The moment snapped, the laughter picked up again, and the spell broke. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming for me, fast as a pickup on an empty Texas road.
Harper and I walked the two blocks from Buttercream & Blessings to our new space, shoes crunching lightly tapping on the sidewalk, the sun a strobe between clouds and power lines. Dairyville’s main drag looked like a diorama of “Old America” you’d see in a Norman Rockwell painting: flags on every pole, window displays of antique furniture, little mannequins modeling tiny dresses, shop owners sweeping the same three feet of curb for the thousandth time. We came upon our storefront, and I tried to imagine how my gallery windows might look one day.
Harper unlocked the door with a flourish, giving me a look that said, “You better be excited about this.” I was. I truly was.
Inside, the air was cool, stale, and thick with the must of old wood floors and dust. The front room was huge, its bones visible in the cracks of lath and the warping of the once beautiful ceiling tiles. Light came in through a grid of mismatched glass, painting strange shapes on the floorboards. It was at best, a haunted mansion for bored ghosts; at worst, a condemned structure waiting for a legal reason to collapse.
But Harper beamed, and for a second, I could almost see it: the echo of music and movement, a large mirror along one wall, barre attached. The blank walls blooming with color. Through an opening, another large space opened up. It mirrored the other side. Twin doors to Main Street with the panes of the window lights painted over took up one wall. I could imagine the others covered in my art and the art of other Texas artists. My pulse thumped in my throat, the earlier weirdness replaced by something like nervous hope.
“Think anyone else could do this?” she said, spinning in a slow, arms out circle. “Dance studio in Dairyville, Texas. Art gallery. Us, together.”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “There’s probably a reason no one’s done it before. We’re either brilliant or doomed.”
She laughed, and the sound rebounded off every wall, loud and exuberant. “I’ll take both. I spent my entire childhood dreaming of something bigger. That wound up buying me years of essentially prison time. Now, Ithink small sounds pretty damn good. If the bitch pack will let me…” She stopped, then started again. “You know they tried their damnedest to keep bringing up the fact that I danced in that goddamn club. Made it out that I liked it; that I wasn’t worthy to be in this pack or being Jess’s mate.”
That sent my anger nuclear. “You just show me who it was, Harper. I’ll personally rip their throats out. Consequences be damned. You’re the best fucking person I know. Who are they to judge you or anyone for that matter?”
She walked up to me and put her hands on my shoulders, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you, little sis. But there is no need for you to do anything. Our Luna tore each one of them new assholes. She called in their husbands also. And if they didn’t have a husband, she called in their fathers. Let them all know under no uncertain circumstances that if any of them were ever heard saying one sideways thing about me, she’d personally escort them off of Iron Valor pack territory.”
I could not believe that. “Holy shit!”
“Rest easy, Brie Bear. Our Luna has our backs.” She stood confidently in saying those words.
“So you’re good now? Everyone plays nice with you?”
“God, no,” she said, snorting. “But… they’re not so bad now. Or maybe I just don’t care anymore.” She looked at me, serious for a second. “I think you belong here too.”
I didn’t answer. The truth was, I didn’t know yet if Ididbelong here, or anywhere. But it seemed I’d found my little tribe. Parker, Maddie, and Aspen all seemed to truly care about me. I know I’d fight for them. And Juliet was a Luna who, while only a few years older than me, seemed so much wiser. I had no doubt she had my back. I had more than enough reasons to want to stay, not even counting Finn.
Before I could change the subject, the door creaked behind us. In walked who I assumed was the architect, Chantel, straight from Amarillo. She was tall, model-thin, with shiny strawberry blonde hair and green eyesthat missed nothing. Her suit looked expensive, and her face looked like it had never broken a sweat. She carried a leather portfolio under one arm and didn’t bother with a handshake.
“You must be Brie and Harper,” she said, nodding once. “I’m Chantel from Frost & Cook. I’m early, hope that’s okay.”
Her gaze slid over us, noting every frayed edge and boot scuff. I felt my cheeks flush, but Harper just smiled and motioned her inside.
Chantel was a wolf from the Rose Valley pack. Bronc said her reputation was great, but he wasn’t familiar with her. She was all business and got right to it. She opened the portfolio and spread blueprints over a card table, weighing down the corners with paint chips and a stack of granite samples. “I’ve sketched out three options for the dance floor. Floating laminate’s cheapest, but the sprung floor is best for the ankles.” She tapped each drawing, rapid-fire. “We’ll need to reinforce the mirrors on this wall—support’s terrible, and you don’t want glass shrapnel with kids around. For the gallery, I recommend track lighting, and we can do movable panels to maximize hanging space.”
She was efficient, impersonal, and even I had to admit her ideas made sense. She clearly had done her research as well. I’d never even heard of a sprung floor. She talked about color theory like it was a branch of military science, and every time Harper mentioned a hope or worry, Chantel had an answer before the thought was finished.
We spent an hour pacing the floor, measuring windows, squinting at paint swatches. Harper was all energy, bouncing from detail to detail, while I hung back, watching Chantel work. She was completely unflappable, and after a while, I started to find her confidence reassuring, almost soothing. It was like having a dictator for a decorator.
As she finished, Chantel snapped her folder shut and gave us a look, clinical but not unkind. “You’re both very different. That’s a good thing, for a business. You’ll need each other.”
It sounded like a threat, but I knew she meant it as advice.
Harper thanked her, and they set up a follow-up appointment for next week. As soon as the door shut behind Chantel, we both dissolved into snorts.
“She is terrifying,” I said, clutching my stomach. “I thought she was going to have me sandblasted.”
“She’s perfect,” Harper said, giddy. “She’s like a general, but for art supplies.”
I slumped onto the dusty floor, letting the sunlight draw patterns over my shorts. “She looked at us like we were trailer trash. Maybe she thinks that about our pack too. If only she knew, we Iron Valor wolves rubbed elbows with kings.”
Harper grinned, her eyes bright. “She will eventually.”
I looked at her, at the empty room, the blueprints, the possibilities. For the first time in months, I wanted something—a future, a place that belonged to me; and sharing it with my sister seemed pretty perfect.
“We’ll make it work,” I said, and almost believed it.
