Zoey Cris sat cross-legged on my bed, holding up two pairs of shoes as if she was making a life-altering decision. “These,” she said. I shook my head vehemently. “No.” “These.” “Absolutely not.” She wiggled the heels. “You cannot show up to a date with a man that tall wearing flats.” “I absolutely can,” I said. “Flats are democratic. Flats respect the human foot. Besides, I already sl ept with him.” Cris snorted. “That is not the point.” “That is exactly the point.” I leaned against the dresser and folded my arms. “It’s just dinner. A casual dinner between two emotionally responsible adults.” Cris lifted an eyebrow. “You made out with him in a hot tub, sl ept with him, called him to track a missing child through the woods, and now he’s coming over to take you out to dinner.” She held up the heels again. “Nothing about this situation is casual.” I sighed. “That doesn’t mean I need orthopedic damage.” “It means,” she said patiently, “you should show up looking exactly how you want to look when you’re excited about someone.” I hesitated. “That’s manipulative.” “It’s honest.” “Cris, I’m trying to make responsible decisions.” “You’re wearing the black dress and the heels.” I looked down at the dress in question. It was simple. Black and sleek, and it made my legs look like they belonged to someone significantly more coordinated than I actually was. The neckline was low enough to be interesting, without making my boobs a social event. I had tried it on ten minutes earlier. Cris had stared at me in stunned silence for a full three seconds. Then she had said, “Oh my god.” Unhelpful. “Put them on,” she said, waving the heels in front of me. “I hate heels.” “You love heels.” “I love how heels look. My feet hate heels.”
“You are going to a nice restaurant, right?” Cris asked. “Yes.” “You will be sitting down.” “That is not the point.” Cris tossed the shoes onto the bed and stood up. “Listen to me.” I braced myself. “You are going on a date with a six-foot-four emotionally responsible wolf shifter who already thinks you are the center of the universe.” I rubbed my forehead. “That’s a dramatic interpretation.” “He tracked a missing child through the forest and returned her to you like some kind of mythological guardian creature.” “He was just helping out.” “He brought you flowers.” “That resulted in police in volvement.” “He respected your boundaries.” “Okay, that was impressive.” Cris grabbed the heels and st epped closer. “You’re wearing the shoes.” I stared at them. They were exactly the kind of heels that made my legs look absurdly long. “Five minutes,” I said. “That’s all you’ll need to know I’m right.” “That is not true.” “Put them on.” Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed. Sliding my foot into the first heel felt like signing a contract with gravity. The second one followed. I stood up, smoothing down the dress. Cris clapped once. “Oh my god.” “What?” “Look at you!” I looked at my reflection. The result was... unfortunate. Meaning, I looked extremely good. The dress fit perfectly, and the heels made my legs look miles long. My hair had been loosely styled in a way that suggested effort without screaming about it. The makeup Cris had insisted on applying made my skin look even and my eyes brighter. Cris placed both hands over her mouth. “Zoey, you are going to destroy this man.” “That seems unlikely.” “He’s already obsessed with you.”
“That’s not a helpful or healthy framing.” “You’re walking into this dinner looking like that.” She gestured at me broadly. “It’s going to escalate.” I leaned closer to the mirror and adjusted one of the straps. Something unfamiliar sat in my stomach. Excitement. Actual excitement. That irritated me, because I had spent most of my adult life avoiding situations that made me feel this invested in another person. Now I was standing in heels I hated, wearing a dress that made me look formidable, pr eparing to go to dinner with a man who had literally tracked a missing child through the forest for me. My brain tried to remind me that this situation contained several red flags, but my heart didn’t seem to mind. At first, I hadn’t trusted my quick impulse to ask him to dinner. Fast was usually how bad ideas introduced themselves. Quick was how you talked yourself over your own instincts and called it chemistry. But now, I had to admit that my relationship with speed in this specific situation wasn’t exactly objective. I had spent most of my life identifying and labeling what was safe and what wasn’t. I was good at that, but I was also good at treating anything emotionally significant as suspicious. I was also guilty of avoiding “safe” situations just in case I was wrong about them. Sometimes that was wisdom. Sometimes it was fear with a better publicist. What Liam had done at my apartment wasn’t okay. I wasn’t reframing it because he was handsome or helpful or because Bobbi had gone missing and scared the life out of me. But that night had given me new information. So had the way he had respected the space I asked for and taken accountability. So had every small thing since. Going to dinner with him wasn’t surrender. It wasn’t me pretending the hard part hadn’t happened. It was one deliberate st ep taken with my eyes open, in proper lighting, wearing shoes I already regretted. To be honest, I was proud of myself for coming to that conclusion this quickly. It was progress. Cris leaned against the dresser. “So, how are you feeling?” I considered the question. “Nervous.” “Understandable.” “Excited.” She grinned. “Also understandable.” “And mildly suspicious of my own decision-making.” “That part will pass.” I turned away from the mirror and grabbed my purse. “You’re sure this isn’t a terrible idea?” Cris adjusted the neckline of my dress. “Zoey, you’re allowed to like someone.” I exhaled slowly as we walked out of my bedroom.
Across the room, Markie shuffled on his perch. “BAD DOG.” I looked over at his enclosure. “That has been resolved.” “DOG DATE.” Cris burst out laughing. “You told the bird.” “I didn’t tell the bird.” “DOG DATE.” I grabbed my coat. “Traitor.” Cris plopped on my couch. “You’re going to have fun tonight.” “That seems optimistic.” “You like him.” “I do.” “He likes you.” “That appears to be the case.” “And you look hot.” I paused in the doorway and glanced down at the heels again. “Also,” she added thoughtfully, “you are going to be wearing heels and still be shorter than him.” That image settled immediately in my mind. Standing next to Liam. In heels. And still having to look up at him. The thought sent a strange little thrill through my stomach, which was extremely annoying. I shook my head. “Fine.” Cris grinned. At that exact moment, someone knocked on the door. Cris froze. “Oh my god.” “That’s probably him.” “Oh my god.” I huffed. “You’re reacting like a teenager.” She grabbed my shoulders and shoved me toward the door. “Open it.” Taking a steadying breath, I opened the door, and all words vanished from my brain. Liam looked really hot. Dark jeans. Clean shirt. Boots. His hair was slightly damp, which suggested he had showered recently and run a hand through it instead of doing anything deliberate. His gaze moved slowly from my heels to my dress and back up again. He blinked once, then again. “Hi,” I said.
