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Oh, God. Could they?

I tried not to think about Hudson’s broad shoulders, which only made me think about them with greater clarity.

“Thanks,” I said, releasing the box.

“You look different,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

Different.

Of course I looked different. The real Loany had red hair and green eyes.

I forced a smile. “Time will do that to a person.” Er, wolf?

Fuck me.

Hudson’s eyebrows drew together. “I meant from what I pictured.”

“Oh. What did you picture?” I asked, because apparently, I enjoyed risk.

His mouth curved. “I don’t know, exactly, but my imagination definitely didn’t do you justice.”

The look on his face made butterflies move violently through my stomach. “That bad, huh?”

“No.” His answer came quickly. “Not bad at all.”

Someone shouted his name from the porch, and Hudson glanced over his shoulder. A man held an extension cord in one hand and gestured toward a string of lights that had fallen from the pavilion.

“I have to deal with that,” Hudson said, returning his attention to me. “I’m sorry.”

“Of course you do.”

He smiled at the familiar accusation. “Patty has been asking around for you, so she’s probably close.”

He shifted the bakery box to one arm and nodded toward the hall. “I’ll take these inside and find you again.”

“Okay.”

He started toward the porch, then turned back. “I’m glad you came.”

There were entire conversations hidden inside that sentence. I held his gaze and tried not to think how much I wanted him to say it all out loud. “Me too.”

He walked away. I watched him for nearly a full minute before remembering I was surrounded by people with enhanced senses.

I turned around just as a blur of combat boots and oversized flannel came charging out of the double doors. Patty Kipner materialized in front of me, her artsy black-and-white profile picture coming to life with a burst of chaotic energy.

“Oh my God, you’re real!” she shrieked, throwing her arms around my neck in a hug so tight I felt my spine crack. She pulled back, her eyes wide with excitement. “I’ve been waiting by the door for an hour.”

She held me at arm’s length. “You are Sloane, right? Because if you’re not, this is super awkward.”

I laughed. “Yes, I’m Sloane. It’s so good to finally meet you in person.”

Patty was shorter than I had imagined, with dark hair cut in an uneven bob, several gold hoops along one ear, and heavy black eyeliner. Her black dress had tiny moons printed across it, and a painted denim jacket hung from one arm.

“I made you something.” She shoved something into my hands.

The fabric was black, soft, and smelled faintly of paint. I unfolded it and found an image of the lead character from Nocturnal Hearts, distorted into overlapping shapes and surrounded by splashes of electric pink, blue, and violet. The figure’s hair dissolved into crows and flower petals, while the funeral home rose behind her in warped lines.