“Aaron, did you dare the other guys?”
Aaron did possess the grace to grimace. “Seem to remember a ramp we put up for that same four-wheeler.”
“Before or after your accident?” Ember said.
Now he smirked. Curse that dimple. “After.”
“Who all was there, when you were a pup?” Quinn’s eyes were sparkling with the stories. He began counting on his fingers. “Jeremy. Trevor. Ezra, since there was Trevor.”
“Oh yeah.” Trevor grinned. “Big brother getting ticked any time I bested him. Which was often.”
Baby wolves without a lick of common sense. Then again, Ember could tell a few stories of her teen years…which she’d rather keep to herself.
“What about Rhett?” Quinn said.
“Nah. He showed up here only…” Trevor’s brow furrowed. “What was it, Aaron, three years ago?”
“Yep, with a chip on his shoulder the size of a small country. He’s a good wolf to have around now, though.”
Quinn nodded, and again Ember felt the pang of wondering how he knew Rhett well enough to agree with Aaron’s assessment, whether he’d agree to those words about any of the wolves simply because they were his heroes by nature.
“And what about Malachi? Did he dare you to do stuff too?”
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Mal was the guy telling the rest of us not to be stupid.”
“Thank goodness,” Ember said, then went still with surprise at her own words for the one wolf within a dozen feet of whom she couldn’t relax, acclimated or not.
“Maybe,” Trevor said with a shrug. “Kind of weird though, a pup that age performing risk assessments.”
Aaron gave a rumbling chuckle. “Pretty sure Malachi performed risk assessments from his crib.”
She laughed at the image of a safety-conscious toddler-alpha. She could only hope the leader of Quinn’s community was truly trustworthy with the wolf pack, if not with her. She didn’t have much time to resolve her concerns.
A little later she and Aaron sampled a variety of cobblers and pies, talked about their respective teen years, expressed their hopes and goals for Quinn as he grew into a man. A new thought whispered to Ember: she didn’t have much time to get to know Aaron. She had to take advantage of every day, every hour. She told herself this too was for Quinn’s sake.
But no. The next time his chest rumbled with mirth, the next time his dimple flashed and his dark eyes twinkled, Ember had to admit it was very much for herself that she wanted to know Aaron Reed. Even if he forever kept her in the friend zone.
On Monday, Aaron left for work before dawn and was home by early afternoon. Quinn offered Ember a hoe, and again she pitched in. He promised tomorrow was a day off, but Ember didn’t mind having something to do with her hands, her time, and her thoughts. She couldn’t help admiring the land, and the upkeep didn’t seem overwhelming, at least not so far. No animals to care for, not even a dog or cat. For obvious reasons, she guessed.
The next few days passed in a pleasant blend of work and play. When Aaron got home from work, Ember accompanied him and Quinn on treks into the woods that lasted past sunset. She listened to him coach Quinn through sensory exercises and gained a better understanding of her nephew’s astonishing new abilities. In the evening they talked, played classic games—checkers, chess, Battleship, board games—or read quietly from the selection of novels standing on one living-room end table. It was easy. It was platonic. It was fine.
Regarding her time as a guest of Aaron Reed’s, Ember had only one complaint (becauseplatonicdidn’t count). She understood now why Quinn had expressed gratitude that none of the food at the cookout was Aaron’s.
The first dinner he made them was roasted chicken breast and roasted potatoes, both of which were plain, not a lick of seasoning. He did at least throw salt on the potatoes. The next two dinners were identical to the first.
She couldn’t be silent, not in the face of three identically dry and plain chicken dinners. Her palate was dying a death of deprivation. It might not survive until the full moon. But she couldn’t bring it up, either. Not politely.
“Where do you work?” she said after the third chicken, as she loaded the dishwasher and Aaron sat with a cup of coffee at the table. He didn’t easily give up tasks he saw as his, but not even he could argue against the age-old principle that the cook doesn’t clean.
“Ground maintenance crew. We’re employed by the township, and they negotiated flexible start times for us. Why I can be home well before five.”
“So it’s seasonal?”
“Technically, but it’s most of the year. It’s enough to get by on. Lunar Lane has been handed down for a couple generations now, pack to pack. As long as I keep up on the property taxes, this place is mine.”
Property taxes, seeds for the garden, gasoline for his truck and the monster of a lawnmower she’d seen in the lean-to. She’d peeked into the freezer and found home-packaged poultry, venison, and beef. Nothing processed by a grocery store. He must buy from farms nearby since he couldn’t raise his own stock.
“Does everyone in the pack live the way you do? Spartan, I mean?”