Liam opened his mouth, then cleared his throat. “You look...” He paused. His brain appeared to have left the building. Cris leaned around the corner behind me and said, in a stage whisper, “Use your words.” Liam glanced at her, then back at me. “You look incredible.” The sincerity in his tone sent warmth coursing through me. “Thank you.” His gaze moved across my face again with a calm focus that made the hallway feel much smaller. Before I could decide what to do with that, he st epped in and pulled me gently against him. He lowered his head and inhaled slowly, like he couldn’t help himself. Something soft and dangerous filtered through me, and that feeling only increased when he pressed his lips lightly to my forehead. When he pulled back, it was only so he could look at me again, like he had needed that and wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the fact that he had taken it. “I brought the truck,” he said quickly. “So, we can drive.” “That’s generally how trucks work.” Markie chose that moment to shout from inside the apartment. “BAD DOG.” Liam closed his eyes briefly. “He and I are still working through that situation.” I laughed lightly. “Understandable.” “Before we go,” he said carefully, “may I use your restroom?” Cris snorted behind me. “Yes,” I said. “You know where it is.” Liam headed down the short hallway toward the bathroom. “He is gone for you,” Cris whispered. “That man looked like he forgot how language works.” “Don’t be so dramatic.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it once. “You’re about to have the best date of your life.” I rolled my eyes, but my heart was beating much faster than usual. From down the hallway, Liam cleared his throat. “Markie,” he said. “BAD DOG.” “I maintain that you escalated the situation unnecessarily.” Cris covered her mouth. “Oh my god.” I shook my head. “Let’s go before the bird files another police r eport.” We drove through the quiet evening traffic for several minutes before curiosity finally got the better of me. I shifted slightly in my seat and glanced over at Liam.
He was driving with both hands on the wheel, his face set in concentration. Every few seconds, his attention dropped briefly to the dashboard clock before returning to the road. Finally, I said, “Where are we going? This is not the way to Korean barbecue.” He didn’t look over. “I have to make a stop on the way.” He checked the clock again. “Why do you ke ep looking at the time?” “There’s something quick I want to do before dinner.” “What kind of something?” “You’ll see.” “That’s not reassuring.” He glanced at me briefly, then returned his attention to the road. “You’ll like it.” “That’s also not reassuring.” We drove another thirty seconds in silence before a new thought occurred to me. I turned toward him. “Are you taking me up a mountain to murder me?” Liam smiled wryly. “No.” “That was a very quick answer.” “It’s an easy question.” “You didn’t even think about it.” “I don’t need time to consider whether I’m planning to murder you.” “That sounds defensive.” He exhaled through his nose. “I’m not taking you up a mountain to murder you.” “Okay but that does raise a follow up concern.” “What concern?” “You are taking me up a mountain.” Liam’s mouth twitched again. “Yes.” I nodded slowly. “That is exactly how every true-crime podcast begins.” He shook his head slightly. “I promise you’re safe.” “That is exactly what a murderer would say.” Liam finally looked over at me. His expression held that quiet patience he seemed to reserve exclusively for me. I cracked a tiny grin so he could see I was mostly kidding. “If I wanted to murder you,” he said calmly, “I wouldn’t plan to do it during a public evening outing that begins with dinner reservations.” I pursed my lips. “That is a solid logistical point.” “Thank you.” “But it does not eliminate the possibility.”
“I’m not going to murder you, Zoey.” “Okay.” I paused. “Kidnapping remains on the table.” He laughed then, and the sound seemed to surprise him as much as it did me. We drove another minute before he checked the clock again, and his posture straightened. “Good,” he said under his breath. “Good what?” “Timing.” “Timing for what?” “You’ll see.” The road curved upward and the trees began to thicken on either side. I watched the winding road ahead of us for a moment before looking back at him. “You know,” I said thoughtfully, “if this is a murder situation, I do appreciate the scenic route.” Liam shook his head again. “You’re going to like this.” “That remains to be seen.” But despite myself, curiosity had begun to cre ep in, and judging by the small smile Liam was trying not to show, he knew it. The road narrowed as we climbed. Trees pressed closer to the sidewalk and the view behind us began to open through gaps in the branches. The truck engine settled into a steady rhythm as Liam guided us through the last curve. Then the road leveled out and widened into a small parking area. Liam pulled into a spot and shut off the engine. He got out of the truck and walked around the front to open my door. He held out a hand to help me down. I took it. The evening air was cooler up here. I looked around the mostly empty overlook. Stone walls ran along the edge of the mountain, old and sturdy, drawing the line between solid ground and the open drop beyond. Past them, the sky was beginning to change, the last of the daylight thinning into something softer and more deliberate. The whole place had the unsettling energy of somewhere a person might either have a life-changing realization or end up in a true-crime documentary. I glanced back at Liam. “Is this where you murder me?” He gave me a long look. “No.” His hand closed gently around mine. “Come on.” We walked together toward the overlook. The path curved slightly around a low stone monument before opening toward the edge of the mountain. The trees thinned as we approached the wall, and the horizon began to stretch wider with every st
Ep I could see water in the distance. Lake George spread below us in long blue ribbons between dark ridges of forest. Above the lake, the sky was changing slowly, the gold thinning into orange, then darkening into de ep rose as the light settled lower. We stopped at the stone railing, the rough surface cool under my hand. Liam checked his watch. “You are extremely committed to whatever schedule you are running,” I said. “Almost...” “Almost what?” He took my hand and guided me a few more st eps along the overlook path. We rounded a small bend in the stone wall. Liam looked up at the sky, then at the lake, “Now.” I followed his gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. The sun was just touching the horizon, turning the entire lake a molten gold. The water reflected the sky in wide glowing bands that stretched between the dark mountains. Clouds above the horizon caught the light and turned de ep orange and crimson, pouring color across the entire sky. Every ridge and forested hill rolled away into the distance, fading into layers of purple and blue. The lake curved through it all in a long shining path. “Oh,” I said softly, awestruck at the beauty. Then I sighed. “Well, what a way to go.” Liam made a sound beside me. I turned toward him. “You really picked a beautiful spot for murder.” But he wasn’t looking at the sunset. He was looking at me. Completely focused. My stomach did something very strange. “You’re missing it,” I said. His expression didn’t change. “I’m not.” I didn’t know what to do with that, so I st epped closer and kissed him, just a soft press of my mouth against his. When I pulled back, I said quietly, “Thank you.” He smiled, and we turned back to the view. Neither of us spoke as the sun slipped slowly below the mountains. The sky de epened into darker reds and purples as the gold faded from the lake. The wind moved softly across the overlook. And we stood there together, hand in hand, watching the day end. Dinner was loud and warm and full of too many small moments to ke ep track of. Liam had ordered an enormous entrée that looked capable of feeding a family of six. He listened to everything I said with that intense attention of his, occasionally asking questions that proved he had been absorbing details I barely remembered sharing. At one point, he moved my water closer to me without interrupting the story I was telling. It was extremely inconvenient behavior when I was trying really hard to remain emotionally reasonable about this man.
