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“Nonsense,” Sophie chimes in from my side. “Take what you like before these heathens eat it all.”

There seems to be plenty of food to have leftovers, in my opinion. Do they really expect to eateverything? WatchingRyder pile his plate nearly three inches high and Ginger’s plate not far behind him, maybe they will.

Shifting my biscuit to the side, Hunter scoops a spoonful of cheese and noodles onto my plate. Not nearly as much as on his, but still a hearty helping that I’m sure I won’t be able to finish. Before I can reach for the chicken, Hunter beats me to it, placing a leg and slice of breast on my plate at my instruction.

Once everyone has a full plate, mine completely served by Hunter, there isn’t much talking for a few minutes. Everyone enjoying the home-cooked meal with its mouthwateringly amazing flavor, if I do say so myself.

“So, Lottie,” Sophie starts, setting down her fork and taking her wine glass in hand. “Tell us about yourself. What do you do for a living?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Oh, um . . .” I stall, trying to come up with a good lie that never comes, so I settle with the only thing I can think of. “I’m in between jobs right now.”

“Really? Are you looking for a new career or just taking a break?”

“Uh, maybe both. I'm not sure if I want to stay in the same position, but I love the industry. So, I might try to find something else within the same area.”

Keeping my answer vague, I infuse a little truth into my story. I do love music; I love singing, composing, and writing. The part I don’t like anymore is the fame. When I was fifteen, my mom told me I was going to be a famous singer, and I was excited about it. It was fun for the first couple of years until it became too much. Too many photo ops, interviews, security details, tour performances, stalkers, and lonely nights alone in my mansion hiding from my mother and her demands. If I could make music without all of that, paving my own path and possibly releasingmore records under the guidance of a new manager, I would gladly remain in the music industry.

Most musicians are always looking for the spotlight and record deal with the world tour, but until you’ve had to do it, you don’t realize how demanding it is and how strong you have to be to succeed without losing yourself.

“What industry would that be?”

Ah fuck. Walked right into that one.

As I’m mentally fumbling my emotional football, Ginger picks it up and runs with it in the opposite direction.

“Maybe Lottie will become a photographer. She carries her Polaroid with her everywhere. I’m surprised she doesn’t have it with her tonight.”

Thank you, oh wise and loving Ginger.If she would let me, I would create a religion around her and build her a neon blue church on a hill to bring her designer shoe offerings every Sunday.

“That’s how I met her. She came into the shop looking for more film,” Michael tells his wife from his place at the head of the table on the opposite side of Hunter.

His lips stretch into a coy grin as he looks my way. As if we have some sort of secret inside joke I’m unaware of. Maybe because I told him about Hunter?

I’m so curious about that look that I keep silent, wanting to know where this is going.

“She showed me a few of her photos she’s taken around town.” He pauses to shift his eyes toward Hunter, who has gone extremely still watching his father. “She even took a few around the cabin that I found very beautiful. Great composition. You wouldn’t happen to have any of them with you now, would you, Lottie?”

Michael turns his attention back to me, smiling broadly. Since he’s smiling and not in a malicious manner, I’m assuming he’s not mad about the photos, so I concede.

“Yes. I have a few of them in my purse. I’ve kinda been collecting them in a notebook and carrying them around.”

I dig into my purse hanging on the back of my chair, where I hooked it when we sat down to eat, pulling out a small stack of Polaroids I took around the cabin and town, even though he specifically asked for the others. One by one, I hand them to Sophie, listing off where I was even though I’m sure she knows all of them. The last one is the photo of the wolf in the forest the first time I met him.

“I was honestly shocked I was able to take this one.” I hand the photo over to Sophie, and her eyebrows shoot into her hairline. A reaction I myself had when meeting the wild wolf. “I stumbled upon this wolf while taking a walk in the woods by the cabin. He was surprisingly docile and friendly.”

Sophie grins and covers her smile with her hand, pinching her lips together. If I didn’t know better, I would say she’s trying not to laugh. But there’s nothing funny about the photo. Is there?

“Oh, yes. He’s very docile. . . very friendly. I’ve never known him to let anyone take his photo, though.” Sophie says, then hands the photo over to Ginger, who barks out a loud, sharp laugh before slapping her hand to her mouth.

I frown at her. That’s an unusual reaction to a photo of a wolf.

“Oh my. What a handsome wolf.” Ginger’s eyes stray from the photo in her hand to Hunter sitting next to me, wide and glittering with humor. “Wouldn’t you say so, Ryder?”

Holding the photo to the side so he can see it, her gaze remains on Hunter. Her lips are pulled between her teeth, and her shoulders shake with unreleased laughter.

Ryder grunts and returns to his food, shoveling in another bite. “It’s just a wolf, Ginger. Nothing exciting about that.”