Ezra steps behind me, his warm hands resting on my shoulders with that quiet assurance that always centers me. His fingers press gently into the knots forming there. “We’ll drive you,” he says, voice low and practical. “You’ll make it on time. I promise.”
“No,” I cut in, sliding my shoes on. “We’re walking. It’s my routine and I need the air.”
Maceo exhales a laugh, already reaching for his keys as he jerks his chin toward Ezra. “We’ll meet you there.”
Lucien crosses the room, offering his arm with a knowing smirk that makes my cheeks flush all over again. “And if you’re late,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming, “we’ll just tell him you were indisposed.” The way his tongue caresses that final word should be illegal.
I groan, but I take his arm anyway, feeling the familiar flutter in my chest as our skin touches.
Because really, what’s the point of fighting it? Six months in, and I still haven’t developed any immunity to their charms.
These three are utterly incorrigible, and somehow, impossibly, they’re mine.
Not that I get much peace anymore. With Maceo officially moving in, the pack seems to treat the manor like a second home, wolves in and out at all hours, laughter, noise, life where there used to be silence. I absolutely love it.
The manor door shuts behind us with a soft, definitive click, sealing in the warmth and cheerful chaos we leave in our wake. The morning air greets me immediately, bright and clean, carrying the faint scent of pine resin and something sweet blooming further along the path, honeysuckle maybe, or whatever the garden has decided to show off this week. Summer is in full swing in Ruby Springs now, deep and unhurried, the kind of day where the sun feels generous instead of punishing.
Lucien’s hand finds mine without thought, his fingers threading through with ease. Sir pads along at our heels with his tail held high, every bit the composed and silent observer he insists on presenting himself as.
We fall into step together, the path curving down toward town familiar now in a way that still catches me off guard sometimes. Nine months ago, I didn’t know these streets. Now my feet know every dip and turn.
Even my parents are showing interest in moving back, like this place is finally calling us home.
The magic hums beneath my feet as it always does, ever-present, constant and alive and woven into everything like breath. As it should be. As it always should have been.
“Morning, Keisha!” Countess Monroe calls from her porch, her voice carrying easily across her front garden, one hand raised above a row of flowering herbs.
“Good morning!” I wave back with a smile.
“Mayor Vale!” A man across the street lifts his chin in greeting, his dog dragging him forward with singular determination, the leash taut and entirely decorative at this point.
The greetings come easily, voices lifting as we pass, faces bright and open in the way of people who genuinely mean what they say. It still does something to me every single time.
Lucien inclines his head politely to each of them, the gesture unhurried and gracious, though I feel the slight shift in his hand where it holds mine.
“I don’t believe I’ll ever get used to that,” he murmurs under his breath, pitched just for me.
I glance up at him, a smile already tugging at my mouth. “Mayor Vale does have a certain ring to it,” I say.
His lips curve faintly, though there’s something wry underneath it, that particular expression he wears when he finds himself in a situation he didn’t entirely anticipate. “It was a unanimous decision,” he says, “which I find far more concerning than flattering.”
“That’s because you’re used to being right quietly,” I reply, glancing back up at him. “Now everyone just says it out loud.”
He huffs out something that qualifies as a laugh before lifting my hand and brushing a kiss across my knuckles, leisurely, like we have all the time in the world.
Everything moved quickly after Founder’s Day. With Lenora gone, the town needed steadying, and steadying required someone who already knew Ruby Springs from the inside out. Someone who understood its history, its people, its unwritten rules without needing a handbook or a grace period. Someone the community already trusted without quite knowing the full depth of why.
Lucien had been the obvious choice, even if he would never in ten lifetimes have put his own name forward.
He still runs Bits and Bobs, still moves through town with that self-possessed ease he carries everywhere, but there is weight now in the way people look at him that wasn’t there before, at least not openly. A recognition. A respect spoken plainly where before it had only been felt. He wears it well, the way he wears most things, like it was tailored specifically for him.
We turn the corner toward the square, and the low, familiar hum of morning activity rises to meet us. Shops are open, doors propped wide to catch the air, laughter drifting between buildings, conversations bleeding together as people move about their day without particular urgency.
I hear Maceo’s laugh before I see him. That booming, full-bodied sound that carries far and wide.
He’s propped against the side of his tow truck outside Bea’s diner, exactly where he told me he would not be this morning, laughing at something the man standing across from him has just said. My man is constitutionally incapable of passing a conversation without joining it. I have accepted this about him.
As we get closer, the other man comes fully into view, and I take a moment because, well. I can appreciate a well-put-together man without apology, even living in a house full of them. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, built in a way that reads as deliberate, with dark brown skin and a smile that arrives instages before landing at full wattage. The black uniform he’s wearing is crisp and new-looking, his badge catches the morning light with each small shift of his weight. There’s no weapon on his hip, because this is Ruby Springs and there is never really a need for one, but it does nothing to diminish the quiet authority he carries. He looks exactly like someone who could handle whatever the morning decided to throw at him.
