“They sure do.” Even her own folks. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “But not everybody. You don’t suck.”
“Right back at you.”
As her day progressed, she held onto the knowledge that sucky humans weren’t the only variety. She beamed at every customer who spoke kindly to her and tried to offer kindness back.
Near the end of her shift, three women around her age stepped up to the counter. While she wrote their orders on plastic cups and passed them to Molly, one of them leaned toward her and barely whispered.
“Is your boyfriend hot?”
Willow blinked. Her hand froze halfway through her abbreviation forhazelnut.
“I bet he is,” the girl said for Willow’s ears only. “Lupines always are. I say good for you, and just ignore the stupid bigots.”
Willow scrambled for a grasp on the conversation. Objectification of Ezra, of his entire pack…and support at the same time? She couldn’t make this up. “Well, I’m on the clock, so my job right now is to get you great coffee and keep my personal life to myself.”
“Got you, got you,” the girl said with a wink.
When her shift ended, Molly hugged her on her way out, nothing to say today but clearly aware of everything (no doubt even Devin’s words from behind the swinging doors), and Devin reminded her how glad he was to have her working there. As always she walked to her car while she checked her phone. Her heart sang at the text from Saffron.
Saffron:Still on for dinner at 6:00?
Willow:Absolutely. See you then.
Maybe her life was doing more than working out. Maybe it was turning into something newly beautiful. For today at least, hope did not feel scary at all.
Twenty-Eight
Ezra’slifehadneverbeen so complicated or so good. Each day he woke feeling settled and strong, ready to breathe deep as needed, ready to walk on toward a future with Willow and, if necessary, fend off further vengeance from her parents. So far there’d been nothing. Willow hadn’t heard a word from them or seen them, nor had he. He’d take it as a win, though Dad was right: Ezra hadn’t learned yet how not to let hatred hurt.
And today he’d be meeting a person he knew distrusted him and didn’t want him with Willow, though if Saffron hated him outright she surely wouldn’t come to dinner. He managed to focus at work on his usual project-manager minutiae—soil erosion maps, easement requests, a denied zoning permit—but the upcoming meeting nibbled at his thoughts all day.
If he could do anything with his evening, he would plunge into a new build. He didn’t have all the novelty pieces for it, but he’d found instructions online for a bouquet made of bricks. The build required a different vision than his usual structures, even his granddaddy oak tree. He’d give it his best shot and see how Willow liked it. He was itching to start. He sighed as he parked at Harmony Diner, but Willow needed this, and Willow was worth it.
He stepped inside and looked around the restaurant. He’d been here countless times beginning when he was a little pup, excited to sit in a booster seat next to Dad, Sydney across the table next to Mom and Trevor in a high chair at the end of their booth. Sips from Dad’s Dr Pepper, his own carton of chicken tenders—Harmony Diner was a place of wonders back then. The décor hadn’t changed—retro red vinyl booths and black-and-white tiled floors, brass fixtures and a long mirror behind the back counter, and a cash register that rang just like those in old movies.
The familiarity soothed him. So did the sweet lime essence of his mate, reaching out to him above all other scents. In a corner he spotted Willow’s curly hair. Across from her sat a woman about her age, hair just as black but longer and straight. They were leaning toward one another over the table, their discussion intense. Ezra headed toward them, ignored other voices around him but couldn’t ignore Willow’s.
“Or we could get the supreme nacho. Wait, are you ordering quesadillas or are you branching out?”
“Quesadillas, obviously, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get nachos.”
“I think Ezra would help us eat them.”
“Probably,” he said as he reached their table.
Saffron gave a little jump, then smiled. “Oh, hi.”
Willow nudged her purse over and slid toward the wall, and Ezra sat beside her, taking in Saffron’s signature essence. Her primary note was floral, accompanied by a heavy dampening odor of…fear. Not panic: she didn’t believe Ezra would go on a rampage here and now. No, Saffron’s fear of him was almost subconscious, more like dread, certainty that Ezra was ultimately a danger no matter what he did.
He blinked, ducked his head, and tried to look as if he were settling on the bench. Meanwhile he absorbed the blow to his wolf heart. This wasn’t his fault.
Before his quietness became awkward, Willow said, “I guess you don’t need introductions, but anyway, Ezra, this is Saffron. Saffron, this is Ezra.”
He looked up and met her eyes—shielding, of course. “Hi, Saffron.”
“It’s…good to meet you, I think?” She bit her lip.
Willow drew in a sharp breath. Under the table, Ezra set a hand on her knee, and she exhaled. To Saffron he said, “Honest and fair. I appreciate that.”
