Page 22 of Safety Hazard

“Our place,” he corrected gently. “Unless you’re planning to move back to that motel room you keep paying for but never sleep in.”

I flushed again, caught in my own ridiculous halfway measure. Despite spending every night at Shep’s cabin, I’d maintained a room at Liberty Lake’s only motel—“just in case,” I’d told myself, though in case of what, I couldn’t quite articulate.

“I’ll cancel it this week,” I promised, the decision feeling simultaneously terrifying and right. “It’s fiscally irresponsible to maintain two residences.”

Shep’s smile was brilliant. “Fiscally irresponsible. Of course. That’s definitely the reason.”

Before I could formulate a suitably dignified response, he leaned in quickly to press a kiss to my cheek—brief but definitely noticeable to anyone watching.

“Seven o’clock,” he reminded me, already backing away. “Don’t be late. I’ve got plans for you, Inspector.”

I watched him go, admiring the way his uniform pants hugged his ass as he strode across the town square. Two months in, and I still found myself caught off-guard by how much I wanted him, how right it felt to be with him despite all logical arguments about moving too fast.

With a sigh, I returned my attention to my clipboard. The Harvest Festival wouldn’t safety-inspect itself, after all.

Chapter 11

By six-thirty, I’d completed my inspection rounds and was heading back to Shep’s cabin—our cabin, I reminded myself, the designation still new enough to give me a small thrill. The drive had become familiar over the past months, the winding forest road no longer seeming treacherous but welcoming, leading me home.

Home. Another concept I was still adjusting to. My apartment in the city had been a place to sleep, to store my belongings, to maintain my plants (which had indeed been dead by the time I’d returned to pack up my things). Shep’s cabin—our cabin—was different. It was alive in a way my sterile apartment never had been, filled with warmth and laughter and the occasional muddy pawprints when Shep forgot to wipe his feet after a full-moon run.

As I pulled into the clearing, I was surprised to see Shep’s truck already parked outside. He usually worked later on Fridays, handling the increased call volume that came with weekend activities starting up. More surprising still was the soft glow emanating from the cabin—not the usual overhead lights, but what appeared to be candlelight flickering through the windows.

What is he up to?

I approached the door cautiously, almost nervous though I couldn’t have explained why. When I opened it, the sight that greeted me stole my breath.

The entire open-plan living area was transformed. Dozens of candles created pools of golden light throughout the space. The dining table was set with what appeared to be actual linen napkins and the good plates we normally reserved for special occasions. A bottle of wine was already open, breathing beside two crystal glasses I didn’t even know we owned.

And there was Shep, standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed not in his usual off-duty jeans and t-shirt but in dark slacks and a button-down shirt that stretched pleasingly across his broad shoulders. He held a single red rose, looking equal parts confident and nervous.

“What’s all this?” I asked, setting down my clipboard and bag by the door.

He approached slowly, offering me the rose with a small, almost shy smile. “Happy two-month anniversary.”

I blinked, accepting the flower automatically. “Two months? Since…?”

“Since you walked into my town with that clipboard and started telling me everything I was doing wrong,” he clarified, his smile widening. “Best day of my life, as it turns out.”

Something warm and overwhelming bloomed in my chest. “You’re celebrating the anniversary of our first argument?”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar in a way that made my heart ache. “I’m celebrating the day I met my mate. Even if I was too stubborn to recognize it immediately.”

There was that word again—mate—spoken with such certainty, such finality. Two months ago, it had terrified me. Now, it simply felt right, like a designation that had always been mine, waiting for me to accept it.

“I didn’t get you anything,” I admitted, suddenly feeling inadequate in the face of his romantic gesture.

“You’re here,” he said simply. “That’s all I want.”

He leaned in to kiss me, a gentle press of lips that quickly deepened as I responded. When he finally pulled back, his eyes had that familiar heated glow that never failed to send a thrill through me.

“Dinner first,” he murmured against my lips. “Or it’ll get cold.”

“You cooked?” I asked, genuinely surprised. While Shep wasn’t helpless in the kitchen, elaborate meals weren’t usually his domain.

“I had help,” he admitted with a grin. “Mrs. Patterson may have provided some guidance. And by guidance, I mean she basically cooked everything and left me detailed reheating instructions.”

I laughed, charmed by his honesty. “Well, in that case, I’m starving.”