Kai’s gaze cuts to mine, then back to Seth. “We agree.”
“So, what now?” Seth asks, like he’s testing if we’re going to be idiots or men.
Kai spreads his hands. “This means she’s ours. And we need to make it clear.”
Seth’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice drops a notch. “Or she already knows. And she’s scared.”
That lands hard.
I straighten a little, the night air suddenly colder. “So we don’t push her.”
Kai opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. “We don’t push,” he grudgingly agrees, “but we also don’t just sit back.”
“Exactly,” I say, relief and frustration tangled together. “We move smart. We stay close. We give her reasons to trust us as we figure out what she’s hiding without cornering her.”
Seth studies us for a beat, then nods once, slow. “Good.”
Kai blows out a breath. “And if someone made her hide…”
Seth’s eyes go flint-hard. “Then we handle that too.”
I stare out into the dark again, thinking of June’s smile, her laugh, the way she kept one hand on the edge of the world like she might need to bolt.
“We’re not losing her,” I say, more promise than statement.
Kai’s voice comes quiet beside me. “No.”
Seth’s smirk returns, faint and knowing. “Then we treat her like she’s already ours.”
8
JUNE
“Iwoke up to water all over my downstairs, and I have no idea where it’s coming from.”
Hazel sets down her latte, dark eyes widening. “Define ‘all over.’?”
“Like a thin layer covering everything. The storage room, the bathroom, the garage.” I slump back in my chair. “I turned off the main water supply, but the damage is already done. And I can’t even find the source.”
She sighs. “Eek, that’s a nightmare.”
“It gets better.” I take a long drink of my coffee. “The plumber came within an hour, took one look, and told me to leave because he’s going to have to start punching holes in my walls to find the leak.”
“Shit. How many holes are we talking?”
“However many it takes, apparently.” I gesture vaguely. “My house is becoming Swiss cheese as we speak.” And I’m so stressed that I might have nowhere to live, and I know Hazel is a one room studio, super tiny, so I can’t impose on her.
Hazel winces sympathetically. “Insurance?”
“Called them. They’re ‘processing’ my claim.” I make air quotes. “Which means sitting around while my house slowly transforms into a disaster zone.”
“I’m so sorry, babe.” She reaches over the table to hold my hand.
“Nothing I can do until they fix it, I guess.” I glance around the Wildflower Bakehouse & Café, which is warm and bright around us, all honeyed wood and mismatched vintage furniture that somehow works together. Mason jar lights hang from exposed beams overhead, casting everything in a golden glow. A chalkboard menu stretches across one wall, the daily specials written in looping script that changes with the owner’s mood. This place always calms me.
Kitty emerges from the kitchen carrying a plate, coming our way. She’s twenty-four, with dark hair piled in a ponytail and an apron that’s a patchwork of cats, donuts, and what appears to be a bedazzled croissant. Her white blouse is buttoned all the way up.
“Chocolate croissants, warmed.” She sets the plate between us. “Rough morning?”
