Connor didn’t have a clue who was doing this, and he might have joked with Betsy and Gordy, the day cook, about how he was sure he was being courted by the town’s oldest widow, but really he was pleased. It felt good to have someone... well, honestly, the only word he could think of was wooing. Someone was wooing him, making it clear that he was wanted.
He found himself meeting people’s eyes in the diner and on the streets, trying to figure out who it could be.
So far, he hadn’t had any luck in discovering his unknown suitor.
Deans had come in Wednesday afternoon, absolutely livid, but Connor’d just shrugged and said it had been that way when he’d come in. Funny -- only not -- how it had only taken a day for Deans to get the garbage cleared away from his parking spot. If Connor hadn’t been in such a good mood from all the gifts, he might have gotten angry about that. Instead, he just thought that Deans was a miserable old goat -- who wasn’t even that old -- who was going to lose his best draw, i.e. Connor himself, when that building on Main Street finally became available for sale.
It had been a fun few days and his wares had flown off the shelves -- the baked goods always tasted better when he was in a good mood, and apparently word had spread around town that he was in a very good mood indeed, because they’d sold out of everything, even the extras he made Friday and Saturday, almost before he’d gone home for the day.
So here he was, feeling special, surrounded by flowers and with the best chocolates in the world to eat -- and boy had the chocolate nibs and cocoa powder made for incredible pastries -- with a nice tidy sum pocketed for the last few days work. It almost made him want to go in even though it was Sunday. Almost.
Today was his only real day off, and he wasn’t going to squander that.
Instead, he lazed in bed -- he always tried to sleep in on Sundays, but when you were up before dawn the other six days a week, it became habit and he rarely managed to stay asleep past five a.m. Just because he was awake, didn’t mean he had to get up, though, so he’d lie there and enjoy the dark and quiet, or he’d read or watch some TV.
Sadly enough, even at his most lazy, he was always up by seven and this Sunday was no different than countless others. Maybe if he had someone to share lazy Sunday mornings in bed with... but he didn’t, so out of bed he got.
He threw on a pair of boxers and made his way to the kitchen. It was too bad he’d sold out of everything yesterday -- it would have been nice to have a chocolate pastry or two along with his latte. Or even a muffin. The fancy coffee maker was only half indulgence. He was, after all, going to need one for the bakery when he opened it. He had plans for a half dozen little tables for people to sit at, or they could take their coffee to go. Either way, he was going to need the machine, so buying it now and testing out its features was only good business sense. At least that’s how he’d justified the expense to himself.
If he was deep down honest, he’d admit that he’d have bought the machine regardless. He had a weakness for fancy coffees. It wasn’t that he didn’t like regular coffee -- that had its place, especially in the get you up and moving realm -- but there was nothing quite like a specialty coffee to make the day that much better. Or to pick him up if he’d had a bad day. Or just because. He could come up with as many reasons to make himself a fancy coffee as there were days in a year.
A fancy coffee and an expensive chocolate. They seemed to go together perfectly. He grabbed one of the Belgians, lamenting the fact that, big as the box was and as miserly with Betsy and Gordy as he’d been, there were still precious few left. He’d really indulged himself over the last few days. He patted his belly; so good. How had his secret admirer known? And who was he? And what if he was a she? It could happen -- if she hadn’t heard, or if she thought her love could change his orientation. The promise of more of that Belgian chocolate would almost be worth trying to do it, too. Yeah, like he was ever going to bat for the other team no matter how good the chocolate over there was.
Laughing at himself, he listened to the coffee machine gurgle and burp and make all those magical noises that meant his latte was about to be ready. All he needed to do was take the hot milk and froth it up before adding it in.
He was in the midst of doing that when he thought he heard a motorcycle go by. It seemed pretty early for a motorcycle to be out in this nice neighborhood. He finished frothing his milk and poured it into his big mug, then wandered over to the window.
His eyes widened when he saw his car. It was practically shining in the early morning sunlight. Maybe it was a trick of the light off the glass of his windows.
