Pumpkin Spice & Poltergeist (Maple Hollow #1)

“Muffins are here!” a man called victoriously from the hall as he came in from the back door. He carried giant white boxes stacked five tall and used his knee to swing open the half door to behind the counter.

“Our hero!” Willow exclaimed in a fake Southern belle accent. “We were just about to run out.”

The man’s gaze slid from Willow to me, and he inspected my apron with a questioning look. “Who’s the new recruit?”

“This is my little sister, Harlow,” Willow answered him then pointed her chin up to the box-toting guy. “Harlow, this is the local baker, Wyatt.”

I scrutinized him more, realizing his eyes were a little too golden to be human. His dusty-brown hair curled at the ends and fell into his eyes, and his canines were slightly elongated. There was something decidedly lupine about him that I wouldn’t have picked up on if my sister hadn’t told me. I would’ve just thought he was a handsome man and left it at that.

I must’ve been studying him a little too long because Willow leaned into Wyatt and whispered, “She knows.”

He inclined his head. “Ah.” He flashed me a wolfish grin. “You must be freaking out, huh?”

“Just a tiny bit,” I squeaked with a forced smile.

He playfully ruffled Willow’s hair, tousling strands out of her messy bun. “Took this one weeks just to look me in the eye. You’re already way ahead of the game.”

I darted a look at my sister at the casual display of affection. Her smile fell into something more pointed, and I knew she was telepathically saying, Don’t you fucking dare, which made me want to make a witty remark even more. But I resisted. She’d taken me in and given me a job. I couldn’t be a total asshat to her on the first day. . . even though it was obvious the werewolf had heart eyes for her.

Instead, I turned to Wyatt. “I’m surprised you’re up so early. I would’ve thought people like you were night owls.”

His smile was charming and slow, and I began to wonder if he changed into a golden retriever instead of a wolf. “I am a night owl. I’m just about to hit the hay, actually.”

“Oh, right.” I bobbed my chin. “Makes sense.”

“This is my last delivery of the morning,” he said. “Sorry it was a little late today. Midnight Market’s order was ‘not to their satisfaction.’”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Oh, Billy.”

“Last week, he said the scones were overdone,” Wyatt said, “even though they sold out by the end of the day. This week, he said they were undercooked. There’s no winning with him.”

“Visitors rave about your scones.” Willow placed a hand on Wyatt’s forearm but instantly removed it when she spied the smug smile on my face.

“Well, except for the smoked mackerel and Muenster scones I tested out a couple years ago.” His nose scrunched up like he was still haunted by the smell.

“Katie is persistent.” Willow turned to me. “She’s a local fishmonger—a sweetheart but has an odd obsession with putting fish in everything. You’d think she’d be sick of the stuff by now.”

“In her defense, she’s found her calling. I admire anyone who sees what they want and goes for it.” The gleam in Wyatt’s eyes turned into a lustful blaze when he looked at Willow again.

My sister’s cheeks flushed. “Anyway”—she cleared her throat—“I should get back to it before the midmorning rush.”

“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Wyatt gave her a salute before heading toward the back door. “Nice meeting you, Harlow.”

“You too,” I said, bouncing on my toes as I waved. I looked at my sister. “I don’t have much to base this off of, but he is the nicest werewolf I have ever met.”

She snorted. “He’s something special, it’s true.” I opened my mouth to say more, and she held up a finger at me. “Don’t!”

An elderly woman toddled up to the counter and ordered a pumpkin-spice mocha. Willow gave the woman a warm smile and began to write the order on the side of a to-go cup before she paused like something had just dawned on her.

“Oh shoot.” Willow looked at me. “We’re out of cloves.”

The woman watched with a question on her brows as her eyes pinged between my sister and me, her coin purse still clutched in her wrinkled fingers.

“That’s a shame. I’ve heard it’s the best pumpkin-spice mocha for miles.” Her granny-like voice was full of defeat.

Willow opened the register and fished out a crisp twenty. “No worries, we can fix that in a jiffy.” She looked between the elderly lady and me. “Maybe I should go.”

My confusion marked my face. “I can run an errand for you. Just tell me where to go.”