully not the last, I think as I sip the crisp beverage.
The waiter takes our orders — I can’t resist ordering the wild nettle pancakes, but Koa gets the roasted duck confit. When we’re again alone, the handsome panther across from me grins.
“Pancakes?”
“I’ve never had wild nettles.”
“Don’t get stung.”
“Besides, I was hoping you might share your duck.”
That gets me a groan, and I actually laugh. Lifting the sparkling wine, I take another sip. “Thank you for this.”
Our hands are joined again in the center of the table. “I had to get us out of that apartment. It was either this or shift and run all over the countryside.”
“We might never come back if we did that.”
His eyes hold a look, and I know what he’s thinking. Would that be so bad?
“No,” I answer quietly. “If only…”
“Back to your story. You said Mercedes taught you to spin bowls.”
“The technical term is throwing, and she did teach me. After repeatedly saying she wouldn’t. Every day I went back. The snow cut into her business, and I offered to pay. It wasn’t long before she caved.”
“You’re really good.”
“It’s a craft, so the more you do it, the better you get.” A server puts small plates of salad in front of us and a basket of sourdough bread with anchovy spread in the center. I lift my fork and take a bite of the bitter greens cut by balsamic vinaigrette while Koa samples the bread.
“Salty,” he says. I reach out and he hands it to me. A small nibble and the sting of fish fills my mouth, teasing my inner cat.
“I love it!” Handing it back, I take my own piece, covering it with the spread. “Tell me when you started boxing.”
He leans back in the booth, exhaling. “In middle school I started getting into fights. I don’t know why I was always at war with everybody. My mom was a gentle lady.”
“Shifter?”
“No — that came from my dad’s side. She taught me to keep it a secret, and she tried to teach me about our ways. The legends.” I watch as he toys with the triangle of bread on his plate. “I didn’t like being different. I didn’t want to know about the man who ditched us. I guess I listened to her more than I realized.”
My chest aches at the thought of him growing up that way, alone without an alpha. “I became an alpha, even though I didn’t know what it meant,” he says, addressing my feelings. “Both of my parents were tall, and by the time I was in high school, I was a head above everyone else.”
“So you started boxing?”
“My dad was a boxer. It came naturally to me. My nickname was mostly a joke.”