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"But don't you get lonely?" Belle presses, and there's something almost innocent about the question. "Living out there away from town, not participating in community events, not... I don't know, dating or socializing like other people your age? Like what events could you participate in?"

"Like what?" I ask.

"Well, there's the monthly fun walk around the park,” she beams.

“We prefer running."

"Trivia night at Murphy's every Wednesday,” she says, while jumping with excitement. I could feed of her energy all day.

“We're too knowledgeable. It wouldn't be fair."

She raises an eyebrow. "What about the annual treasure hunt?"

"That's for kids."

"The harvest festival? Town meetings? Game nights at the community center?"

"Too crowded and loud," I reply about the harvest festival. "Town meetings are just people complaining about the same issues every month," I add. "And game nights... too many personalities in one small room," I conclude.

The question hits closer to home than she probably realizes. Yes, we get lonely. Yes, there are times when the isolation feels more like exile than choice. Yes, watching other people find mates and build families while we remain locked in a pattern of searching and disappointment gets exhausting.

But how do you explain to someone who seems genuinely happy with her life and work, that some people are driven by biological needs that can't be satisfied through career fulfillment or community service?

“We do get lonely sometimes," I admit. "But we have each other, and we have work that matters to us. That's enough for now."

"For now," Belle repeats thoughtfully. "That suggests you're waiting for something specific."

She's perceptive, and the way she's looking at me with those brilliant blue eyes that seem to see everything. It makes me want to tell her things I've never told anyone outside the pack.

"What about you?" I deflect. "Don't you get lonely? Living alone, dedicating so much time to work, not..."

I trail off, realizing I'm about to ask about her dating life, which crosses several lines of professional appropriateness.

"Not what?" Belle prompts, but there's amusement in her voice rather than offense.

"Not building the kind of personal relationships that most people prioritize at our age," I finish carefully.

Belle laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. "You mean why am I not married with kids and a white picket fence? Trust me, everyone in town asks me the same question. The answer is that I haven't found anyone who interests me more than my work does. Maybe that makes me weird, but I'd rather be happily single than unhappily partnered."

There's something sharp and defensive in her tone that snaps out before she can stop it. Once she says it, I can see her catch herself, her expression softening slightly.

"That doesn't make you weird," I assure her. "It makes you honest about what you want from life."

"Exactly! Though try explaining that to a small town that thinks there's something wrong with any woman over twenty-five who isn't actively seeking a mate."

The casual way she says "mate" makes me wonder if Belle understands pack dynamics, if she's aware of the complexities of secondary gender relationships or if she's using the term in the more general sense that betas often employ.

"Is that what people say about you?" I ask, genuinely curious about how the community perceives her choices.

"Oh, I'm definitely the subject of regular speculation," Belle says with obvious amusement. "Lady Inkwell has written at least three gossip columns about my 'mysterious romantic status' and why eligible bachelors should consider the benefits of dating a librarian. It's mortifying and hilarious at the same time."

"Lady Inkwell writes about you specifically?" I ask. I’ve only started reading her columns, when I have nothing better to do, and to see if we feature in it.

"Lady Inkwell writes about everyone, apparently my love life, or lack thereof, is considered newsworthy. Last month she suggested that I might be 'too intellectual' to attract masculine attention, which was both insulting and ridiculous."

The idea that Belle would be considered too intellectual for masculine attention is so absurd that I nearly laugh out loud. Any man would be lucky to have her attention, let alone her affection.

"That's definitely ridiculous," I agree. "Intelligence is attractive, especially when it's combined with passion for meaningful work."