"Nothing." Everything. Things that made her want to believe and hope and reach for something she'd buried ten years ago. "It doesn't matter."
"Maeve—"
"I said it doesn't matter." She set the glass down, harder than she meant. "He'll finish his investigation and leave. Back to whatever pride he's loyal to now. Back to his life that doesn't include me. Same as before."
Twyla studied her with those too-knowing eyes. "You're scared."
"I'm practical."
"You're terrified." Twyla stood, moving around the bar with fae grace. "Terrified that if you let yourself feel what's between you, he'll leave again. That you'll lose him twice and you're not sure you'd survive it this time."
Maeve turned away, staring at bottles lined up behind the bar. "You're reading too much into it."
Twyla's hand touched her shoulder, gentle. "You look like a lioness who's been alone too long. Who built walls to protect herself and now doesn't know how to let anyone in."
"The walls work fine."
"Do they?" Twyla squeezed her shoulder. "Or do they just keep you lonely?"
Thankfully the door opened with a group of regulars filing in, laughing about something and shaking snow from their coats. Lunch crowd starting early.
Twyla stepped back, picking up her basket. "Think about it. That's all I'm saying."
She left before Maeve could argue, melting into the growing crowd with a wave.
Maeve threw herself into work. Taking orders, pouring drinks, making small talk that required none of her brain and all of her focus. The regulars didn't mention the kiss. Didn't gossip where she could hear. But she caught the looks. The knowing smiles. The way conversations paused when she got too close.
Everyone knew.
Of course everyone knew. This was Hollow Oak. Privacy didn't exist when you lived in a town small enough that everyone recognized your footsteps.
By mid-afternoon, Maeve's nerves were frayed and her patience was shot. She'd snapped at Breck twice, over-pouredthree drinks, and broken a glass in the sink hard enough to cut her palm.
Then her skin prickled knowing the presence before he even walked through the door.
Callum Cross.
Maeve's stomach dropped.
Her cousin looked good. Healthy. Happy in ways he'd never been back in their old pride. His sun-warmed skin had that glow that came from being well-loved, and his blue eyes held contentment instead of the constant wariness she remembered. He wore jeans and a work shirt, his shaggy brown and gold hair tied back, looking every inch the ranger who'd found his place.
"Maeve." He moved closer to the bar, sliding onto a stool. "We need to talk."
"If this is about the kiss?—"
"It's about the fact that you didn't tell me Dante was back." His voice carried an edge. "Had to hear it from Emmett. Who heard it from Varric. Who apparently trusts Dante more than he trusts me to handle my own family business."
Guilt twisted in her chest. "I was going to tell you."
"When? After he left again?" Callum's jaw tightened. "He's been here almost a week, Maeve. A week of him investigating your tavern, hanging around your deliveries, and apparently kissing you during power outages. And you didn't think I should know?"
"I didn't want to drag you into it."
"I'm already in it." He leaned forward, those alpha eyes boring into her. "Dante was my friend. My pride brother. We walked away together and he stayed behind. That's not something I just forget because ten years passed."
"Then why haven't you gone to see him?"
"Because I wanted to talk to you first." His voice softened. "Figure out what's really going on. Whether this is Council business or something else."