When we were done, Liam held the door open for me, and we st epped onto the sidewalk. The village had settled into the comfortable hum of a summer night. “There’s an ice cream place just down the block,” he said. “Small place. Family owned. They make everything fresh every morning.” I looked up at him. “Is that a sales pitch?” “It’s the best ice cream around.” “Well,” I said, “I never say no to ice cream.” He smiled slightly. “But can we drive?” Liam blinked. I pointed at my heels. “My feet are staging a formal protest.” “Oh,” he said slowly. “I hope this doesn’t come across as cre epy.” That was a fascinating opening. “Proceed.” “When I saw you were wearing heels,” he said carefully, “I grabbed your sandals on my way out of the restroom before we left the apartment.” I stared at him. He reached down and pulled one boot slightly forward, then took out one of my sandals. My brain stopped working. Before I could respond, he reached into the other boot and pulled out the second one. “I put one in each boot,” he explained, holding them out to me as I continued staring. “I remembered you complaining about your heels the other night during the... unfortunate incident.” The unfortunate incident. The phrase nearly made me laugh, but my brain was still stuck on the sandals. “You brought my shoes,” I said slowly. “I thought you might want them.” “You carried my shoes.” “Yes.” “Inside your boots.” “Yes.” I genuinely had no idea what to say. Because that was... Incredibly thoughtful. Extremely Liam. And very inconvenient for my long-term emotional stability. “You’re ridiculous,” I said finally. His face fell slightly. “You don’t want them.” “Oh no,” I said quickly, already st epping out of the heels. “I want them very much.” The relief in my feet was immediate and dramatic as I slipped into the sandals.
I closed my eyes briefly. “Sweet mercy.” Liam chuckled as he scooped up my heels and walked over to the truck, setting them in the back. “Better?” “Infinitely.” He offered his hand. “Ready for ice cream?” I intertwined my fingers with his. “Lead the way.” The air had cooled, and faint sounds carried across the lake. A few porch lights glowed in the distance, and somewhere down the block someone laughed loudly. Above us the sky stretched wide and clear, a myriad of stars scattered across it. I tilted my head back to look. “Wow. You don’t see them this clearly in Albany.” “No,” he said softly. “I’m sure you don’t.” We k ept walking, his hand large and warm around mine. My thumb brushed against the side of his hand without me entirely meaning to do it. He tightened his grip slightly. Ugh. I was absolutely catching feelings. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deny. It probably should have been alarming, but as I walked down a quiet Adirondack street in my comfy sandals with Liam Beltane holding my hand under a sky full of stars, it mostly just felt... Really good.
Chapter 25 Liam The building looked like a dentist’s office, which seemed appropriate because every instinct in my body insisted that walking inside was going to hurt. I sat in my truck for another minute anyway. The card Connor had handed me at the bar rested on the center console. I had already read it three times. The letters had not changed. Shifter Support Group Tuesdays 7:00 PM The clock on my dashboard read 6:58. I k ept my hands still on the steering wheel and told myself that if I stayed in the truck another two minutes, it would count as trying. I’d have made an effort. After that I could leave, head back to the lodge, and return to the system of routines that had k ept my life contained for years, that I’d managed so carefully that being alone had started to feel interchangeable with being safe. Beside me, Zoey sat with one knee pulled slightly toward her chest, scrolling through something on her phone. She had insisted on coming. “I’m not going inside,” she had said on the drive over. “But I can sit in the car and provide moral support. Or sarcastic commentary. Whichever proves more useful.” Now, she glanced up from her screen and studied my face. “You look like you’re about to be executed.” “I’m considering leaving.” “That seems premature.” “I’ve technically already arrived.” “Liam, this is not how bravery works,” she said matter-of-factly, calmly. Not pushing, just present. I looked at the small building across the parking lot, its windows glowing a soft yellow against the dark. People moved inside, talking. The whole place carried the easy warmth of something shared. My chest constricted slightly. Zoey followed my gaze. “That’s the place.” “Yes, I know.” “You don’t have to solve anything tonight.” “Yes, I know.” “You just have to walk in.” I k ept staring at the building. “I’ve avoided rooms like that for a long time.” Zoey reached across the center console to place her hand over mine on the steering wheel. Her hand was warm, her touch soothing. “You tracked a missing child through the woods.” I sighed. “That was different.”
“You fought off feral dogs.” “That was also different.” “You drove up a mountain and delivered a perfect sunset.” “That required timing.” She squeezed my hand again. “All this requires is walking through a door.” I exhaled slowly. “You’re very persuasive.” “I’m extremely persuasive.” She leaned back in her seat and glanced toward the row of small shops down the street. “I’m going to walk down to that tech store while you’re in there.” She brushed her thumb over my knuckles, then let go of my hand. Picking up the card, she handed it to me. “You’ve got this.” The confidence in her voice landed de ep in my chest. Not pressure. Belief. That was far more uncomfortable. I took the card. Zoey opened her door and got out. “Hey.” I looked at her. “You’re brave, Liam.” She said it casually, then shut the door and walked to the tech shop. I sat there, staring at the card. Taking a de ep breath, I got out of the truck. As I walked, I noticed everything. The crunch of gravel under my boots. The smell of pine and flowers. The soft click of the door when I opened it. Inside, the building smelled faintly of coffee and old carpet. A folding sign stood in the hallway. SHIFTER GROUP. ROOM B. The door was partially open, and voices drifted out from inside. I paused just outside the doorway. The urge to leave rose quickly and sharply in my chest. I hadn’t walked into a room full of shifters in a very long time. Not since I left the pack. Not since I decided I would build a life somewhere quieter, safer, more controlled. For a moment, I stood there and listened. Someone laughed. It was an easy sound. Not threatening or demanding. People were just talking. Shaking off my hesitation, I pushed the door open. The room held a circle of folding chairs, with about a dozen people scattered around. A woman with dark hair and glasses sat at the front, holding a notebook. She looked up when I entered and gave a small welcoming nod. “Come on in.” Every head in the room turned briefly toward me. The instinct to assess the room arrived immediately. It was habit. Positions. Movement. Threat levels. There were none.
Just shifters. Different kinds of shifters. A bear shifter sat up front, arms folded across a massive chest. A fox shifter leaned sideways in her chair, one leg tucked under her. In the center, two wolf shifters were talking softly. And Connor. When he spotted me, his eyebrows rose in recognition. He grinned and waved me over. I walked across the room and sat in the empty chair beside him. “You came,” he said. “I did.” Connor leaned back in his chair. “That’s how this works. All you have to do is show up and be willing to learn.” The woman at the front of the room clapped her hands softly. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get started. My name is Mira. For anyone new here, this group is a place for shifters to talk about things that are harder to manage on our own.” Her gaze moved around the circle briefly before landing on me. “No pressure to speak if you’re new,” she added. “You can just listen.” I inclined my head. That felt manageable. Mira gestured toward the man sitting beside her. “Why don’t we start with check-ins?” The man cleared his throat. “Name’s Dwayne. Bear shifter.” Several people nodded. “I’ve been working on the anger management stuff we talked about last week,” he said. “Turns out you can’t just shift and punch a tree every time someone annoys you.” A few people laughed. Dwayne rubbed the back of his neck. “My wife says she appreciates the effort.” “That’s progress,” Mira said. The conversation moved around the circle. Each person spoke for a few minutes, about small things, big things. A fox shifter talked about sensory overload in crowded places. A wolf shifter admitted he had been avoiding phone calls because the stress triggered his shift response. Another woman described the struggle of managing instincts when her human coworkers didn’t understand what she was dealing with. I listened, and recognition slowly settled inside me. The patterns in their stories felt familiar—too familiar. The way they described the constant vigilance. The urge to check things r epeatedly. The need to control every variable in the environment so nothing could go wrong. Connor eventually spoke. “Connor,” he said simply. “Wolf.” Several people greeted him by name. “I’m still working on the control stuff,” he said. “Trying to stop assuming every problem is mine to fix.”
