Delivered to My Elves (Mail-Order Matings #18)

Chapter Three

Misty

Already on my second glass of Moscato, I sank down into a hot bath with a brilliant-colored bath bomb fizzing away in the water. I didn’t use them often, afraid of a UTI or some other menacing side effect—and they were so pricy!—but tonight, I was taking all the pampering I could get. Self-care as all the influencers called it—on fluffy girly steroids

Flickering candles helped make my bathtub a retreat from all the worries and irritations and frustrations of my daily life. And disappointment. Whiny much? I poured a glass of wine from the bottle on ice beside the tub and took a sip.

Then the spa music I asked my virtual assistant to play on my phone speaker started to get on my nerves, and the elephant in the tub with me loomed large.

Fuck me. I should’ve known better.

Shifters had mates. Not crushes on their coworkers.

Goddess, I felt like such a dummy. I had a crush on a man who saw me as nothing more than a project partner. He probably didn’t even know I was female. Well…at least as concerned a person of interest.

The crazy mating on the desk…I had been told my whole life that when you met your mate, it would be impossible to avoid touching them, kissing them…running wherever it took to start your life together.

But he’d known her for well over a year. Wouldn’t he have noticed sooner that she was his mate? On the other hand, I’d been crazy for him since I set eyes on him, but he’d shown not a single indication that he shared my feelings. Was it possible he was my mate, but I wasn’t his? Leaving me to wallow in grief and loneliness for the rest of my life? Or had I misread my own instincts somehow?

He had to be my mate, didn’t he? Could I be that wrong?

Either way, I was embarrassed beyond belief.

I listened to the spa music a total of ten minutes before telling the VA to cut it off. The soothing, crashing waves were giving me a low-grade headache and adding to my spiking cortisol.

Pouring a second glass, I kicked on the hot tap with my big toe, warming things up again because scalding water was the only thing that might wash away that sight of Rob and his mate from my memory. Then I picked up my phone. Even doom scrolling would be better than my mind replaying the scene I’d witnessed earlier.

I stumbled into the breakup-and-unrequited-crushes algorithm, falling into a darker place than I’d been when I poured the first glass.

I nearly dropped my phone into the garishly swirled colorful water when an ad caught my eye. The app Cousin Anita had been trying to get me to sign up for…

I clicked on it and read the page you could see without having to sign up.

Find your mate.

Find your mates, plural.

Be a shifter nanny.

Be the pivot in a harem or reverse harem.

Be a mate for show only. A mate in name only.

Be a breeder.

A breeder?

That was one way to get a family. And anyone who wanted that would not be upset that I might already have a mate who’d rejected me. Might be fine with the fact I did not have a whole heart to give.

I clicked on the reviews and to my surprise, there were only a handful of one and two stars, and those were people who had trouble downloading the app or answering the questions.

But the rest were stellar. People from all over the country and the world finding their mate, mates, fated or not, and all kinds of situations right from their home, with one download of an app.

I put the phone down and drained the tub. My head was getting fuzzy, and the last thing I wanted to do was drown in my humiliation and my bathtub at the same time.

Dried off and in my comfiest, warmest robe, I made my way to the bed and abandoned the wine for some tea. Apparently, hot water in all forms was my key to relaxation.

With my head resting against my headboard, I let the tears flow. How could I be so stupid? My parents had been fated mates. They knew they were fated and meant for each other from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Both of them—not just one silly female with a crush.

Times had changed. There were millions more people now, and shifters blended in with humans and other communities.

Sometime later, I swiped my eyes of the wetness and grabbed my phone again.

I would let myself wallow in self-pity.

Pushing the button, I downloaded the app. They promised me a mate or some kind of situation where I would be cared for and not vying for someone I could never have.

Maybe love wasn’t in the cards for me.

Maybe I simply needed to find someone to care for and to care for me.

So, as I signed up, I left my options open—wide open.

One mate or two or three. Didn’t matter to me. Reverse harem? Sure. Mate in name only or mate for show? Sure. Breeder? Why not?

Bear shifters. Wolf shifters. Monsters. Fae. Creatures of the night but not vampires. I was open to nearly all of them.

I sat back, answering the questions as calm came over me. It could’ve been the fruity wine. Or the chamomile tea. Or the low blood pressure from the scalding bath, but my bear was in rare form as I answered question after question.

She was serene. Peaceful even.

We were moving on.

The truth was, she never liked Rob. Of course, I’d ignored her, thinking that one day she would come around.

When I saw him screwing one of his secretaries on his desk, my bear wasn’t even upset. Not in the least.

He was a stranger to her, and she’d barely tolerated my ever-growing crush on him.

But as I turned on the fireplace app on my TV and snuggled into my covers for the night, phone in hand, she gave me a dull roar.

Maybe this step forward was what I needed.