"You’ll get to run faster than anyone," I promised. "Just wait." But was I lying? Would he be a dragon or a wolf?
He leaned into me, all elbows again, and said, "I’m glad you’re my mom."
The ache in my chest wasn’t fear, or regret, or anger. It was just love, pure and simple, and I let it wash over me without fighting back.
As we reached the parking lot, Tavi and Rissa left, each giving me a look that said, Text me, or I’ll show up at your house with wine.
I pulled a change of clothes out for Bryce, threw his muddy clothes into the trunk as he buckled, and steered us toward the grocery store, the ordinary world already crowding back in.
The Stock Creek grocery store looked the same as ever. Bryce stood on the bottom rail of the shopping cart, hands gripped to the plastic like a ship’s wheel, face full of purpose. I steered us up the cereal aisle, which meant I’d already lost round one of the battle.
"Can I get the ones with marshmallows?" he asked, eyeing the wall of neon-colored boxes.
"You know the rule," I said, my tone as gentle as I could make it. "You pick the healthy stuff, then you can pick one bad thing."
He weighed his options as if the fate of the world depended on whether to get Fruity Rounds or Frosted Monsters. "If I pick two, will you notice?"
"I’ll always notice," I said, steering the cart around an elderly couple parked by the bran flakes. "I’m your mom. It’s my job."
He snorted. "I think you’re magic."
My phone buzzed in my pocket, a text from Rissa.
U ok? Need wine?
Maybe later.
I tossed a bag of coffee and a can of spaghetti rings into the cart. We made our way down the aisles, gathering up essentials and nonessentials. Bryce begged for cheddar bunnies, then an entire salami, then "just one" box of ice cream sandwiches, which quickly became two after I looked away.
At the far end of the canned goods, a flash of chartreuse caught my eye. I almost missed her at first. She’d always been the kind of person who moved like she owned every square foot of public space, but the laugh gave her away before the outfit did.
"Frankie?" I said, eyebrows up, like maybe she’d vanish if I stared too hard.
She did a double-take, then barreled toward us, cart abandoned, arms wide as the checkout lane. "Krystal Gallagher! As I live and breathe!"
Her hug hit with the force of a tactical missile. She stepped back from the embrace and gave Bryce an appraising once-over. "And this is the famous offspring, I see. He’s even cuter than the pictures."
Frankie Grimes had never met a volume knob she didn’t snap off at maximum. She wore leggings patterned like abstract art, a crop top advertising some indie rock band, and her white-blonde hair was up in a half-bun. Her body was the kind that took up space unapologetically, and she wielded her curves like a weaponized hug.
Bryce stepped behind me, then peeked out. "Who are you?"
"Frances Grimes, but you can call me Frankie." She offered him her hand.
She looked back at me, all traces of teasing gone in a blink. "Look at you. You look…" She took in the mud stains and the wildness of my post-run hair. "Well, a mess, but it's so good to see you. When did you move back?"
Frankie put her hands on her hips and beamed. "My folks finally retired, so I’m taking over the company. Grimes Construction. We do all the moon-proof basements and dragon-friendly attics you could want." Her family was totally human, but they'd owned a construction company for like three generations, with all the employees in the know about wolves and dragons. They did all kinds of construction for the pack and clan and employed almost exclusively wolf shifters.
She winked at Bryce, who looked impressed despite himself. "Dragon-friendly?"
"Sure," she said. "There are at least three in this zip code who’ve needed custom wiring. You’d be amazed at what passes inspection these days."
Bryce whispered, "Is that true?" to me, like she couldn’t hear.
"With Frankie, assume everything is half-true and half-crazy," I said. "But yes, she’s the best contractor in the county."
Frankie made a show of brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. "Tell your friends. Tell your enemies, too, if they pay on time."
The ease between us settled in, our old friendship fitting like a broken-in jacket. Frankie jabbered about taking over payroll, her new assistant, who "might be part troll, but he’s great with a hammer," and the time she accidentally drove a Bobcat through the loading bay door at the school.