A few people nodded knowingly. Connor leaned back in his chair. “Turns out hyper-responsibility makes relationships... complicated.” That word sat in my chest. Complicated. My attention drifted briefly to the memory of Zoey standing in her doorway, her face calm but firm while she told me she needed space. Mira’s gaze shifted toward me. “Would you like to introduce yourself?” The room grew quiet. The instinct to say nothing remained strong, but something about the calm patience in the room made it easier to breathe. “My name is Liam,” I said finally. “Wolf.” Several heads nodded. “How long since you’ve been around other shifters?” Mira asked gently. “Years.” “Welcome.” The simplicity of the word affected me more than I’d expected. I shifted slightly in my chair. “I mostly live around humans now.” “And how is that going?” I considered the question. “It’s... efficient.” Connor snorted, and a few people smiled. Mira tilted her head slightly. “Efficient can mean many things.” I rested my hands together. “I manage things carefully,” I said. “What kinds of things?” “Everything.” When the room remained quiet, I continued before I could stop myself. “I check doors. Windows. Perimeters. Systems. I ke ep track of schedules. Supplies. Safety risks. It ke eps people safe.” Mira nodded slowly. “And when you can’t control those things?” I hesitated. “That is... difficult.” Connor leaned slightly closer. “You should see him at the lodge,” he said to the group. “Everything runs perfectly.” “That sounds exhausting,” the fox shifter said gently. I frowned slightly. “It works.” “Control can be helpful,” Mira said, folding her hands in her lap. “Until it starts controlling you.”
The words hung in the air. Quiet. Uncomfortable. Because they felt true. I stared at the floor. “I think I may have crossed that line.” No one reacted with surprise. No one laughed. Connor simply nodded once beside me. “Welcome to the club,” he said. Something strange happened then. The tension in my chest eased. It didn’t disappear, but it was lighter. For the first time in a very long time, the things that had always felt like personal failures didn’t seem unusual in this room. They were simply problems. Problems other people understood. Problems that could be talked about. Worked on. Managed. Mira smiled gently. “You’re not alone here, Liam.” And for the first time since I left the pack, that possibility felt real. The meeting ended slowly. People lingered, talking to each other while Mira packed up her notebook and stacked a few empty coffee cups near the door. The room had become lighter than when I first walked in. Connor stood and stretched beside me. “Well, you survived.” “Barely.” “You talked.” “That was unexpected.” Connor grinned. “That’s usually how it goes.” People filtered out of the room one by one. The bear shifter clapped Connor on the shoulder on his way out. The fox shifter waved at both of us before disappearing into the hallway. I stood up. “Connor.” He turned back. “Yeah?” “Do you have a minute?” He studied my expression, then nodded. “Sure.” We st epped outside into the cool evening. The parking lot lights cast soft yellow circles across the ground. Connor leaned back against the side of the building. “What’s up?” I hesitated briefly. “You mentioned something at the bar the other night.” Connor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I mentioned several things.” “The mate thing.” The humor in his eyes softened. “Oh.”
I rested my hands on my hips and looked out toward the road. “You said it sounded like she might be my fated mate.” Connor nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Connor folded his arms loosely. “Most shifters grow up learning about it. Pack culture, traditions, all that.” I exhaled slowly. “Can you explain it to me? Refresh my memory?” Connor looked out across the parking lot. “A fated mate is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes two people meet and something in the bond between them... recognizes the other.” “Recognizes?” “Yeah.” He shrugged slightly. “You feel pulled toward them. Protective. Focused. Your instincts get louder around them.” My jaw clenched. Connor watched me carefully. “You start thinking about them constantly. Their safety matters more than anything. Their happiness matters more than anything.” My stomach twisted. Connor continued. “The connection can be intense. Sometimes overwhelming.” “That sounds accurate.” “Yeah.” I looked down at the ground. “How would someone know for sure?” Connor gave a short laugh. “If you’re asking the question...” He tilted his head slightly. “You probably already know.” Silence settled between us. I thought about Zoey. The way my entire body reacted when she walked into a room. The way every instinct in me tracked her movement, her safety, her comfort. The way the idea of losing her had felt unbearable. Connor spoke again. “There’s another part to it.” I looked back at him. “What?” He hesitated slightly before continuing. “If both people choose it, the bond can be completed.” “How?” Connor held my gaze. “With a claiming bite.” The words hung between us. “You bite her,” he said quietly. “During. It seals the connection. Locks it into place.” “And then?” “You feel it click.” The intensity in his tone left no room for misunderstanding. “You’ll know.” I looked out toward the dark road again. The idea settled heavily in my mind.
“I would never push that on her,” I said. Connor nodded immediately. “You shouldn’t.” “I want her to choose everything freely.” “That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work.” I ran a hand through my hair. “She deserves to know what I think is happening.” Connor gave a small shrug. “Then you should tell her.” “I will.” Connor pushed away from the wall and pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked the screen and held it out to me. “Put your number in. I’ll text you.” I did. “If you ever have questions,” he said, “call me. Text me. We can grab a drink or something.” “Thank you.” Connor smiled. “Welcome back to shifter culture.” I shook his hand, then headed back to my truck. Zoey was leaning against the front bumper, arms folded loosely across her chest. The streetlight behind her made her blue hair glow. I stopped in my tracks because she looked... Stunning. Effortlessly beautiful. Her very presence made the rest of the world go quiet. When she saw me, she straightened and pushed away from the truck. “Well? Did you survive group therapy?” I closed the distance between us and pulled her into my arms, my lips finding hers. Her hands slid up around my shoulders immediately, and the kiss de epened. When we pulled apart, she studied my face carefully. “I take it that it went well.” “It helped.” “Good.” We climbed into the truck. When Zoey had buckled her seatbelt, she angled her body toward me. “So, did you make a new friend?” “Yes.” She grinned. “I knew it.” “I talked to Connor for a bit afterward.” “Excellent.” She leaned back comfortably in her seat. “I cannot wait to hear about therapy,” she said. “Share whatever you want to share.”
