“I don’t know if Corin mentioned that I’m a vegetarian?” She gives me a side-eye as she opens the basket.
“He did, but I remembered.” I chuckle. “I still recall a couple of times you went on about how you can’t eat flesh, how your whole body revolts at the mere idea. I couldn’t imagine a person that anti-meat and fish changing no matter how long after.”
That earns me a smile even before she starts digging into the contents.
She raises an eyebrow at the cans of highly carbonated fake fruit soda that she used to consume by the case, but both end up in front of her, while the thermos of lemonade is on my side. Better still, she tries everything I’ve brought,oohingandahhingover how neatly they’re packed. I’d included all I could remember of her old favorites: triangles sandwiches with cucumber and cream cheese or hummus and roast veggies; small containers of bean and potato salads and an avocado salsa.
She takes it fairly well when I tell her that, not only is she’s having lunch with me today and Nathan on Friday, but Nathan’s having lunch with Corin today and me on Friday, and Nathan and I’ll do dinner tomorrow because she and Corin evidently already have an unspecified commitment.
“Nathan is the only one with experience in a pack, and he says we each need to have some kind of pack relationship with the all members.”
She repeats my explanation with a pained expression. Popping a can, she drains it halfway, and then emits a tiny, delicate burp.
I nod.
“It’s a lot harder to be angry at Corin when he makes sense.” She finishes off the can, then pushes her remaining food aside and leans forward, elbows on the table and head resting on her hands. “So, you’re interested in forming a pack with us and Nathan, even though you don’t know anything about packs?”
“Except the fantasies in general circulation.” I nod again, swallowing. The lemonade I’ve turns to acid in my belly, and my alpha is all stiff attention.
“That’s not a clear answer. Are you interested or not?”
“I’m here.” I shrug. “I almost didn’t come today. Had an email all ready to send to Corin last night backing out, but I deleted it, and I’m here. I’m in, if you’ll have me.”
Chapter 27
Indoor Picnic
JOHANNA
My head is awhirl with all the things I’ve learned in the last hour. There’s no time to take it all in, for there’s no stopping this. I have to ride on through, soak up every moment, and remember every word and expression on Dan’s face and the way he clings to me in hopes that I can make it all make sense later.
It doesn’t seem real that I’m here with Dan, after all this time. Not just that we’re in a room together, but that this is our third encounter in a week. This is an older, quieter version of the man I fell in love with and lost—gave up—decades ago, and each meeting shows me glimmers of who he was along with someone new I want to know.
I have Max to thank for it, somehow, someway, but that’s something else I have to set aside. If I dwell on it too much, I’ll miss the unexpected joy of this moment.
My whole body tingles, nerves a-jangle. I never would’ve imagined a day would come when Dan would want to pack up with me enough to overcome hurdles like this. After all, packing up was what we broke up over in the first place—such a twistedtale, now far in our past, though not so far that the tangles might not still snare us.
Then, there’s Corin’s role in setting up today’s lunch, and another with Nathan, something else to tease out, but not now.
I want to enjoy being with the Dan of today, who brought my favorites from years ago even tracking down the godawful sugary soda thing I used to consume, which I’ve almost never seen in grocery stores these days. After drinking one can, I wonder what my younger self was thinking, though that doesn’t stop me from starting on the second. The sugar rush helps push away all the stuff I don’t want to consider yet.
On the other hand, I’m not so lost to the pleasure of Dan’s presence as to let his almost-bowing out go unaddressed.
“What changed your mind?” I ask, careful to keep my tone even. The woodsmoke element in his scent grows strong enough even I can’t miss it.
“The little things.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “My son stopped by to raid my fridge and noticed the salads and soda, most of which arenotthings usually found in my house.”
He pulls out his phone, flips through photos, and hands it over. “This is Derrick and Deborah, on the first day of school this past August. They’re both elementary-school teachers.”
I’m usually a sucker for photos of kids and pets, but the fond expression on Dan’s face—so similar to Corin’s love for his children—has me all the more eager to see them.
The heads and shoulders of a young woman and man in their twenties fill the rectangular screen, still warm from Dan’s grip. They have something of his features, though their coloration is tawny with ochre undertones, rather than his fawn. A hairclip with a blue feather pulls back the woman’s long hair on one side. The young man also has long hair spilling over one shoulder, and his tie features a feather pattern.
There’s laughter and love in their smiles, but ...
“Your son looks a bit more carefree than your daughter.”
“Oh, yes—I’ve never caught her raiding my fridge,” he chuckles, “I think she used to, because sometimes things that Derrick would never eat would disappear, but if so, she replaced them after, because things also appeared that I hadn’t bought.
