He takes my hand, squeezes it once. “Let’s get your stuff and go.”
We climb the stairs to the second floor, and I dig my keys out of my pocket. The lock sticks like it always does, and I have to jiggle it twice before the door swings open.
Tolin steps inside first, and I watch his face as he takes it in.
The secondhand couch with the sagging middle cushionthat I got from a thrift store for forty dollars. The folding table I use for eating, working, and everything else because I couldn’t afford a real dining set. The bare walls with not a single picture or piece of art. The kitchen with mismatched dishes and a refrigerator that hums too loud.
He doesn’t say anything. Just turns in a slow circle, his expression unreadable.
But I can feel him through the bond. The sadness. The quiet anger. The fierce protectiveness building in him, his bear close to the surface.
“It’s not much,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “But it was mine.”
“Imani.” His voice is rough.
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I made it work. I survived.”
“You did more than survive.” He crosses the room and pulls me into his arms. “But you’re never living like this again. You understand me?”
I let myself lean into him for a moment, breathing in his scent, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek. Then I pull back and pat his chest.
“Come on, grumpy bear. Help me pack.”
He doesn’t move to help, though. Instead, he wanders through the small space like he’s cataloging every detail. He opens the refrigerator, finds it mostly empty. Checks the cabinets, sees the mismatched plates and single pot I own. Runs his hand along the folding table, testing its wobble.
I grab some boxes from the closet and start packing my clothes. I don’t have much. A few work outfits, some casual clothes, pajamas. It all fits in one box with room to spare.
“You know,” I say as I fold a sweater, “I need to pay you back.”
He looks up from where he’s examining my pathetic little bookshelf. “What?”
“Double pay.” I raise an eyebrow. “That was the deal. Double pay for cleaning your cabin and stocking your pantry.”
“Our cabin,” he corrects. “And I don’t want that money back. It’s yours.”
I roll my eyes.
“Why not?” I put my hands on my hips. “You didn’t let me do a single thing I was hired for. I didn’t clean your cabin. I didn’t prep for your hibernation. I didn’t do any actual work.” I tilt my head. “You paid me for nothing, Tolin.”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “So?”
“So that’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” He’s already moved on, poking his head into the bathroom, probably judging my tiny shower and chipped tile. “You came. You stayed. That’s worth more than double pay.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.” He emerges from the bathroom and crosses the room to me, tipping my chin up with one finger. “I’d pay ten times that to have you in my life. The money doesn’t matter.”
I want to argue more, but the look in his eyes steals the words right out of my mouth. He means it. Every word.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m putting it on the record that you’re impossible.”
“Noted.”
I go back to packing while he continues his exploration. When I open my closet to grab shoes, I see the shoebox on the top shelf. I hesitate, then pull it down and sit on the edgeof my bed, lifting the lid. Inside is every dollar I’ve managed to save since moving to Shadow Wolf Creek. Crumpled fives, wrinkled twenties, a few fifties I was particularly proud of. I count it out, then add my last paycheck from Shadow Suds.
Five hundred and twelve dollars.