I started the engine. “I learned a lot tonight.” “Good.” “And Connor explained something to me.” Zoey frowned at me. “What?” “Something called a fated mate bond.” Her expression shifted slightly. “That sounds intense.” “It is.” I explained it carefully, told her about the instincts, the connection, the possibility of sealing the bond if both people chose it. Zoey listened without interrupting, staring out the windshield. “Is that why we have this insane attraction and chemistry?” she asked when I stopped talking. “No.” She looked over at me. “That’s all you.” She laughed softly. “Good.” I studied her carefully. “You’re not freaked out?” Zoey shrugged slightly. “No.” “That surprises me.” She turned fully toward me now. “I trust you.” The words landed with quiet certainty. “We would make every decision together,” she said. “Nothing gets rushed.” “Of course.” “And honestly,” she added thoughtfully, “the fact that you immediately said you wouldn’t push anything kind of confirms that I’m not scared.” I sat there, watching her beautiful face. “You’re taking this very calmly.” Zoey smiled slightly. “That’s weird for me.” Then she reached across the center console and took my hand. “But it feels right.”
Chapter 26 Zoey Five Months Later My living room had been overtaken by a board game that in volved an alarming number of tiny wooden she
Ep I sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the game board while Bobbi leaned forward on her elbows, studying the situation with the concentration of a general planning a campaign. Liam occupied the couch behind me. Markie occupied Liam. Specifically, Markie had settled onto Liam’s shoulder with the full authority of someone who believed that was his natural place in the world. Every few minutes, the bird leaned down and inspected the board, then offered commentary. “BAD MOVE.” Bobbi ignored him. “I’m thinking,” she said. “You’ve been thinking for a long time,” I said. “I’m strategizing.” “You moved one she ep.” “That she ep was important.” I glanced over my shoulder at Liam. He didn’t say a word, but he studied the board with interest. His knee rested against my back, the contact so warm, steady, and familiar now that I barely noticed it unless I thought about it. Which I was trying not to do. Because tonight I had something to say to him. And every time I remembered that fact, my stomach flipped uncomfortably. Bobbi reached forward and moved another wooden piece. “There.” “BAD MOVE,” Markie screeched. Bobbi rolled her eyes at him. “You are not helping.” “HELP.” “You are judging.” “JUDGE.” Liam lightly scratched under Markie’s beak. “He’s giving constructive criticism.” The bird puffed slightly with satisfaction. Bobbi turned to Liam. “You’re on her team.” “I’m aware.” “You’re not supposed to help the other team.” “I’m not helping.”
Markie leaned forward again. “BAD MOVE.” Bobbi squinted at him. “You are clearly helping.” Liam shrugged. “I can’t control him.” “You absolutely can.” “I cannot.” Markie bobbed his head. “BAD DOG.” Bobbi turned to me. “Why does he say that?” “It’s a long story.” “Was Liam the bad dog?” “Yes.” Bobbi considered that, then she nodded. “That tracks.” Liam laughed softly, the sound settling comfortably into the room. It always did that now. Five months ago, I had still been cataloging every small interaction with him. Every touch. Every look. Now he was simply part of the room. Part of the routine. That was highly suspicious. Bobbi moved another she
Ep I leaned forward and moved three. Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that.” “I just did.” Bobbi stared at the board with narrowed eyes. “Okay.” She leaned back slightly. “I see what you’re doing.” Markie leaned down again. “BAD MOVE.” Bobbi glared at him. “You’re biased.” Liam scratched the side of Markie’s neck, and the bird leaned into it happily. The sight warmed my chest before I could stop it. Markie adored him. Completely. And Bobbi adored him too. That had been obvious from the very first time Liam had patiently explained the rules of a card game to her for nearly twenty minutes while she interrupted every sentence with a question. He never rushed her. Never corrected her sharply. Never treated her as something inconvenient. Bobbi suddenly turned around and looked at him. “Are you going to marry Zoey?” My head snapped up. “What?” Liam paused mid-scratch. Markie tilted his head. “MARRY.” Bobbi waited patiently. Liam looked at me. I looked at the board. “I’m focusing on she ep,” I said. “We are playing a game.”
“That was not an answer,” Bobbi said. “You didn’t say no.” “Bobbi,” I hissed. She turned back toward Liam. “Would you?” Liam cleared his throat. “I care about Zoey very much.” Bobbi narrowed her gaze. “That was also not an answer.” Markie leaned forward. “MARRY.” “Traitor,” I muttered. Bobbi glanced at me and grinned. “You’re nervous.” “I’m not nervous.” “You’re doing that thing.” “What thing?” “The thing where you move pieces when it’s not your turn.” I looked down. One of the she ep had somehow migrated halfway across the board. “That seems unrelated.” Bobbi studied me carefully. “You’re jumpy.” “I’m not jumpy.” “You are. Why?” “Because you’re interrogating us about marriage during a she ep game.” She shrugged. “That’s normal.” “That is not normal.” She tilted her head. “Did something happen?” “No.” “Are you hiding something?” “No.” “Are you pregnant?” Fuck me. “Absolutely not.” Markie leaned down. “BABY.” I closed my eyes. “This bird is a menace.” Bobbi ignored the bird and k ept studying my face. “You’re definitely nervous.” “I’m extremely calm.” “You’re blinking a lot.” “That is a biological necessity.” She leaned closer to examine me. Liam laughed softly behind us. I turned and glared at him and the bird.
“We are playing a board game.” Bobbi pointed at the board. “You just sacrificed four she ep.” I looked down again. Apparently, I had. “That was tactical.” “It was reckless.” Markie nodded. “BAD MOVE.” I leaned back and rubbed my forehead. Bobby flashed me a satisfied grin. She knew something was coming. Unfortunately, she was correct. The door closed behind Bobbi and her mother, and the apartment settled into a quiet that felt almost startling after the chaos of game night. Markie shuffled along the top of his enclosure and muttered to himself. “BAD MOVE.” He tucked his head under a wing. Liam bent to gather the last of the game pieces from the rug. “I think she was winning.” “She absolutely was.” “You did sacrifice four she ep.” I smiled despite myself. “That was tragic.” He carried the box to the coffee table and began stacking the pieces neatly inside. His movements were calm and efficient. Familiar. When he stood again, he moved into the kitchen without needing to ask where anything went. Plates into the sink. Cups rinsed. Dishwater running. He had been doing that for months now. Just st epping into the rhythm of my life as though he had always belonged there. I leaned against the doorway and watched him. His sleeves were pushed up slightly. His shoulders moved steadily while he rinsed a plate and set it into the rack. Comfortable. Safe. The thought moved through me slowly and quietly like it had for a while now. I loved him. The thought coursed through me with a strange, calm certainty. Five months ago, I would have panicked. I would have tried to dismantle it. Question it. Build a list of reasons why it was dangerous to love this man. Now I just stood there, watching him wash dishes. If I was being honest with myself, I would marry that man tonight. De eply suspicious behavior for someone with my history. But the last five months had changed things.
