Page 123 of Found by the Pack
Before she can press, Millie slips back in, balancing a basket. “I almost forgot—Cora had fresh muffins out, so I brought some for everyone.”
The scent of blueberries fills the room. She sets the basket down, her eyes flicking to me with that same hope she had earlier.
“I’m not hungry,” I say gently.
Her smile falters, just a little, before she turns to leave again.
When the door closes, Marjorie gives me a long, pointed look. “That girl has a crush on you.”
I almost choke. “No. You’re wrong. Millie’s too young.”
Marjorie waves a hand. “Not that young. And not wrong. I know the look of a girl nursing a soft spot.”
“She’s… she deserves someone her own age,” I insist, too fast.
Marjorie hums again, like she knows better, then pats my arm. “Anyway. You’ve been carrying shadows lately. Take the day off, Shepard. Rest.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Truly.”
But I’m not.
Not when every day for three days I’ve woken up aching for a woman who isn’t mine in any way that matters. Not when every hour I fight the urge to text Boone back, to find Gabe, to walk across the street and knock on Sadie’s door like I have any right.
I’m not fine. I don’t think I will be again.
When the library is quiet again, really quiet, I let myself do something I haven’t in years.
I pull a sheet of paper from the drawer, slide a pen across the desk, and just look at the blank space.
My fingers hover, hesitant. It’s been so long since I’ve done this.
Journaling used to be second nature. Every night before bed, I’d pour the thoughts out of my head and onto the page.
Camilla used to tease me about it.
“You’re like some Victorian widow,” she’d say, grinning as she leaned over my shoulder, trying to read. “Pouring your heart into letters no one will ever see.”
“Better than bottling it up,” I’d reply, tugging the notebook away before she could peek.
She’d laugh, kiss me, call me a romantic under her breath.
The memory makes me smile, faint and sad.
I lower the pen to the page and start to write. Not polished. Not poetic. Just honest.
I’m tangled up in things I shouldn’t be. I wake up with her scent in my lungs, her face behind my eyes. I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. About her. About what I did. What we did.
Boone texted me. Wants to talk. I don’t know what to say. Gabe hasn’t spoken to me at all. Maybe he never will again. Everything feels fractured. But the worst part is… if she walked through that door right now, I don’t think I could send her away.
A knock jolts me and I freeze, pen mid-stroke. My chest tightens.
When I call, “Come in,” I’m not prepared for what happens next.
The door opens, and it’s her.
Sadie.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
