The weather was kind in California through the winter, but Ian could do without the rain. His cat basically wanted to hibernate on rainy days. He grunted when his alarm rang at four, and dragging his heels to the shower took considerable effort. 

When he patrolled, Ian wore dark greens, browns, and grays, so those colors bored him; he grabbed a pair of jeans and a white sweater, did his hair, and put some cologne on. Once he was done with the routine, he laughed in the mirror. Cologne, really? What the fuck. And who bothered calculatingly messing up their hair when it was raining? He was acting like he had a date or something. And he didn't even know the chick's name. He remembered her name tag, though. T. Martin. Dr. T. Martin. 

She had big brown eyes, endless lashes, and the ass of a damn goddess. He'd noticed it even though she'd been wearing scrubs. Scrubs, for Christ's sake. 

The lady was probably taken, but it didn't hurt to look good, just in case she wasn't. 

He picked up Cutie at the main house and got him in a crate at the back of his truck. The dog was way too excitable to let him roam free in the cab. 

Cutie howled like someone was pulling his claws out with pincers, as he always did when they crated him. 

"I know, I know. Poor you. Fifteen minutes and we're there. Promise." 

The vet clinic was one town over, close to Hawthorne. Ian stiffened on the highway. While their alpha female had lived in a city for years before settling in Lakesides, most shifters couldn't stand cities, and for good reasons. Too much noise, pollution, and too many packs, prides, and other supernaturals. Cities were battlefields. They also tended to be full of anti-shifters, anti-vampires, anti-paranormals; one of the reasons why Rye had had trouble finding a volunteer to head to Valley Vets.

"We're here, boy," he announced, snapping a leash onto Cutie's collar. 

Something else the spoiled pup didn't approve of. They rarely needed to put him on a leash in Lakesides—the dog was very well-behaved, and supervised by lots of shifters. But there would be other animals at the vet's and it was common courtesy. 

"I know, I know," he said in reply to the pup's moans. "It'll be over soon." 

Cutie whined all the way to the door. The moment they passed it, the bulldog beamed and rushed forward, yapping happily as he looked to the couple of people behind the counter. 

The pup had yet to meet anyone he disliked, but he'd truly taken a liking to the staff here. Two women and a man started to coo, coax, and throw treats his way. 

"You're here for your shot, right?" the guy asked. "You're with me. I just need to finish typing up the info about my last appointment." 

"No rush. We're early, anyway." 

He went to sit in the clean waiting area, staying a careful distance away from a woman holding a box of kittens and a man with a fox on his lap. 

"Nice," Ian said, pointing to the fox. 

The dude smiled. "Found him during the last fire. He's free to leave, but as he doesn't, I figured I'd get him all checked up." 

"Pretty sure there's a Disney movie about that." 

The woman with her cats grimaced. "That movie was traumatic." She glared at the poor guy. "If you take him to the woods and leave him, you have no soul." 

Ian laughed, then a scent caught his attention. His head snapped back to the counter, right before she appeared. T. Martin. 

Fuck me. 

He'd remembered her all wrong. He couldn't see her ass at all from this side of the counter and she was still striking. That mouth. The things he'd do to that mouth! 

"Doesn't look like the Hewetts are turning up. Want me to take your next appointment?" she asked the guy who was still typing away behind his computer. 

He lifted his head and smiled. "That'd be great, Tania, thank you." 

Tania. Sexy and feminine with some kick-ass around the edges. It suited her. 

"Mr. Wayland with Cutie?" 

Ian got up and followed her as she waved him forward. 

"Ah! I remember this baby," she said, bending down to greet the pup who wagged his tail like there was no tomorrow. "How has he been doing, Mr. Wayland?" 

"It's Summers, actually. Ian Summers. Wayland is the name of our alpha." 

She didn't so much as blink, entirely indifferent to the fact that he'd just told her he was a shifter. 

"And Cutie's great. He doesn't show signs of trauma or fear, but he eats everything we give him, very quickly, as you told us he would."

She nodded. "Yes, he mostly suffered from malnutrition; no outward sign of abuse. And I'm glad to see that he seems a lot better now." She looked up at him, beaming. "You've fed him well." 

Ian snorted. "Too well, no doubt." 

She got up and led the way to her examination room, saying, "Well, he isn't overweight yet, but you want to keep an eye on how much he eats, especially after we get him fixed. You still want him castrated?" 

Ian winced on the poor pup's behalf. "If the boss said so, then yes." 

Tania must have caught his disapproval, because she said, "It's best for him; less risk of cancer and a lot of other issues, medical and behavioral." 

Ian laughed. "Oh, I get it. I just have some sympathy for the boy is all." 

She smiled. Shit. That was a nice smile. "Understandable." 

Her focus returned to the dog; she examined him, all the while scratching and cuddling him, so Cutie allowed it all without fuss, even when she gave him his shot. 

"Dude, you have some serious skills!"

Tania laughed. "It took a bunch of student loans to acquire those skills." 

He didn't doubt it. 

Ian wondered how long she'd been a vet, how old she was. He would have said mid-twenties if he hadn't known her profession, but it took a while to become a vet, so that placed her in her late twenties, at least. 

She was definitely taken. No way she wasn't. If a woman like that was single, every regular male around her was an idiot. 

Ian found himself sniffing her scent, inhaling it and paying attention to the subtleties he caught. Yeah, there was a guy there, but his scent was too well blended with hers. Family. A brother or a father. Alcohol. Not drunk by her, but it lingered in the air. Something else...

"Are you into pottery?" 

She lifted a brow, then laughed. 

"Do I have clay on my face?" 

"Fingernails," he replied, because it was true, and marginally less creepy than saying he'd smelled it. 

She looked at her nails and found them unmarred. 

"Really? I wash my hands a billion times a day or so.“ 

Ian shrugged. "I smell residues. I grew up with a cousin who took up like, a dozen hobbies. She did pottery for years. I remember the smell." 

"Fair enough. Yeah, I don't really get to do it often these days, but I had a day off yesterday, so I made some plates." 

"Do you sell them?" he asked. "I remember Roxanne had like, a hundred plates and vases and stuff. My dad told her to get rid of them or he'd break them, so she sold them and took up knitting instead." 

"Your dad sounds like an ass." She winced. "Sorry." 

Ian laughed. "No problem. He's a complete ass. I moved to a new place six months ago, and I literally have two mugs, four plates and one bowl. If you have an Etsy store or something, let me know." 

Tania shook her head. "Sorry, I never had the time to set up anything like that. I just drop them off at a local store. She sells them and gives me a cut. I donate it. God knows I don't need to add more stuff to my tax return." 

"Fair enough." 

The next moment was awkward; it was the end of the conversation and she was done with Cutie. They should have shaken hands and said goodbye, but instead they both lingered wordlessly.

"But hey, I could—I guess I could bring some, for when you're coming back for Cutie's op? It's next week, right?" 

He lifted a brow. "Sure. Great. Let me know how much they are." 

She chuckled, waving her hand. "Don't worry about it. You haven't even seen them. And I'm a little like Roxanne—there are loads all over my place. You'd be doing me a favor." 

"No way. It's money you could donate for a good cause." 

"But I am! I'm donating them to a hopeless bachelor in desperate need of tableware." 

She was nice. And cute, too. 

Dammit. Ian had hoped for a nice easy lay, a hit it and quit it. Whatever this woman was, she wasn't that. And he didn't have time for anything else.