Therapy had changed things. Healing had changed things. And Liam had changed things. We were both still imperfect. Still figuring things out and working through habits that had taken years to build. But we were growing. Together. Even my relationship with my mother had started to soften, which I would have bet money against six months ago. Liam was helping me enforce the boundaries that made the relationship with my mom even possible. He helped me regulate my nervous system just by being near. I’d never had that before. Liam reached for another plate. That was when I finally decided to stop thinking. I crossed the kitchen quietly. When he made to put the plate in the rack, I took it from him and set it down on the counter instead, then I st epped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Dishes can wait,” I murmured. He didn’t move for a beat, then he leaned down and kissed me. Slow. De ep. The kind of kiss that made the entire room fade out around us. I slid my hands up to his shoulder as his arms tightened around me. I loved feeling him against me. The warmth of him. The solid presence of him. I couldn’t wait anymore. The words es caped before I could overthink them. “I love you, Liam.” He pulled back slightly and looked down at me. His expression softened in a way that made my chest tighten. He looked almost stunned. Then something even de eper moved through his face. He cupped my cheek. “I love you too.” His voice carried a weight I had never heard before. “I’ve loved you for a long time.” My throat tightened. “More than anything,” he added. Emotion surged through me. He lifted me off the floor, and I wrapped my legs around his waist without even thinking about it. The living room blurred around us as our mouths found each other again. When we reached my bedroom, I pulled back slightly and pressed my forehead against his. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
His fingers dug into my back. “What?” “I know this might sound rushed.” He waited quietly. “But it’s not. I promise it’s not.” I took a breath. “I’ve talked to my therapist about it.” He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” My heart was racing now, but the certainty remained. “I want you to claim me. Tonight.” Every muscle in his body locked. “I need it,” I continued softly. “I love you so much. I want to be yours forever.” I slid my hands up to his face. “I know that sounds intense, but I’m not scared. Not even a little.” Emotion filled my chest so strongly it almost hurt. “I already know,” I said quietly. “If you need time to think about it, I understand. But I don’t.” He was staring down at me. Completely still. Then something in his expression broke open, and a tear slipped quietly down his cheek. “I don’t need time,” he said, his voice rough. He brushed the tear away quickly, then kissed my cheek, my forehead, my temple. Only then did I realize tears were sliding down my cheeks. He rested his forehead against mine. “Zoey, I have loved you with everything I am.” His arms tightened around me. “You changed my life. You made me brave enough to walk into rooms I avoided for years. You trusted me when I didn’t trust myself. I would spend every day of my life protecting what we have.” His hand slid gently into my hair. “You are my home.” Emotion surged through me again. Then his mouth found mine once more. The kiss de epened slowly as he set me down on the bed. Our kisses turned sharper, hungrier, like the words we had just said had broken something open in both of us and neither of us wanted to put it back. His hand slid up under my shirt, rougher against my skin, and my entire body answered at once. His mouth moved to my neck. I shivered. Every part of me felt awake. He paused there for half a second, forehead resting against my shoulder like he was trying to hold on to one last piece of control. Then his hand tightened at my waist, and he kissed his way back up, slower this time, like he wanted to feel every reaction I gave him and ke ep all of it. I slid my hands into his hair and pulled him back to me. “Liam.” The way his name came out changed something in him.
His head lifted. His face was open now in a way that almost undid me. Want. Love. The effort it was taking him not to rush me. The fact that he still would not move faster than I wanted, even now, even like this. That tenderness made it all worse. Better. I reached for him again, needing him closer, and he came without hesitation, settling over me with a care that only made the heat between us harder to bear. Somewhere in the midst of it all, we lost our clothing. His hands moved over me with growing certainty. My back arched as he made a low sound against my skin that sent a sharp pulse through me. I wanted all of him. His mouth found my neck again, my breasts. When he flicked his tongue over my nipple, I gasped. He groaned softly against my skin and moved over me, as desperate as I was. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “Please.” The word came out softer than I intended, but he heard everything in it —the want, the need, the love. He pressed his forehead against mine again, like he needed one last second to steady himself before giving me what I was asking for. His hand slid into my hair as his other gripped my waist. Every touch said he was paying attention. Every second said he knew exactly what this meant to me. I had never felt safer wanting someone this much. His hand came up to my face. “Tell me.” I swallowed. “I’m here. I want this. I want you.” The look that crossed his face nearly wrecked me. Then he kissed me again, and this time there was no distance left in it. Only hunger. Only love. Only the hard, steady certainty of being wanted by someone who knew exactly how much I mattered. I let myself have it. I let myself pull him closer. I let myself stop thinking. By the time he thrust into me, I was shaking with need, shaking with the force of wanting and being wanted back with equal intensity. I arched my back and moaned in sheer relief. He felt so damn good inside me. Liam k ept murmuring my name against my skin like it meant something sacred. I k ept answering him because I had nothing left to hide. His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm. Every thrust made me gasp as pleasure washed over me in waves. He took my hand, lacing our fingers together as my orgasm crashed over me.
Trembling from the force of it, I cried out and clenched around him. He stayed with me through it, his mouth at my throat, my shoulder, my cheek, saying my name over and over with an aching reverence that made everything feel bigger. I touched his face. “Come here,” I said softly. I let go of his hand and pushed gently at his shoulder until he understood. He went without resistance, rolling onto his back and bringing me with him in one smooth movement, his hands sliding to my waist to steady me as I rose over him. His face changed when I settled there, a possessive streak flaring in his eyes. I sat up slowly, giving him time to look at me, letting myself look at him. His hands stayed on my hips, firm and warm, but he didn’t move. He was letting me choose the pace now. Letting me take what I wanted from him the way he had just given me everything. I put my hands on his chest and moved, ke eping my eyes locked on his. The sound he made was low and immediate. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat working hard. His hands roamed up my stomach and to my breasts, squeezing lightly before they made their way back down and gripped my ass. His gaze came back to me, heavy and direct, and I felt it everywhere. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. “Zoey,” he said, his voice rough and wrecked. I leaned down and kissed him. He answered with the same hungry devotion. The care with which he attended made me feel almost unbearably tender. It also made me want to ruin what was left of his control. I kissed his jaw, his mouth, his temples. My fingers slid into his hair and held there while I moved over him again, slower this time, watching what it did to him. He opened his eyes fully then. The look on his face nearly destroyed me. Love. Want. Pride. Something possessive and helpless all at once. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. I shook my head once, already overwhelmed, and he gave a short, helpless laugh that was almost a groan when I rolled my hips again. I grinned, loving that I could make him feel this way. His hands slid up my back, then down again. Then, with a low sound that seemed to have been pulled out of him against his will, he pushed himself upright beneath me and braced his back against the headboard, bringing me with him so I was still wrapped around him. The change in position brought us chest to chest, mouth to mouth. It let me feel the full strength of him while I moved in his lap.
