Van grinned, feeling his heart squeezed from both sides by this incredibly odd woman. He’d fallen hard for her, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it except go along for the ride.

“What about grades?” one of them asked Irene.

“It’s more about potential.”

She had the most adorable expression on her face. Like he’d trapped her in a room with rabid chipmunks. He could tell she wouldn’t be able to keep the “nice” thing going for much longer, so Van decided to give her a reprieve from hero worship.

He didn’t have to do much, just stand up. The boys stopped speaking and stared at him in mute horror while he towered over them.

“It’s time to go,” he stated simply, staring at the young men to make it clear that meant “go away.” They did, but only after shaking Irene’s hand more times than seemed necessary.

“You okay?” he asked when they’d finally walked away.

“I’m exhausted and now I’m starving.”

“Then let’s get you fed. Oh. Wait. I got you this.” He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a T-shirt he’d picked up at a fun novelty shop a few doors down while she’d handled her fans.

Irene opened the shirt and read the words out loud, “I DOS, therefore I am.”

“I thought that sounded appropriately nerd-like.” He grinned, but Irene had such a strange expression on her face he became worried he’d made some sort of geek faux pas. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

Irene swallowed and shook her head. “No. I . . .” She took a deep breath. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You sure? I can take it back.”

She held the shirt to her chest like he’d tried to rip it from her. “I said I love it,” she practically snarled. His mother had sounded like that once when she thought a hyena came a little too close to her pups. “Back off, Van Holtz.”

He lifted his hands up, palms showing. “Okay. Okay. Calm down.”

“I’m hungry,” she said while keeping a tight grip on her shirt.

“Now, Dr. Conridge, don’t you think a proper thank-you is in order for my lovely gift?”

She stared at him for a moment before glancing around the mall, her face turning red. “Here?”

He closed his eyes and forced himself not to laugh. “Not that, doc. That’s for later. When we’re alone or we find a bathroom. A kiss will do.”

“Oh!” Her face turned redder. “Oh.” She went up on her toes and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I really do love it.”

“Good. Now let’s feed.”

Van grabbed the shopping bags and tried to lead her off, but she stared behind him. “What?” he asked.

“Um . . .” She nodded to a spot over hisshoulder.

He turned around expecting to see some kind of trouble, but all he saw was the shocked and very red face of Farica Bader. “Oh. See ya, Farica. Tell your mom I said hi.”

Van took Irene’s hand and headed off to a restaurant he thought she might like. Of course, the fact that the woman mostly ate peanut butter and crackers suggested she wouldn’t be too finicky about her meal.

Irene didn’t know what shocked her more. The gift Van Holtz gave her—the most thoughtful gift she’d ever received from a man . . . any man? Or the way he ignored long-legged, man-eater Farica Bader? Hard to decide, since both were so exceptionally amazing.

Van Holtz took her to a restaurant inside the mall and they were quickly seated by a window. Lovely, more mall visuals.

“You know Farica Bader isn’t going to be happy that you dismissed her so easily.”

He glanced up from the menu. “Who?”

“Farica Bader. You were just talking to her two seconds ago.”

“Oh. Her. Yeah. She’ll get over it, I’m sure.”

Irene stared at the lemonade put in front of her by the waiter. “She seems to like you.”

“She likes the Van Holtz name more. The Baders are a small Pack. They’d love to be connected to us so they wouldn’t have to lose any more territory to the Magnus or Smith Packs. Now what are you thinking about getting to eat?”

Irene realized she still had her wonderful T-shirt gripped in her hands, so she made herself put it down on the seat beside her. Then she worried she’d forget it, so she laid it on top of her leg, folding half of it under her thigh.

“What are you doing?”

Her head snapped up. “Nothing. I was thinking burger,” she spit out in a rush.

“A burger works. But don’t eat too much. I’m cooking us dinner tonight.”

“Van Holtz, you don’t have to—”

“Why don’t you call me Van like everybody else?”

“You want me to call you ‘of’?”

Van Holtz blinked. “What?”

“Van is Dutch for ‘of.’ So you’re asking me to call you ‘of,’ which I have issues with. Although Holtz means timber or wood. So your name, literally translated, is ‘of wood. ’” She covered her mouth when she suddenly giggled, shocking them both. “Sorry.” She coughed to stop the laughter. “Just, after last night, I find that name quite fitting.”

“You know, Irene, you’re the only person I know who can insult me and praise me all at the same time.”

“It’s a teacher thing.” Her hand automatically reached for her T-shirt, stroking it lightly with her fingertips. “How about I call you Holtz? I’d much rather call you ‘wood’ than ‘of.’”