“Kacy,” I mumble with an eye roll. That date was fucking terrible, but at least I remembered her name. Kacy had no warmth to her. No shine, no spark that called to me. Before Willow, I was searching for my mate—that instant attraction, the instinct that that person is the one, and when I didn’t get that, I dipped.
“One date is all he ever gives these girls, but I got an inkling about you, Willow.”
“Mom, Willow’s already found her mate,” I supply before Willow can even think to respond. I couldn’t have my mom getting her hopes up. Not yet.
“Then why haven’t I seen him? Willow’s been coming to the diner for the last five years, and I’ve yet to see a man come with her?”
“He’s... dead,” Willow says with a small, sad smile. Her eyes near on a spot on the wall, her mind in another world. My hope in us working crashing as my mother’s face drops. Fuck. Does she regret kissing me now that Milo has been brought up?
My mom’s lips snap shut, and her eyes stay steady on Willow’s. She stares at her in silence, watching the blush draining from Willow’s cheeks.
“Did you love him?” Mom asks, grabbing Willow’s hand in hers.
“Of course,” Willow answers.
“I’m sorry, dear. I’m sure he was a great man with a heart as big as yours,” Mom says. “Where is your bite mark?”
“We didn’t—he died the day before our mating ceremony.”
“You know, a bite mark is a telltale sign,” Mom says, stepping in closer to Willow. “People think that the bite mark only makes the mating permanent, and it does. But that’s not all. It’s security. If a bite mark doesn’t take, meaning it heals, that means your person is not the one. It’s what happened with his dad.” She nods her head in my direction, but it’s almost like I’mnot here. “I bit him, and he bit me, but our marks healed the first time we shifted. It was horrifying, but I’m grateful the Moon Goddess gave us a way to be sure.”
“Oh,” is all Willow can probably muster. The skin around her eyes is tight, and her fingers squeeze mine. She’s shaking slightly, and I want to tell mom to stop, but the words won’t come out.
“I tell you this to say, honey, don’t be afraid to try again. You never know for sure without a bite.” I’ve never wanted to duct tape my mom’s lips shut as much as I want to at this very moment.
“Isn’t your painting club meeting tonight?” I ask my mom, trying to get the attention off Willow while moving, so she stands slightly behind me. My mom isn’t a threat, but I think Willow probably needs a moment, and the lost gaze in her eyes confirms my thought.
“Yes, I need to head out now. I’m leaving. Willow, darling, please bring my son to Eleanor’s soon. I rarely get to feed him anymore.”
“Don’t let her fool you. She drops off a meal for the Pack at least once a week,” I say, watching Mom walk away after giving the both of us quick hugs. Damn, she is pushy sometimes. It was okay when she did it to me, or even other Pack members, but Willow’s face makes me wish I stepped in sooner.
“I’m sorry, she can be so?—”
“No, it’s fine. She’s lovely. I’ve never actually had a conversation with the wonderful Ms. Harrow before,” she says. Her gaze rests somewhere off in the distance, but she curls her body around me still, and I can breathe freely again. She leans on me as if I’m a support beam. I sigh with relief; at least she’s not mad at me or my mom. I’ll be mad enough for the both of us. I’ll be her support beam for as long as she lets me.
“Want to go home?” I ask, swaying us a bit. It’s relaxing when it’s only Willow and I. The world’s at peace when I’m in Willow’s presence.
“Are you staying over?”
“I can if you want me to,” I say, knowing damn well I was staying whether or not she wanted me to.
“Yeah, let’s go,” she says, grabbing my hand and leading us out of the house.
14
WILLOW
Work isone of my safe places. One place where I can turn the side of my brain with my personal problems off, but Ms. Harrow’s words swirl around in my brain on an endless loop.
You know, a bite mark is a telltale sign.
I’d understood what she’d said. What bothers me is that Iwantto believewhat she’d said. Yet I know I shouldn’t want to believe her.
I want to call her a liar. I can’t deny she has personal experience in the whole mates situation, but to say that Milo might not have been my mate to me, out loud, was scary.
She took a dip into my deepest, most inner thoughts, then brazenly gave a voice to them. I loved Milo. I was obsessed with Milo. We had plans; we had an apartment together; we were going to have kids—gosh; I want kids. He died, he was murdered, and just because he was murdered doesn’t mean that I get to stop loving him, right?
This was my first time meeting the woman, and she already is spewing ideas about how Milo wasn’t my mate. Why is everyone so comfortable telling me he wasn’t my mate when they didn’t even know him? It was me who he came home to after work. Me,who he came crying to. Me, who he loved. How would they even know if he was my mate or not?