He went out, and sure enough, it was sparkling clean. The driveway around it was dark, obviously wet. Someone had just washed his car. He touched the hood. Correction, someone had just washed and waxed his car. Even the tires were clean, the rims shining brightly silver.
He looked down the street, then up the street, squinting, trying to make out someone -- anyone -- watching him from hiding, but he couldn’t see anyone at all. Maybe one of his nosy neighbors could tell him who it had been.
As if on cue, the Atterly’s curtain twitched, hard, and Connor suddenly remembered that he was only wearing boxers. Blushing hot, he hightailed it back to the house. Man, he was going to hear about that one, he was sure.
Still, he had a gleaming car to add to the list of things that had made this week the best one since he’d come to town and he was going to take that as a massive win.
The Reveal
Dayton slunk into The Silver Kitchen Diner and took a booth at the far end, his back to the wall. It was just past four a.m. and Connor was already in the kitchen. He knew because he’d waited on the shoulder across the road until he saw the little red Mini. He didn’t see any reason to go in before his prey got there.
Betsy was at the counter, flirting hard with Deputy Steve, but Insomnia Guy was missing. He often was on Mondays. Dayton’s theory was that the man drank himself into a coma on Saturday nights and was still passed out come Monday morning. It meant one less person interfering with his sense of smell -- it was damn hard to pick out Connor’s scent from the kitchen -- what with it being in the other room and a room full of food smells at that -- and more bodies made it even harder.
Betsy came over with her pot of coffee, but Dayton had already turned over his mug. “Let me guess -- you want hot chocolate with whipping cream on top.” She had the young deputy at her counter and wasn’t messing around with Dayton today.
“I do, but I want the guy in the kitchen to make it.”
“You don’t like the way I do it all of a sudden?” She actually looked put out, which was funny because Dayton would have figured anything that gave her more time to work on Deputy Steve instead of doing her job would have been all right in her book. Or maybe the look on her face was actually more offended than put out.
“You make it fine. I want to see if baker man can make it better.”
She shrugged. “Sure. You want a pastry or some pie, too? It’s been amazing all week -- he’s in a good mood.”
Dayton considered it for a moment. He really did want to try Connor’s wares -- and not just the ones Connor’s pants. But he also didn’t want to be too hopped up on chocolate when he made his move, which he was planning on doing today. He shook his head. “Just the hot chocolate. And tell him to use the good stuff.”
“The good stuff...” She rolled her eyes at him, but Dayton was in a good enough mood he ignored her.
In fact he was in a very good mood. So good, he probably could have easily resisted the chocolate. He wanted to indulge himself today, though, and he planned to do it with both his vices -- chocolate and men. Or at least man.
“I want him to deliver it to me, too.”
Betsy turned and gave him a look like he’d lost his mind, then she turned and continued back to the counter, calling out the order through the pass. “One hot chocolate, use the ‘good stuff,’ and bring it out yourself.”
Dayton couldn’t hear Connor’s reply, though from the sound of it, Connor wasn’t too pleased.
“Don’t blame the messenger -- I’m just telling you what the customer wants. Customer’s always right, you know.” That was all Betsy had for the baker, because she turned her back on the pass and topped up the deputy’s cup, once again in full flirting mode. The thing was, he was flirting back, and Dayton wouldn’t be surprised if she was off the market before winter.
Dayton attention turned to what he could see of the kitchen through the pass. He wondered whether Connor was going to come barging out and give him an earful, or if he was going to make the hot chocolate and bring it out. Maybe he’d do something awful to it as revenge. Dayton hoped not -- the chocolate nibs he’d bought Connor were the best money could buy and they deserved better than to be rendered undrinkable.
He waited and he waited, getting more growly the longer it took. Was Connor going to ignore his request altogether? No hot chocolate and no man was not the end result Dayton had in mind. He wanted both. And he wanted them quite badly. He was even willing to forgo the chocolate for the man.
It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone as badly as he wanted Connor. Sure he’d gone after guys before, but it was always the fucking he was in need of, that mattered. With Connor he wanted the man, not the sex. Oh, he wanted the sex; in fact he wanted to fuck Connor until the man screamed his name. Out loud and repeatedly. But that wasn’t all that he wanted. It might not even be the first thing he wanted.
