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“Same time tomorrow. Dress warmer.”

“That almost sounds like you want me to come back.”

“My mother hired you. I don’t have a choice.”

“Hmm.” With Mom’s basket on her arm, she gets out and climbs the stairs, and I wait until her light comes on.

Then I sit there with the engine running.

Because…fuck.

Why did I say tomorrow?

Because Mom would tear me apart if I didn’t. True, and not the whole reason.

I knew it in the rain this morning. I wanted to go after her and stood there instead, and I’ve spent every hour since telling myself it was the right call.

“Nick, you dumbass.” I bang my head against the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn. I mutter another curse.

I’ll tell Mom it isn’t working out, and let her yell at me or be disappointed, or even use her pity voice and talk about Sebastian as much as she wants. Whatever it takes.

I barely know Ellery. It doesn’t matter. I already know how this goes. I did it once before, with a woman I left in California the week I became Guardian. She wanted to come here, and I begged her not to, because the only thing I had to give was a boundary.

The girl can’t stay.

When I get to the cafe, the closed sign is still up, but Mom’s inside starting the day. I tap on the glass, and she lets me in.

“Good morning, honey.” She kisses my cheek.

“Morning.” I didn’t sleep a wink. Not that I need to, but it helps keep my mind calm and the hunger at bay. “Can we talk, please?”

“What’s up?”

“Ellery.”

“I see.” She doesn’t ask what about Ellery, which tells me she already knows, and it fuels my resolve.

“She can’t work for me.”

“Did she do a bad job?” Anyone would think she’s concerned but I know better.

“No, she was great,” I say to the counter. “But she can’t work for me. Give her more shifts here if you want to keep her around.”

“Why? If she did good, what’s the problem?” She starts pulling the chairs down from the tables.

“I don’t want her in my van, okay?”

“Well, I don’t have enough shifts for her at the cafe. The poor girl will have to go to Fairbanks and find work there. On her own. You know how that place can be for a young woman traveling alone.”

Fairbanks. Fine. Fairbanks is an hour, and I’d be outside her building every night to make sure she’s okay, skulking around like a vampire in a bad movie.

Or worse, instead of going back to where she came from, she goes to Anchorage. Beyond the boundaries of the Pact, where I can’t follow. I don’t like that idea at all.

Mom waits for me to argue with myself and end up where she wanted me in the first place.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll keep her on.”

She’s on a break before grad school. She said so last night. In the meantime I’ll treat her like the employee she is. Courteous, professional. I can do that for a couple of weeks. And if Alaska can help move things along, so much the better.