June glared. “You’d be surprised what a woman can do with determination and a cast-iron skillet.”
Trigger whispered to Saint, “I’m scared.”
Saint whispered back, “You should be.”
Wolf stepped forward, slow and controlled.
“Nora,” he said, voice low. “Can we talk?”
Agnes elbowed me. “Go. Now. Before your future husband gets impatient.”
“STOP,” I hissed at her.
Trigger perked up. “Future husband?!”
Havoc looked horrified. “God, no.”
Saint just smiled.
I walked toward Wolf, feeling like my heartbeat might launch me into orbit.
We stepped aside, near the window overlooking Main Street.
He kept his hands in his pockets, gaze scanning the sidewalk like muscle memory. “Did anything else weird happen last night after I left?”
“No,” I said, but my voice wobbled. “Just… nerves.”
He shifted closer, lowering his voice. “I checked around.”
My breath hitched. “And?”
“Footprints,” he said. “Too deep to be yours. Too large. Not mine.”
Cold slid down my spine. “So someone—”
“Was behind you,” he finished quietly.
I swallowed hard. “Wolf…”
He leaned in slightly—not enough to touch, but enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Maybe it was nothing,” I argued weakly.
“Nora.” His eyes softened but didn’t waver. “Let me watch out for you.”
My heart flipped over. Slowly. Helplessly.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I whispered.
“You’re not,” he said immediately. “You could never be a burden.”
For one dizzy moment, we just stood there—close enough to feel the connection tightening between us.
Then the door banged open.
Riley Tate strolled in like a walking fire hazard.
Tight jeans. Black tank top. Jean jacket slung over her shoulder.
