"Perfect. I'll swing by after lunch."
Caleb emerges from the sheriff's office as I approach, and something shifts in my chest. Not the desperate flutter of early attraction, but something steadier.
Recognition.
"Lunch?" he asks, falling into step beside me.
"Only if you're buying." I bump his shoulder with mine. "Sheriff's salary should cover it."
"Generous of me, considering you're about to bankrupt the town with all those record requests."
"Journalism costs money. Truth costs more."
We settle into our usual booth at the diner. Caleb orders coffee and a club; I get the soup that actually tastes like something here. The conversation weaves between pack business and my latest article, easy as breathing.
"The town council meeting is tonight," Caleb mentions, stirring sugar into his coffee.
"I know. I'm covering it."
"They're discussing the new transparency protocols."
"Good. About time."
He watches me over the rim of his mug. "You realize what you've done here, don't you?"
"Ate decent soup for once?"
"Changed everything."
I meet his gaze without flinching. "We changed everything."
The weight of that settles between us, comfortable as worn denim. I reach across the table, fingers finding his. Not hiding. Not shrinking. Choosing.
I think about how many times in my life I mistook intensity for truth. How often I believed that love had to hurt, had to demand, had to feel like something I needed to survive rather than something I got to enjoy.
This doesn’t feel like survival.
It feels like alignment.
Like standing fully upright and realizing the ground has been solid the entire time.
There’s no audience here, no sense of being watched or weighed. Just the quiet certainty that comes from knowing who I am and what I want without having to explain either.
The version of me who once fled under scrutiny would barely recognize this moment. Not because I’ve become someone else—but because I’ve stopped abandoning myself at the first sign of attention.
"Caleb."
"Yeah?"
"Tonight. After the meeting." I squeeze his hand. "The clearing by Miller's Creek. Just us."
His eyes sharpen, reading layers beneath the simple words. "You sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
The moon will rise full tonight. We both know it. But this isn't about lunar cycles or ancient bonds dictating our choices. This is about two people who found each other through chaos and decided to stay.
"No witnesses," I continue. "No pack protocols or town expectations. Just us, making it official."
