“Persimmons,” she says as we walk to my Jeep. “They’re in season, and they’re my favorite, so I thought I’d bring some to share.”
That was sweet of her. I should have expected nothing less from the thoughtful, kind woman who is my mate. I rush to put the box of fruit in the back seat next to my pies and open the passenger door for her. “I’m sure they’ll be a hit.”
We’re both quiet on the drive, and I wonder if she’s thinking about the same thing I am—our Friday night together. It’s been hard for me to stay away for the last few days. I’ve texted a couple of times to check on her, but we haven’t had a real conversation.I don’t really know how she’s doing. She keeps saying fine, but in my peripheral vision, she twists the hem of her cardigan in her lap, so I wonder if she was telling the truth.
“Thank you for coming to this,” I say to break the silence, keeping my eyes on the road. “How are you feeling about it? Are you nervous?”
“A little,” she admits. “I want them to like me, which is absurd since we won’t have much contact once the babies are born. But I hope…I don’t know, is this dumb? I want them to love the parts of our pups that came from me.”
Oh. Ohdamn.
“It’s not dumb,” I say hoarsely, overcome. “They’ll love you, don’t worry.”
I’m right. The instant Julia sets foot in Conall and Meg’s den, she’s surrounded by my family members who are eager to meet my mate and take our potluck contributions off our hands. Pies and persimmons spirited away, I introduce her to my older brothers, their mates and pups, a variety of aunts and uncles and cousins, Meg and Conall, and then, finally, my parents.
“Call me Stephen,” Pa says, pulling Julia into a hug. Is that a tear in his eye? Itis.He pulls back to study her face. “We worried Ian wouldn’t find his mate, so we are so glad to finally meet you.”
Mam beams beside him, grasping Julia’s hands and kissing her on both cheeks. “You are so lovely, Julia. Ian is a lucky pup.”
“A thirty-five-year-old pup,” I snort, putting my arm around my mate. She tucks so neatly into my side.
“Always a pup to me,” Mam shoots back, with a wink at Julia. “Go get some food, you two, and we can catch up later.”
“Your family is so nice,” Julia observes as we make our way through the line of wulvers that winds around the buffet-style potluck setup. I hold two plates while she fills them up, reveling in the dozens of quiet interactions we’re having to complete the task. I memorize everything she likes to eat, and I think she’s doing the same, her lips quirking when I ask for bigger portions of all the meat dishes.
When we reach the dessert table, I see that some helpful relative put out our contributions. My huckleberry pies, made from berries I gathered and froze earlier in the season, are next to Julia’s open box of persimmons. Some of them are peeled and cut, the whole fruit arranged beautifully around them.Both the pie and the persimmons are disappearing quickly.
“I wasn’t sure how popular they would be, so I didn’t cut them all. I hope there’s enough.”
“We can cut the rest after we eat,” I suggest, and she looks relieved. We take our plates to sit with Conall and Meg, who are parked at the same table as our older brother Ben.
Meg looks approvingly at our plates. “Did you bring the pie, Ian? It’s incredible. Everyone is raving about it.”
I nod, and Julia squeezes my forearm.
“Maybe I should eat dessert first.” She takes a forkful of my huckleberries and closes her eyes as she chews and swallows. A little moan escapes her that does things to me that shouldn’t be happening outside the bedroom. “Like a bite of heaven.”
“I’m jealous of her, and I already had a piece,” Meg remarks, grinning.
“Do you want another one?” Conall jumps up and jogs to the buffet without waiting for her answer.
Meg watches him go, smiling as she pats her hugely pregnant belly. “Wulvers are very devoted to their mates,” she says to Julia, her words kind but pointed.
Julia swallows her second bite of pie with some effort. “I’m beginning to understand that.”
Ben, who’s been watching our exchanges in silence, props his elbows on the table. “So. Julia. Tell us about yourself. Where do you live? What do you do for work?”
Julia puts down her fork. “I live in Apple Grove. I um…work at a bookstore. I love children’s literature, and I run the story time there. That’s where I met Ian, when he was shopping for books for the new babies.”
Meg beams at that answer, but Ben doesn’t. “Which store?”
“Dog-Eared Pages.”
“Have you worked there long? Is this a career for you?”
“Not long,” she murmurs, flushing a dull red. Under the table, I reach to squeeze her thigh reassuringly. She doesn’t need to be ashamed of anything. Conall returns with pie for Meg, and I hope the interruption will derail Ben’s pointed questioning, but it doesn’t. He’s relentless.
“So what did you do before bookselling?”
