Page 124 of Found by the Pack
“Can I come in?” she asks, voice soft, uncertain.
I blink at her like I’ve conjured her out of ink. She’s wearing a black turtleneck tucked into a high-waisted mini skirt, tights hugging her legs, boots scuffed from use. Her pink-streaked hair falls in loose waves, framing her storm-gray eyes. She’s so pretty it hurts to look at her.
“Hey, Sadie.” My voice comes out lower than I expect, rough. This is the first time I’ve seen her since… since that night.
“Hey,” she echoes, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Of course. Come in.” I push the journal aside, heart thudding.
She steps inside and scans the room like she’s afraid of interrupting something. “I hope I’m not disrupting you. I just… needed some help with something.”
My throat is dry. I swallow against the gravel there. “Not at all.”
She sits in the chair across from my desk, legs crossing, her skirt riding up just enough that I have to look away. I stare at a stack of books instead, trying to keep my voice steady. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she says. Her smile is gentle. “I wanted to thank you. For the other day.”
My chest tightens. I swallow hard, fighting the ache in my throat. “It’s okay. You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do.” Her eyes soften, earnest. “You were there when I needed you. That matters.”
I nod, but I can’t look at her too long without feeling like my insides are unraveling.
She leans back in the chair, crossing her arms lightly. “Are you going for drinks tonight?”
My head jerks up. “Drinks?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Boone didn’t tell you?”
So that’s why Boone texted.
I clear my throat. “He did. Probably, yes.”
“I’d like you to come,” she says, voice quiet but firm.
Something shifts in my chest. I nod once. “Then I’ll come.”
Her smile is small, satisfied. Then she straightens, resting her hands on her knees. “But I did actually need help with something, too.”
“Right.” I clear my throat again, trying to anchor myself. “What’s up?”
She bites her lip, thoughtful. “I want to work on the newest mural. For the outer wall of the Driftwood Cove Fire Station.”
I lean forward, elbows braced on the desk. “That’s a big one.”
“Yeah. And if left to my own devices, I’ll probably paint another phoenix. Which feels… lazy.” Her laugh is self-deprecating, a little nervous. “So I thought maybe you could help me find something different. Something that fits the history of the firehouse. Do you have material? Old newspapers? Anything from the past?”
I pause, thinking. “I might. There are archives in the basement. Clippings, town records. I could dig through them.”
Her eyes light up, that smile spreading. “Would that be too much trouble?”
Trouble. God, she has no idea.
But she’s smiling at me like I’m the only one who can help, and why isn’t she nervous? Why am I the only one who can barely string two sentences together in her presence?
“Of course I’ll help,” I say, quiet but firm.
“Thank you, Shepard.” She leans forward slightly, and for a split second, it feels like the rest of the world drops away.
