Page 9 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

“You’ve been on edge since you got here.”

She sighs. “I just... didn’t expect it to be so... loud. And messy. And unplannable.”

I chuckle. “That’s camp, sweetheart.”

She shoots me a look but doesn’t correct the nickname this time.

“I thought if I had enough structure, enough plans... I wouldn’t have to think about everything I left behind.”

There it is.

I don’t push. Just nod. “Yeah. Been there.”

She glances over. “You have?”

“Didn’t come here ‘cause I love crafts,” I say. “Came here ‘cause I didn’t know where the hell else to go.”

Silence again.

She whispers, “He cheated on me.”

My chest tightens. “Shit.”

“With my best friend.”

“Doubleshit.”

“I walked in on them. In my apartment. On my couch.”

I let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t burn the place down?”

“I thought about it.”

“Respect.”

She laughs—quiet, but real.

I reach over, flick a dried leaf from her shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She looks down. “I know. But I keep... acting like I did. Like if I was just more fun. Or spontaneous. Or exciting... maybe he wouldn’t have.”

“Sounds like he was a dick.”

“He was... charming.”

I snort. “Yeah, well. So’s poison ivy.”

She smiles at that. A little more this time. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them that wasn’t there before.

Trust, maybe. Or the start of it.

“Thanks for the walk,” she says.

“Anytime. Seriously. We should do this again. Minus the mud.”

She gives me a shy smile. “Next time I fall, I expect at leastsomesympathy.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll cry real tears.”

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