“Those are some very big concepts to attach to what is essentially a very confusing relationship situation.”
Brooke leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s bigger than that. Mates don’t just… happen. Not often. And when they do, it usually means something.”
“Like what?”
“Like things are shifting,” she says simply.
That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.
“Great,” I mutter. “No pressure or anything.”
Delilah smiles softly. “You don’t have to carry that alone.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “That’s good, because I’m pretty sure I’d drop it.”
Brooke tilts her head slightly, studying me. “You’re handling this better than most humans would.”
“Am I?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “Most would’ve run by now.”
I think about that. About leaving. About pretending none of this ever happened. The bond pulses faintly in my chest, like it already knows my answer.
“I thought about it,” I admit. “Running, I mean.”
“And?” Delilah asks gently.
I shake my head.
“It didn’t feel right.”
That’s the simplest way to explain it. Not easy. Not logical. Just… true.
Brooke’s expression softens slightly. “Yeah,” she says. “That tracks.”
“Comforting,” I say dryly.
Before either of them can respond, the bell above the front door jingles. All three of us freeze. Instinct. I feel it now, too. That shift Archer talked about. That awareness.
Delilah is on her feet first, moving toward the door with quiet purpose. Brooke follows a step behind, her posture relaxed but alert. I stay where I am. Not because I’m told to. Because I suddenly understand that I should.
A moment later, Delilah’s voice calls out, casual again. “Just a delivery.”
The tension eases. Slightly.
Brooke glances back at me. “You’ll get used to that.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” I admit.
“You will anyway,” she says.
I believe her. That might be the most unsettling part.
After they leave, I stay behind in the shop, needing a moment to breathe without feeling like I’m being quietly assessed. Or protected. Or both. I move behind the counter, running my fingers along the worn wood, grounding myself in something familiar.
“This is still mine,” I murmur under my breath.
At least, I think it is. The thought lingers, uneasy. Because the more I learn about this town, the more it feels like I walked into something that was already in motion. Something bigger than me. My gaze drifts to the back office. A memory nudges at me—something the realtor mentioned when I first bought the place. Something I didn’t think twice about at the time.
