“It’s only me. Sorry.” He emerged from the woods, hands up, palms out, just in case this was a terrible idea after all.
Mitchel didn’t look angry, only surprised to see him. His gloved hands and the worn knees of an old pair of jeans were covered in dirt. Gardening then. How charming.
“Do you need something?” Mitchel wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm.
“Uh, no. Not really.” Shit. He should have thought of what he’d say when he got here. Being tongue-tied around the alpha wolf was embarrassing.
“Okay. Then why are you here?”
Good question. If only he knew the answer himself. “Needed some air. Before I knew this was your place, I used to come and sit on that rock”—he gestured toward the pleasant spot he’d found his first time here—“and watch the stream. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You’re not.” Mitchel nodded to the rock in question. “Go on and sit. I don’t mind."
“Thanks.” Sinclair watched as long as he dared as Mitchel returned to the overgrown garden
He hadn’t come to stare at the creek. No, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted Mitchel’s attention. But he had no good conversation starters. No reason to draw the man from his chores. So he sat on the blasted rock.
As luck would have it, Mitchel joined him not ten minutes later, settling a couple of feet away. He took off his gloves and set them in his lap. “I like this spot too. Did you know being next to running water is good for you? Negative ions in the air. Helps you relax.”
“Oh, really? No, I didn’t know that.” Sinclair did know that. “Maybe that’s why I like it here.”
“Maybe.” Mitchel flicked a pebble into the water. “So how are things going?”
Sinclair told himself it was the alpha in Mitchel that made him ask. He probably didn’t really care. But it was his duty to oversee his pack, and like it or not, Sinclair lived with his pack.
“Everything’s good. Classes are good. Writing’s been good.”Who am I, and what’s happened to my vocabulary?“Um, the house is good…” He paused. He couldn’t do this. “No, that’s a lie. The house is awful, everyone hates me, and I’m sad, angry, or lonely like ninety percent of the time, and I miss the little things I always took for granted. Like fucking cereal!”
Mitchel raised an eyebrow. “You miss fucking cereal?”
Heat flushed his cheeks. “No, I mean I miss proper cereal. With milk. But I have to eat mine plain because your wolf pack threatens me when I set foot into their kitchen. As if I want their stupid food anyway. They steal any groceries I bring home, and you can’t keep milk without a refrigerator, so I miss cereal, you know? And every other food that requires more than a closet to store it in.” He let out a long breath.
“Oh.” Mitchel stared.
Oh god, this was a torture of his own making. What had possessed him to spill his guts like that?
“I’ll talk to them,” Mitchel said.
Sinclair waved this off. “No, no, don’t do that. I can handle it. I don’t even know why I told you. It’s not important.” The last thing he wanted was someone to solve all his problems for him, just like home. That was half the reason he’d left. “Forget it.”
“I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to, but listen. They can be jerks, and it’s probably my fault. I haven’t set a good example. They’re taking advantage because you let them. Call them out on their bullshit and stand your ground. They’ll respect you more for it.”
“I guess I don’t care enough for all that.” A sense of defeat sat heavily on his shoulders.
“That’s the problem. If they know you don’t care, they’ll walk all over you. If you want them to stop, demand it.”
“Thanks for the advice. When they decide to eat me, I hope you’ll speak at my funeral.”
Mitchel laughed. “Here lies Sinclair, scholar and cereal fucker. May he rest in peace.”
Sinclair grinned despite himself, noting how Mitchel’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your…meditation?”
“No, you’re fine. I appreciate the company. Oh, but I don’t want to keep you from what you were doing either.”
“I was harvesting the last of the vegetables. The garden is almost finished for the season. When the first frost comes, the last of it will die off. Do you want some squash?”
Sinclair blinked. “Wait, are you offering me squash because you know I’ll have to use the kitchen to cook it?”
