He frowned. “What thing?”
“The thing where you track exits every six seconds and tense when someone walks behind me.”
His jaw flexed. “Habit.”
I lowered my voice. “Wolf… this is my safe place.”
He hesitated.
“I need to stand here,” I continued. “In my space. Without you between me and the world.”
His eyes searched mine — conflict raw and visible.
“And I need to know,” I added gently, “that you trust me to live.”
That landed.
Hard.
He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to unlearn protecting you.”
I smiled softly. “You don’t have to stop. Just… loosen your grip.”
A long beat passed.
Then Wolf stepped back.
Not far.
But enough.
He leaned against the bar instead of standing in front of me. His hands unclenched. His gaze lifted from my shoulders to my face.
“There,” he said quietly. “I’m trying.”
Warmth unfurled in my chest. “I know.”
Mid-afternoon,Sheriff Tate stopped by.
Not in uniform.
Just a man from town.
The room quieted — not tense, just attentive.
He nodded to me. “We’re telling people there was a credible threat. Outsiders. Handled.”
“That’s enough,” I said.
He smiled faintly. “Thought you’d say that.”
Before he left, he leaned in and said softly, “You did good, Nora.”
So did you, I almost said.
But some things are just understood.
That evening,when the sun dipped low and the jukebox played softly and the town settled into itself again, Wolf appeared beside me carrying two plates.
