Silver Fox (Silver Shifters 2)

There’ll be no hanky-panky under MY roof, Mom had declared, as if Nicola and Brad were teenagers.

“There’s four more bedrooms upstairs. Behind the back stairs is the added wing, which we call the TV room, and a bedroom beyond that. Um, what else? There’s the den and a couple more bedrooms—my sister and my grandmother use those. And now we’re back to the kitchen!”

Doris opened the door. The hissing conversation inside promptly stopped, and there again were Mom’s and Sylvia’s company smiles, looking—Doris thought—exactly as deer-in-the-headlights as a freshman stepping on stage in front of a packed auditorium for the first time.

“We’ll go through to the den, so you can warm up,” Doris said, leading them to where the fireplace burned merrily. The den was filled with comfortable old furniture, none of it matching. “I’ll bring hot drinks. We’ve got hot chocolate, coffee, and a limited choice of teas, as no one drinks it but me. I have Oolong and Matcha.”

“I’m fine,” Joey said. “You’ve been to enough trouble already, rescuing us.”

The wide-eyed twins nodded mutely. Xi Yong said softly, “Thank you, but I am fine.”

“Well, if you change your mind, just ask. Or just help yourself—everybody else does,” Doris said, sensing that she was sliding down some sort of cliff. Into what? A little desperately, she said, “I’ll introduce you.”

Marrit didn’t even look up from her phone, but Doris’s father put down his magazine, looking interested. “An exchange student from China? How are you finding California so far?”

Xi Yong said he was enjoying it very much, and he was very glad to be here. Once Dad discovered Xi Yong had studied architectural history, he happily launched into his favorite subject—building and construction.

The twins crouched by the fire, holding out their hands to the warmth. Marrit looked up from her phone, and eyed Vic as she said sardonically, “Camping in winter? Since we’re actually having a winter this year, instead of a hot, dry season with shorter days.”

“At least it’s not fire season,” Vanessa said, steam rising gently off her knitted sweater.

Marrit gave a faint snort that served as her version of laughter. For the first time that Doris had seen, she actually put down her phone. Doris watched, fascinated, as Marrit slithered another glance at Vic, her eyes tracking from his dark hair falling so picturesquely over his brow, down his lean length.

“The weather report had said it would be clear,” Doris said, hoping to ward off the worst of Marrit’s deadpan sarcasm, her habit when she wanted to get someone’s attention.

“And only idiots listen to the weather report,” Vic stated, side-eyeing Marrit. “Yeah, we know.”

As Doris listened to the teenagers, her awareness was fixed on Joey, sitting eight feet away.

In her family’s house.

She was aware of his every slight move as he switched between the weather discussion and the architectural one—which, she realized belatedly, had morphed to Chinese gardens.

“Everything has meaning,” Xi Yong was saying. “Directions, the sun’s pattern, the winds and the water. All must be laid out according to feng shui, which translated is wind-water, but it means enabling the flow of good . . . energy, to contribute to peace and harmony.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Dad said. He gave a rueful glance around the den. “Won’t find much of it here, I guess.”

“Every home has its own energy,” Xi Yong said. “Yours is warm and inviting. But I have little to do with house designs. Living gardens, there is my joy.”

“Well, if you like gardens…” Dad began.

Joey smiled at Doris. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, if you’ll show me where it is.”

Glad to have something to do, she led him back inside the kitchen, just as Sylvia was saying, “Nicola will stay where she is. We can put Marrit in the other den—”

She broke off on their entrance.

“Here’s the coffee maker,” Doris said a little too loudly, waving at the unit right in front of them—as if Joey couldn’t see it for himself. “Pods are in the drawer below. We just have Kona and French Roast. It’s not fancy coffee, I’m afraid.”

“I like both,” he said easily. “Kona is one of my favorites.” He turned his sunny smile toward Mom. “What a handsome kitchen! It has to have been designed by someone who loves to cook.”

Mom flushed to the ears with pride. “That would be me,” she said graciously. Now the four of them were in one conversation instead of divided by a wall of air. “I redesigned it twenty years ago.”

Doris said, “Joey loves cooking as a hobby. A few days ago he demonstrated some country Chinese cooking for my friend Bird and me.”

“I like Chinese food.” Mom smiled brightly at Joey.

Doris backed against the prep table, where Granny Z’s challah dough was rising, and watched Joey charm Mom and