His mouth found my chest when I leaned forward, his lips against my breast, his forehead pressing there briefly, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss me or just stay close enough to feel that I was real. I cupped his face and made him look at me. “I love you,” I said as another orgasm built inside me. His hands came up to hold me more fully, one spread wide at my back, the other at the side of my face, and for one suspended second we just looked at each other while my body k ept moving with helpless urgency over his. “Again,” he said quietly. I swallowed. “I love you.” He shut his eyes for a second. “Mine,” he said, not harsh, not demanding. Full of awe. Full of feeling. “My girl. My heart. All of you.” The words hit me so hard I nearly folded over him. I kissed him and k ept moving, faster now, desperate and aching and completely past the point of pretending I was in control of any of this. He met me there at last. Not taking over. Joining me. His hips lifted to meet mine with the same care and hunger that had been building in him all night, and the change in pace tore another cry from me. His name fell out of my mouth again and again. His hands held me exactly where I needed them, his mouth moving over whatever part of me he could reach, kissing, praising, half losing his mind under me and trying to give me everything anyway. The pressure built fast. I clutched at his shoulders, and he knew immediately. “I’ve got you,” he said. That was all it took. The second orgasm hit harder than the first, dragging a helpless sound out of me as I came apart. He held me through it, one hand spread over my back, the other gripping my hip, his own control finally giving way as he followed me over the edge with my name breaking from him in a way I would remember for the rest of my life. His arm tightened around my back. His other hand slid into my hair, steadying me, and when he tipped his forehead to mine again, his whole body felt different. More focused. More intent. Like every instinct in him had narrowed to this one moment. “Zoey,” he said, rough now. “Look at me.” I did. His chest rose hard under my hands. “If I do this, it will be real. Permanent. You’ll feel it.” My pulse jumped. I knew what he meant. He k ept his gaze locked on mine, giving me all the space in the world to stop him. “I want it,” I whispered. His hand tightened once at the back of my neck. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The word came out without hesitation. Something in his face broke open completely after that. Love. Relief. Hunger. Devotion so intense it made my throat ache. He kissed me de eply. Slowly. Like he wanted me to feel the choice in it. Then his mouth moved to my throat. He paused there, every part of him held taut. And when he finally claimed me, the sensation tore through me so suddenly and so completely that I lost all sense of where my body ended and his began. Pleasure hit first. Fierce and bright and impossible to contain. Then something warmer flooded in behind it, de eper and more complete than anything I had ever felt. It was him. Not just touch. Not just heat. Him, pouring through me in a way that made every nerve in my body light up at once. My cry broke loose without warning. The room vanished. Everything vanished exc ept the overwhelming rush of being wanted, chosen, held, known. I came apart in his arms with a force that felt almost unreal, shaking so hard I could barely hold onto him. He did it for me, both arms around me now, ke eping me close, mouth still at my throat, his body braced around mine as wave after wave moved through me. “That’s it,” he said against my skin, wrecked and reverent at once. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I could barely breathe. Barely think. All I could do was cling to him and feel. His control finally gave way completely, and he came with my name breaking from him like a confession, like a prayer, like something he had been holding in his body for far too long. I stayed wrapped around him, trembling, my face against his neck, his arms locked around me so tightly it felt like he was afraid to let even an inch of space return between us. His mouth found my forehead, then my temple, then the place just beside my mouth. “You okay?” he asked softly, though he sounded half gone himself. I laughed shakily, stunned, and happier than I knew what to do with. “No. I think you just rewired my entire body.” His laugh was muffled against my skin. “Good,” he said, pulling me even closer.
Epilogue Liam The cabin felt different with Zoey’s things in it. It finally felt like a home. Her books had taken over one wall in the living room and looked like a rainbow. Apparently, color was a system, and I had been overruled. Her mug with the chipped handle lived beside the sink. Markie’s travel perch sat by the window, currently unoccupied because he had spent the last twenty minutes screaming at Bobbi when she arrived, then demanded to be included on her walk to the main lodge. Zoey’s coat hung beside mine by the door. Her boots were lined up crooked. I had fixed them twice. The place finally looked lived in. It looked like ours. I locked the back door, checked it once, then looked over and caught her watching me with that expression she used when she was deciding whether to tease me, or let me have my peace. “You know, everyone coming to my birthday dinner would probably understand if a murderer somehow fought through your extremely thorough security measures,” she said. “I don’t like to leave variables unchecked.” “You don’t like to leave anything unchecked.” “That’s also true.” Her lips curved. She st epped closer and fixed my scarf where it had shifted under my coat collar, fingers quick and certain. She had gotten comfortable touching me in small, thoughtless ways over the last few months—straightening my shirt or tugging me by the sleeve. I especially liked it when she trailed her hand over my back when she passed. Every time it happened, something in me still lit up. It hadn’t worn off. Nothing about her had worn off. “We really didn’t need a party,” she said. I took her hand and opened the porch door for her. “We did.” “We didn’t.” “We absolutely did.” She st epped out onto the front porch with me and pulled the door shut. The late afternoon had gone gold around the edges. The trees ringing Pine Hollow were half turned now. Leaves covered the ground in layers of copper, rust, and yellow. The lake beyond the main lodge was dark. Nearby, somebody had a woodstove going. The cold had sharpened over the last week, enough that Zoey had started stealing my heavier sweaters and saying they were temporarily borrowed. Ahead of us, the path to the main building cut through the trees in a line I could walk blindfolded. I tightened my hand around hers as we started down the path.
“You’re suspiciously cheerful,” she said. “It’s your birthday.” “That doesn’t explain why you look like you won the lottery.” “I don’t know what that means.” “It means you look pleased with yourself.” “I am pleased with myself.” She narrowed her eyes. “Because you forced a birthday gathering on a woman who specifically said she didn’t require one?” “I didn’t force anything. I organized.” “Somehow, that makes it more sinister.” I grinned. “There it is,” she said. “That face. You’re unbearable.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead, just because she was right there and I wanted to. “No,” I said. “I’m right.” She made a sound under her breath that meant she disagreed but was too cold to fight about it properly. “Birthdays weren’t really a big thing for me,” she said softly. I looked at her. She k ept her attention on the path ahead. Leaves crunched under our boots. “They always turned weird,” she said. “Or bad. My mom had a gift for making them about whatever crisis was happening with her that week. Or she’d promise things and then forget. Or there would be some dramatic emotional spiral and I’d spend half the day managing it.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “By the time I got older, I mostly stopped trying. It felt easier to act like I didn’t care.” The words landed hard inside me. Not because I hadn’t understood pieces of that already, but because I could hear the version of her that had learned to lower expectations before they could be taken from her. I slowed our pace and brought her hand to my mouth. “That’s over.” She glanced up at me. “Birthdays will be different from now on,” I said. “No surprises that aren’t good ones. No emotional hostage situations. No one forgetting what the day is. You get fed properly. You get celebrated properly. That’s the arrangement.” Her expression changed in that way it did when something reached de eper than she had pr epared for. Softer around the edges. More vulnerable than she liked to leave visible for long. “You say things like that very casually for someone restructuring my nervous system.” “I’m very efficient.” She huffed a laugh. We came around the bend where the main building appeared through the trees. Pine Hollow sat warm and lit against the falling evening. The porch glowed. Music drifted faintly through the open door. Someone inside shouted, followed by laughter.
