Chapter Three

By three-thirty, I’ve made twenty-seven coffees, frosted two dozen cupcakes, and been asked about my first shift six times.

This is the problem with living in a town where everyone knows everyone.

There are no secrets.

Especially when you’re a wolf turning eighteen in seven days.

“Your mom must be so excited,” Mrs. Talbot says while I ring up her blueberry scone.

“She is.”

“And nervous.”

“Probably.”

“And your father?”

“Also probably.”

She smiles knowingly.

“What about you?”

I hand her the receipt.

“I’m considering running away before anyone can ask me that question again.”

Mrs. Talbot laughs like I’m joking.

Mostly, I am.

“Tell your mother I said hello.”

“I will.”

The bell above the door jingles as she leaves Silverpine Café, and I let my forehead fall against the register.

My coworker, Tessa, snorts from behind the espresso machine.

“Only six?”

“So far.”

“You’re basically famous.”

“I hate everyone.”

“No, you don’t.”

I lift my head.

The words hit strangely after this morning.

Drevin said the same thing.

Then Callum.

Apparently everyone in my life has decided they know my emotions better than I do.

Tessa slides a caramel latte toward the pickup counter.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

It comes out too fast.

Her eyebrows rise.

I grab a rag and start wiping down an already-clean counter.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Thankfully, she lets it go.

I’ve worked at Silverpine Café for almost a year. It sits near the center of town between the pharmacy and a tiny bookstore that somehow survives despite being open whenever the owner feels like showing up.

The café is owned by a mated couple in our pack, June and Marcus Bell. June handles the baking. Marcus handles the books.

And according to June, I handle “making grumpy people less grumpy.”

Mostly because I remember everyone’s orders.

Mr. Hayes takes black coffee with one sugar.

Lydia from the pharmacy likes her chai embarrassingly sweet.

Callum orders whatever has the most caffeine.

Drevin changes his order every time just to annoy me.

The thought of him makes my hand stop.

I haven’t heard from him since he left this morning.

Normally, that wouldn’t matter.

Except lately everything about Drevin seems to matter more than it should.

His texts.

His silences.

The way he reaches for me and stops.

The way he said maybe when I asked if I’d see him tonight.

I scrub harder.

Tessa looks at the counter.

“I think it’s clean.”

“I like certainty.”

“You’re going to remove the finish.”

The bell above the door saves the counter from further abuse.

The rest of my shift passes quickly.

By five, I’ve stopped obsessively checking my phone.

Mostly.

Drevin still hasn’t texted.

Whatever.

He has a life.

He made that very clear.

At five-fifteen, June comes out from the kitchen carrying a brown paper bag.

“Take these.”

I peek inside.

Cinnamon rolls, muffins, and two croissants.

“Are these from today?”

“They won’t be tomorrow.”

“You know my brother is going to eat all of them.”

“That’s why I put six cinnamon rolls in there.”

I grin.

“You’re encouraging him.”

“I’ve seen that boy eat. Encouragement isn’t necessary.”

I untie my apron.

“Thanks, June.”

“See you tomorrow, honey.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head outside.

Silverpine is small enough that almost everything important is within ten minutes of everything else.

The pack lands stretch far beyond town, disappearing into thick forests that climb toward the mountains, but the center of Silverpine is only a few streets.

I like it.

Mostly.

There’s something comforting about knowing the woman at the café remembers your birthday and the mechanic down the street is your dad and half the people you pass know your parents.

There’s also something deeply annoying about six different people knowing exactly when your wolf is expected to emerge.

By the time I pull into our driveway, the sun is beginning to sink behind the trees.

Callum’s truck is parked near the garage.

Another black SUV sits beside it.

I recognize it immediately.

Logan.

Of course.

Callum and Logan have been best friends for so long that no one announces Logan anymore.

He just appears.

I grab the bakery bag and head inside.

Voices carry from the kitchen.

Callum.

And another, deeper voice.

I step through the doorway.

Logan Kingsley is sitting at our kitchen table.

He looks up.

His eyes land on me.

Then drop.

Briefly.

I glance down.

I’m still wearing Drevin’s oversized gray hoodie over my black work shirt.

Oh.

Logan looks away.

“Camille.”

That’s it.

Just my name.

“Logan.”

Callum’s attention goes directly to the bag.

