How to Flirt with A Naked Werewolf by Molly Harper Page A

he didn’t expect me to make it through a winter, so weight gain was the least of my worries.
    “Well, what do you do for exercise?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
    “Chop and haul wood, hike, you know, work to support myself?” he said pointedly.
    “Right, what’s that like?” I asked.
    Well, that was way more snotty than I intended it to be.
    Cooper sighed, almost huffing out in annoyance. “Look, if Evie wants me to help you, I will. Just tell me when you want me to come over.”
    The command, the irritation in his voice, struck a nerve. Out of everybody in town, why did this one person make me so angry? There were others who had been less than welcoming. Heck, Lynette still called me “Hey, you” when she called out her orders. But somehow, coming from Cooper, it grated on my nerves like steel wool.
    I snapped, “I don’t. It’s fine where it is.”
    “It won’t be fine when it starts to get cold and your engine block freezes because you can’t pull your truck into your garage.”
    I gave my most saccharine smile. “Well, I don’t want to trouble you. I’m sure I can get someone else to help. Alan Dahling sort of made a standing offer.”
    Cooper’s nostrils flared at the mention of the ranger. “Well, I guess it’s settled, then.”
    “I guess so. But thank you anyway.”
    I steered my cart around Cooper’s and tried to depart without any undignified flouncing. I changed my route around the shelves, deliberately avoiding Cooper until we somehow managed to hit the checkout lanes at the same time. Darby Carmichael watched me glare at Cooper while another girl checked him out at Register 2.
    “Why are you giving Cooper Graham the ‘eat musk ox and die’ look?” she asked after he sauntered out of the store.
    “I don’t think that’s the expression,” I told her.
    “Have you ever had musk ox?” she asked.
    “I have not,” I conceded. “You know how some people just rub you the wrong way? Well, Cooper’s my own personal sandpaper.”
    “He’s like that with everybody,” Darby assured me. “Don’t take it personally. Some people were just born with a pinecone shoved up their butts. In Cooper’s case, it’s lodged sideways.”
    “Well, that is an entertaining mental picture, so thanks.”
    “You know what would really make him mad?” she asked, her eyes a-twinkle. “Dating Leonard Tremblay.”
    “Nice try, Darby.”
    “Well, you can’t blame a girl.”
    I TEND TO bake when I’m upset. Or bored . . . or premenstrual . . . or if it’s a Tuesday. I’ll use any excuse.
    When I got home, I unpacked my groceries and baked six dozen chocolate chess squares to take into work the next morning. Chess squares are a Southern delicacy, derived from chess pie, a custard pie that uses cornmeal instead of flour for thickening. And when I used Reba Reynolds’s secret recipe, they turned out a sort of combination of brownie and cheesecake. Grown men have wept upon tasting my chess squares.
    I’m a little cocky about my kitchen skills.
    My plan was to use them as a sort of opening volley to persuade Buzz and Evie to change the Glacier’s menu. It wasn’t that the Glacier’s food was bad, it was just a little bland.
    Fine, fine, I was hoping to get them to change the menu because I was bored. But Evie had already let me change a few things, such as adding spices other than salt to the burger mix. While she’d never admit it to Buzz, who sat at the counter every day with a slightly sulky expression, Evie said the customers were happier with my cooking than with his.
    My plan was to suggest small alterations, soups, omelets with lots of fillings, an expanded dessert menu. We would serve good, wholesome diner food that wouldn’t leave me smelling like Ronald McDonald at the end of the day.
    While my last batch of squares was cooling, I turned on my computer and found that I’d finally gotten Internet access through the local phone company. It was surprisingly fast considering the distance