Zoey’s shoulders shifted, tension and anticipation both there. I brushed my thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?” “Yes,” she said. Then, because she was Zoey, “Annoyingly.” “That’s fine.” “No, it isn’t.” “It is for you.” She looked at me and some of the nerves in her expression gave way to fond exasperation. I loved that look more than I had language for. I’d had people here before her. Nora. Pete. Even Mr. Harlan, who had somehow become a regular part of my life through the usual route of r epeated irritation and eventual loyalty. They were mine in the way that mattered. Chosen. Relationships built over time. But standing there with Zoey’s hand in mine, heading toward a room full of people who would cheer when they saw her, I felt the shape of it more fully than I ever had. My pack. Not the old kind, the one that had been ruled by fear or rank or silence. Mine because I loved them. Mine because they stayed. Mine because she was walking into the center of it with me. I had never felt so whole. We st epped onto the porch and through the open door. The main room lit up immediately. “Hey!” The shout came from three directions at once. Zoey stopped short as everyone turned toward us and broke into cheers. Nora was behind the bar, grinning like she had personally arranged the sunset. Pete raised both hands in triumph from the dartboard area. Mei clapped once, sharp and satisfied. Cris, Jamie, Morgan, and Alex were gathered around one of the long tables with drinks in hand, and all four of them looked delighted by Zoey’s discomfort. Mr. Harlan sat in an armchair near the fir eplace with a mug and the expression of a man who would deny enjoying any of this if asked directly. Bobbi was crouched on the floor near the hearth with Markie. Markie was wearing a tiny felt birthday hat balanced at a precarious angle. Bobbi had a second hat in her lap and was apparently trying to convince him there should be more glitter in volved. Zoey slowly turned her head, looking from face to face. The cheering got louder. “Oh, absolutely not,” she said. Morgan nearly folded over laughing. “That face means she loves it.” “I do not,” Zoey said.
“You do,” Jamie called. Alex lifted her glass. “You look hot and offended. It’s very on brand.” Pete pointed dramatically toward the bar. “Birthday woman. I made you something.” “That sentence has never once ended well,” Zoey said. “It’s a cocktail,” he said. “Have some faith.” “She doesn’t have that,” Cris said. “It’s one of her more charming defects.” Bobbi spotted us at last and jumped up so fast Markie nearly lost his hat. “Zoey!” she shouted. “Markie already had half a pretzel and one tiny crisis, but I handled it.” “DOG,” Markie screeched when he saw me, which had everyone laughing. Bobbi ran over and wrapped herself around Zoey’s side with the unselfconscious force of a child who had decided affection was happening. Zoey caught herself against me with her free hand, then automatically rested that same hand at the top of Bobbi’s back. It was one of my favorite things about her. Care lived inside her even when she acted like it didn’t. “Happy birthday,” Bobbi said. “Thank you.” “I told everyone you hate attention.” “Doesn’t seem like your warning worked.” “It was helpful context.” Markie climbed onto the back of the nearest chair, puffed up his chest, and yelled, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASS.” Pete slapped the bar and laughed. He probably enjoyed Markie more than any of us. Mr. Harlan shook his head and grinned into his mug. “Bird’s got timing.” “Bird has range,” Pete said. I took Zoey’s coat from her while Bobbi k ept hold of her arm and towed her farther inside. She let it happen because she was outnumbered and because, whether she admitted it or not, she was already smiling. I hung the coat and joined her near the dartboard. Pete set a glass in front of her with theatrical seriousness. “This is called The Emergency Contact.” Zoey stared at him. He looked pleased. “Dark cherry. Bourbon. Orange. A little smoky. Mildly threatening.” “That is excellent branding,” Alex said. Zoey picked up the drink and eyed it. “This feels targeted.” “Celebratory,” Pete corrected.
“Same thing,” she said, then took a sip. Everyone watched her. Her eyes closed for one second. “There it is,” Pete said. “That’s the face.” She opened them again and pointed at him. “Do not get smug. I don’t want to encourage you.” “It’s good,” Nora said to the room. “He’s been polishing the conc ept for two weeks. Based it off a traditional old-fashioned.” I st epped up behind Zoey and rested my hand at her waist. She leaned back into me. Darts started again two minutes later. Apparently, nothing brought people together like the chance to insult each other competitively. Bobbi demanded to ke ep score even though her math was openly biased. Markie shouted “DOG” every time I threw. Pete declared that he was leaving if I won. Zoey stood with her birthday drink in one hand, fully on form now, and every time she laughed, I felt the same warm pull through my chest that hadn’t let up since I first met her. At one point, she tilted her head back against my shoulder and said, quietly enough that no one else heard, “This is a lot.” I slid my arm around her middle. “Yes,” I said. She turned slightly, just enough to look at me. “But,” I added, “you’re doing great.” Her mouth twitched. “That is a ridiculous thing to say to someone who is doing nothing but standing here.” “Yes,” I said. “And yet.” She looked at me seriously, then. “Thank you,” she mouthed. I kissed her forehead. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her cardigan. I felt her go still for half a second before she pulled it out. Her expression changed the moment she saw the screen. Just a tiny pause in her whole body that told me exactly who it was before I ever saw the name. Mom. Zoey looked at the phone for a second like she was deciding whether this birthday was allowed to remain peaceful. Then she opened the message. I stayed quiet and k ept my arm around her. Her eyes moved once across the screen. Then again, slower. Surprise came over her first, then caution. Then a strange softness I didn’t know how to read. “You okay?” I asked quietly. She let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, if laughter had edges. “My mother got a job,” she said.
I looked at her. “She says it pays well.” Zoey’s gaze dropped back to the phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen. “She thanked me for all my support over the years. And that she can take it from here.” For a second, the noise in the room seemed to pull back around us. Zoey read the message one more time. Her face did something small and complicated. Relief, maybe. Grief. Suspicion. Hope. I didn’t try to sort it for her. I kissed her temple. “That’s good.” “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It is.” Her mouth curved, but only a little. “I know.” She stared at the screen for one more beat, then typed something quickly and locked her phone. “What did you say?” I asked. “Congratulations,” she said. “And thank you.” I nodded. That seemed right. She looked around us. Bobbi trying to steal Jamie’s darts. Nora taking away Pete’s lighter before he could overcommit to the smoky garnish demonstration. Mr. Harlan pretending not to laugh while Markie screamed “WEAK FORM!” at everyone in turn. Her friends from the beginning of all this, loud and alive and still here. She looked at all of it. And when she looked back at me again, something in her face had gone open and quiet in a way I would always answer if she offered it. “You were right,” she said. “I know.” “I hate that.” I brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “No, you don’t.” She took another sip of her drink and settled more firmly against me while everyone k ept moving around us. Outside, the leaves k ept falling. Inside, her party went on without crisis, without damage, without anyone asking her to hold the whole thing together. She didn’t have to manage a single part of it. She only had to be there. And when she reached back and found my hand without even looking for it, I thought that maybe this was my favorite version of forever.