Page 83 of Wishing for a Werewolf
The wagon takes off, moving down the driveway at a sedate pace. The farm looks so pretty with the farmhouse and barn lit by the golden evening sunlight. I wave at Dad, who leads the goats from the little petting zoo area back over to the southern pasture.
The horses turn onto the main road, their hooves clopping against the pavement. The other people use the opportunity to ask more about the goats and about making soap. Rune directs them to me, and when I tell them they can watch me make soap by hand on my YouTube channel, my phone pings to let me know I have new subscribers. A thrill goes through me—almost everyone today chose to take one of my handmade PSL soap samples instead of the regular lavender or peppermint. This all feels like proof that if I can just find a way to show people my specialty soaps, they’ll sell.
We turn up Main Street, and all of the gingerbread-trimmed shops look cuter than ever at this sedate pace. When we stop beside the town green, everyone else climbs off, but I grip Rune’s forearm to stop him from getting up.
His delicious, delicious forearm. Yum. My hand lingers, stroking up and down the corded muscles.
His deep voice jolts me from my daze. “Do you like my forearms?”
“What? No!” I yelp. “I mean, I like them a normal amount. The amount you’re supposed to like a forearm.”
He chuckles, showing I haven’t fooled him.
Oh, god, my cheeks feel like fire. I wish the straw we’re sitting on would open up and swallow me whole. Thank god, I don’t mutter it out loud and actually make it happen. Small effing miracles.
The wagon takes off again, ambling back down Main Street with only the two of us in the back. Even though there’s now plenty of room, we stay exactly where we were, touching from shoulders to thighs. I let my body sink against his firm strength, relaxing fully for the first time today.
Once we’re away from downtown, the forest closes in around us, the trees looking more beautiful than ever, their leaves blazing in the falling light, the sky overhead streaked with a matching orange as the sun sets.
Rune and I remain quiet, but it’s a completely comfortable silence, one that feels amazingly special. I’ve never been able to justbewith someone like this before, enjoying their company without the pressure to talk, to entertain. It feels like the kind of calm I occasionally reach toward the end of a good yoga session, when my body moves without conscious thought and I’m fully in the moment.
The sweet smell of straw mixes with the scent of fallen leaves and pine to make a blend that reminds me of those first cool autumn nights where you drink hot cocoa by the fire.
I haven’t done that in years. My cottage doesn’t have a fireplace. But Rune’s house does.
An ache fills my chest. I want that—I want more firsts with him. To be there when he tastes his first sip of hot cocoa, to snuggle up to him and share his first piece oflate-night pumpkin pie.
I want a future with him, one not bound by the requirements of any spell.
One built on love.
Because as his shoulder presses into mine and he meets my gaze with a gorgeous, contented smile, I realize one crucial thing…
I love Rune, and I want all of this to be real.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Autumn
The hay maze runs all Saturday without a single hitch other than the fact I have to run to the soap barn between each group of people to cut up more PSL soap samples, since they’re the ones people are taking as prizes. I’ll need to make a triple batch on Monday to make up for it, but I couldn’t be happier that so many people like my soap.
Jared even cycles over to snap a few photos and interview people about the maze for his local-news blog.
Mom and Dad drop by every so often to look things over, not saying much yet about the event but smiling and greeting everyone they know.
Babybelle loves the constant attention and puts on a little show for each new group.
And Rune… Rune’s one-hundred percent there for me, always by my side, always willing to lend a helping hand with anything that comes up. His support feels amazing, from the way he helps with the goats to the way he dashed into the maze to find the mischievous toddler who’d run away from her parents to the time he leant his strong arm to a grandma who couldn’t walk very well so she could do the maze with her grandson. I couldn’t ask for a more supportive partner, and every time he goes out of his way to help someone, it only makes me love him more.
Once the last wagon of people rolls away, Riselda and the werepuppies join us, and Hannah—in a total lifesaver move—drops off pizzas from Slice of Life.
I light a fire in the backyard fire pit, and we settle on the wooden outdoor furniture for an impromptu picnic.
The werepuppies are restless. They’re hungry, but they’re more interested in dessert than dinner, no matter how many times their mother tells them to finish their food.
“We never had this kind of trouble when we were wolves,” Rune grumbles. “If I caught squirrel, you ate squirrel and were happy for it.”
“But we want pie!” “And cookies!”
