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“Do you?” I asked.

She gave me a look that echoed all the times she’d asked me not to constantly focus on others before myself. “That sounded familiar.”

“I learned from the expert.”

She looked back out at the river. “I’m not staying because I feel trapped.”

“Okay.”

“I’m thinking about staying because I like it here.”

“With the pack?”

“Yes.”

A sudden, sharp kick of hope struck my chest, making my pulse hammer against my throat. I picked up on the subtle shift in her body chemistry—her scent softening, the rigid tension in her shoulders finally melting away. My wolf stirred, a low, contented rumble vibrating against my ribs at the thought of her staying, of her choosing us. I kept my hand loosely entwined with hers, terrified that if I moved or said the wrong thing, the fragile air between us would shatter and send her running back to the safety of that wall she kept up around her.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I ignored it.

Then it vibrated again, a slow, continuous buzzing that didn’t stop.

Sloane glanced at my pocket. “Emergency contact?”

“Probably Trevor.”

Reluctantly, I pulled my phone out. Patty’s name flashed on the screen.

I answered. “Hey.”

“Disaster.” She didn’t pause for a greeting.

“What happened?”

“Briar House Bakery is closed.”

I waited.

“Permanently,” she added.

“That’s the disaster?”

“Yes, Hudson.”

Sloane watched me with a questioning look on her face.

“What were you getting?” I asked.

“Grandpa’s pecan pie.”

That changed the situation. “When did they close?”

“The sign says three weeks ago. Three weeks. Nobody told me.”

“Why would they tell you?”

“Because I’ve bought the same pie from them for years. I had a relationship with them.”