She was striking in a windswept, practical way—auburn hair several shades darker than Junie’s, pulled back in a loose braid that had surrendered to the coastal wind. The same scattering of freckles across her nose, the same sharp intelligence in her features, but where Junie was chaos and fire, Rosemary was steady currents and deep waters. She moved with the balanced confidence of someone who’d spent years on boats, sure-footed even on solid ground.
But weariness shadowed those green eyes. A hollowness beneath the practical competence. The look of someone who’d been running from something so long, they’d forgotten there was another option.
Dahlia recognized that look. She’d seen it in her own face more times than she could count.
“Sorry, I’m late.” Rosemary dropped onto the couch beside Junie, accepting a wine glass with a grateful nod. “The repair shop is moving at glacial speed. At this rate, I’ll miss my own expedition.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Cassia asked, her tone too innocent to be genuine.
Rosemary’s expression flickered—a flash of longing before she locked it down behind professional composure. “It’s my job, Cass. It’s what I do.”
“Jobs can be changed.”
“Drop it.” The words came out sharper than intended. Rosemary softened immediately, guilt crossing her features. “Sorry. I—can we talk about literally anything else? Junie said there was drama happening.”
“Dahlia’s falling for a bear shifter,” Avine summarized with characteristic directness. “Cal Ursa. The one who came back to take over his grandfather’s sleuth.”
“Oh.” Rosemary’s eyebrows rose. “The one in the expensive suits? I ran into him at the hardware store last week. He looked like he’d been burning candles at both ends for a decade.”
“That’s the one,” Dahlia confirmed, a helpless laugh escaping.
“Huh.” Rosemary took a long sip of wine, considering. “Well. At least he’s not a wolf.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Junie reached over and squeezed her cousin’s hand. Avine looked away. Cassia found her wine glass fascinating. AndDahlia watched Rosemary’s carefully controlled expression and saw her own fears reflected back—the terror of wanting what you weren’t sure you could have.
“He asks about you.” The words slipped out before Dahlia could stop them. “Beck. Every time he stops by. He tries to be casual about it, but?—”
“Don’t.” Rosemary’s voice cracked. “Please. I can’t—” She pressed a hand to her eyes, breathing through whatever was clawing at her composure. “I have a grant. A career. A whole life that doesn’t fit in a small coastal town. And he can’t leave. His pack is here. His whole world is here. We’re—” A shaky exhale. “We’re impossible.”
“So is Cal and me,” Dahlia said. “He has a company in Seattle. I have a bakery I can’t abandon. My grandmother’s legacy. Everything I’ve built. We’re impossible too.”
Rosemary lowered her hand. Her green eyes met Dahlia’s, glittering with unshed tears.
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
Dahlia didn’t have an answer. But looking at Rosemary—at the longing she was fighting so hard to suppress—she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She didn’t want to spend her life wondering what-if.
The conversation shifted after that—lightertopics, easier territory. Cassia complained about her mother’s latest matchmaking attempts, launching into an impression of the witch Elder that had everyone laughing. Junie described a new potion formula that had accidentally turned Leo’s kitchen ceiling bright orange. Avine shared updates on the inn’s renovations and the new guest suites finally coming along.
But Dahlia couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting back to Cal—the rawness in his face when he’d woken up. The way he’d said,I see all of it, and I want all of it. The unsettling possibility that Narla was right, that irreversible forces were already in motion between them.
Around ten, Rosemary gathered her jacket and made her excuses—an early morning video call with her research team.
At the door, she paused, hand on the frame. Her back was still to the room when she said, quietly, “Tell him. Whatever you need to say. Don’t wait until you run out of time.”
She was gone before anyone could ask who she was really talking to.
That left Avine, Junie, Narla, and Marzipan—who had descended from her perch to curl in Dahlia’s lap, claiming possession with the imperious confidence only a cat could manage.
“All right.” Avine eased deeper into the sofa cushions, tucking her feet beneath her. “Everyone else has gone. Now tell us what you’re feeling.”
Dahlia stroked Marzipan’s fur, letting the cat’s presence ground her. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Yes, you do.” Junie’s voice was gentle but unyielding. “You don’t want to say it out loud. Because once you give it words, it becomes real, and then you have to deal with it.”