“You brought food?”

“Nice to see you too.”

“What kind?”

“Still not a greeting.”

I hold the bag higher when he reaches for it.

“Touch it and lose a hand.”

Callum stops.

“You’re five-three.”

“Five-four.”

“Debatable.”

“You want a cinnamon roll?”

His expression changes instantly.

“You look beautiful today, dear sister.”

“Disgusting.”

A quiet sound comes from the table.

I glance over.

Logan’s mouth twitches.

Barely.

I point at him.

“Was that a laugh?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

His expression settles back into the serious one he wears ninety percent of the time.

Logan is twenty-five and Silverpine’s future Alpha.

Unfortunately, he seems determined to look the part every waking second.

Dark hair.

Broad shoulders.

Gray eyes that make you feel like you’re being assessed even when he’s doing nothing more threatening than drinking coffee.

He’s always been around because of Callum.

But somewhere in the last few years, something changed.

When I was little, he used to walk me home when I followed them too far into the woods.

He’d let me ask annoying questions.

Sometimes he even answered them.

Now?

I’m Callum’s little sister.

That’s the category he put me in.

Polite.

Distant.

Uninterested.

“What are you two doing?” I ask.

“Patrol schedules,” Callum says, already digging through the bag.

“At our house?”

“Pack house was loud.”

“You mean Mom feeds you here.”

“That too.”

Logan takes another sip of coffee.

“You’re not exactly quiet.”

I stare at him.

Callum grins.

“Was that another joke?”

“It was an observation.”

I pull out a muffin and lean against the counter.

“People might like you more if you admitted you had a personality.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Tragic.”

His eyes flick toward me.

There’s something almost amused there.

Then his gaze drops to my hoodie again.

His jaw tightens.

I look down at it.

“What?”

Logan’s eyes return to mine.

“What?”

“You keep looking at my hoodie.”

“I looked once.”

“Twice.”

Callum looks between us.

“It’s Drevin’s.”

“I know,” Logan says.

The way he says it makes me frown.

Flat.

Cold.

Callum, apparently oblivious, bites into a cinnamon roll.

“Pretty sure Drevin stopped pretending he was getting that thing back two years ago.”

“He gave up.”

“You threatened him with a fork.”

“He was trying to steal my property.”

“It was his property.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

Logan sighs.

“That isn’t what that means.”

I point at him.

“That’s exactly what Drevin says.”

Something in Logan’s expression changes.

Tiny.

Gone before I can identify it.

I bite into my muffin.

“Are you coming next week?”

Callum gives me a look.

“To your shift? Obviously.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

Logan looks at me.

For once, his attention feels complete.

“I’ll be there.”

I hadn’t expected the answer to come so quickly.

“Oh.”

His brow furrows.

“Why are you surprised?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I shrug.

“You’re busy.”

“I can make time.”

Something strange flutters low in my stomach.

I immediately ignore it.

Callum points his cinnamon roll at Logan.

“You hear that? She thinks you spend every waking hour brooding over pack business.”

“I did not say brooding.”

“You implied brooding.”

I glance at Logan.

“I assume he schedules it between staring ominously out windows and practicing disappointed expressions in mirrors.”

Callum nearly chokes.

Logan watches me.

Then, slowly, one eyebrow rises.

“You spend a lot of time imagining me in front of mirrors?”

Heat rushes into my face.

“That is not what I said.”

Callum loses it.

“I hate both of you.”

I grab the bakery bag before Callum can steal anything else.

“Hey!”

“My coworkers made these.”

“For the family.”

“For people I like.”

“Camille.”

I head toward the hallway.

“Bye.”

“Bring those back!”

I keep walking.

Then something makes me glance over my shoulder.

Logan is watching me.

Not the pastries.

Not Callum.

Me.

Our eyes meet.

For one strange second, neither of us looks away.

Then his gaze moves to Drevin’s hoodie again.

Whatever warmth I thought I saw disappears.

His face goes cool.

Controlled.

Unreadable.

Just Logan.

I turn toward the stairs.

I don’t know why his expression bothers me.

It shouldn’t.

Logan Kingsley has spent years making it perfectly clear that I’m nothing more than his best friend’s kid sister.

Whatever he thinks about me—

I’m fairly certain it isn’t interesting enough to matter.