It was warm and familiar in a way that made no sense at all. My wolf whimpered.
I swallowed hard and reached down, brushing my fingers over his arm where it rested across my waist.
He sighed softly, already half-asleep, trusting enough to let himself relax around me, and that settled like a weight in my chest.
I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not when I didn’t know what it meant, or whether I’d want it in the morning.
Quietly, carefully, I waited until his breathing evened out. Until I was sure he was asleep.
Then I eased his arm away, ignoring the sharp twist of guilt that followed.
I dressed in silence, every movement feeling louder than it should’ve been, my wolf protesting with every step.
Stay, it urged again. I didn’t listen.
I slipped out the door without looking back, telling myself it was better this way.
Present
I brushedmy thumb over my lips without realizing I was doing it.
The memory came back sharp and uninvited. The warmth of Mark’s mouth, the way that last kiss had lingered just a second longer than it should’ve.
I dropped my hand quickly, glancing around the shop like someone might’ve noticed.
Two years.
And somehow, impossibly, it was really him. In Pecan Pines.
Walking around like he hadn’t rearranged something fundamental in my life with one night and a smile I still remembered too well.
I exhaled slowly and focused on the guitar I was restringing, fingers moving on autopilot.
I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to perform with him. The words had come out of my mouth last night before I’d fully thought them through.
I’d considered canceling at least five times since his call.
There was the obvious problem: I’d left him. No note. No explanation.
I’d slipped out of that hotel room like a coward before sunrise.
Was he pissed about that? Was he offering to perform together as a way of getting back at me?
And of course, I’d had to run into him again when I was already off-balance.
Drunk. Frustrated. Missing my band. Missing my dad. Apparently, that was my cue to reopen old wounds.
I forced myself to straighten and roll my shoulders back.
Professional. That was the plan.
This mattered too much to let personal history screw it up.
The Winter Festival wasn’t just another gig. It wasthegig. New Year’s Eve. Biggest crowd of the year.
Even without Noah and Ethan, it was still a chance. A real one.
I’d promised my dad I’d make it onto a stage like that someday. I wasn’t backing out now.