It was as weird as the whole wooing thing he’d gone through and it left him a little unsettled. Which would explain why his leg was twitching and why a growl was building in his throat, growing closer and closer to becoming vocal the more time passed without any sign of Connor.
The kitchen doors finally swung open and Dayton’s nostrils flared as the scents of Connor and chocolate mingled and filled his senses. He looked over, admiring the lean body as Connor made his way over, steaming mug in one hand. He couldn’t read Connor’s expression, didn’t know if the man was angry or not.
“I assume this is for you.” Connor set the mug down in front of him.
Dayton leaned over and took in a deep breath, pulling the fragrant steam in. He could still smell Connor, too, the man’s scent strong this close up. It was a heady mixture and he moaned happily. “It is. Smells amazing.” He was about to add, “So do you,” when Connor interrupted him.
“I hope so, because I don’t have ‘the good stuff’ in stock very often and it’ll probably be a long time before you get another cup of hot chocolate that good.” Connor’s lips tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Just how did you know we had ‘the good stuff’ in the first place?”
“I could smell it?” he tried.
Connor snorted. “Right. You’ve got a nose good enough to smell a closed bag of chocolate in the kitchen, and to know that it’s not just the usual chocolate either, but something special. What are you -- a bloodhound?” The man’s eyes went wide. “Not a bloodhound -- you’re a werewolf!”
He wasn’t sure if it was accusation or amazement that colored Connor’s features, but he was glad that particular revelation was dealt with and he was pleased Connor was smart enough to have figured it out on his own. “You got a problem with that?”
“No, no. I just... I thought you guys pretty much kept away from the town.” Connor sat across from him without asking, simply plopping down and staring at him with wide eyes.
“The pack pretty much does.” In fact it was an unspoken agreement that both sides stuck to -- no wolves in town, no people in pack territory. “I do my own thing.”
“Yeah? Somehow I’m not surprised.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Dayton knew he was growling again, but he couldn’t help it. Connor riled him up six ways to Sunday, and if he couldn’t pounce the man and take him right then and there, the emotions had to have some other release valve.
“You seem like the loner type -- you know, the whole bad boy biker vibe you’ve got going.”
“Oh.” Dayton relaxed back in his booth, one hand wrapped possessively around his mug. Kind of like how he’d like to have it wrapped around Connor. “I am.”
Connor smiled. “A bad boy loner wolf biker with a center as gooey as a marshmallow.”
“What?” No one had ever accused him of being soft before. No one.
“Well, let’s see. First you shift the garbage out of the way of the door for me. And into the owner’s parking spot -- that was a bit of brilliance if you ask me.”
Dayton couldn’t help preening, even as he asked, “How did you know it was me?”
Connor shrugged. “I didn’t, not until I got over being pissed off that some customer had demanded that I make them hot chocolate, and that I use my precious stock of premium chocolate to do it, and realized that only the person who’d supplied me with said chocolate would know about it. You were the only one out here besides Betsy and her deputy, plus you were there for my complaining the day before the garbage was shifted, so I put it all together and came up with you as my secret admirer.”
“Guilty as charged.” Dayton was proud of Connor for figuring it all out and pleased all over again at how smart the man was. Not to mention how pleased he was that Connor was still there, talking to him -- that was a good sign.
“How did you know what chocolate to buy?”
That one had been easy. “It was the most expensive.”
“So you didn’t know those were my favorites?”
“No.” He hated to admit it. “But I’m not surprised -- you’ve got a good palette.”
It looked like it was Connor’s turn to preen. It was cute. The preening didn’t stop the interrogation from continuing, though. “And my favorite flowers?”
“Hey, I bought you every kind they had -- figured that way you were going to get the ones you like best.”
Connor laughed. “Okay, so those were just luck. But how did you know I didn’t have my own mixer out back?”
Dayton made a face. “I tried one of your pastries and could taste the meatloaf on it. The only way that could have happened is if you made your stuff in the same mixer the cook uses for savory crap.”