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The Blood Moon doesn’t have anything to do with being a wolf shifter. But it affects them? Or do they celebrate it? Maybe it’s part of their religion? Do wolf shifters have a religion? Do they pray to some moon goddess or something?

“And you celebrate it?” I ask, not voicing the cacophony of additional questions growing in my head.

“In a way, yes.”

He gives me a scathing look that suggests their celebration is more than drinking and dancing in the moonlight.

“And who’s Fynn?” It seems like a safe question to ask in public.

“He’s a good friend of mine. Likes to read and knows things. He’s a mere, and I’m sure he would be delighted to meet you. I kind of had to tell him about you when I asked him to do research on the human mate bond subject. So, he knows who you are. But don’t worry,” he adds quickly before I can berate him for telling others my identity. “He won’t tell anyone. He doesn’t care about your past career or anything like that. He’s more interested in books and how all this is possible.”

I’m not happy he told another person who I am, but he says Fynn is reliable, and I believe him. For some strange reason, I trust him.

“Then I would love to meet him.”

Calliope appears and places our pastries on the table, set on delicate white plates with tiny cartoon drawings of cupcakes, croissants, and other cute little sweets around the edge of the plate border.

We fall into easy conversation about nothing specific. Hunter devours his cinnamon roll in three large bites and sips on his coffee as he tells me about being mayor and growing up in asmall town. How everyone is always in each other’s business but also how it’s nice to be able to call on your neighbor when you need help removing a dead tree stump from your yard or how everyone shows up with a plate of food when they smell someone cooking bar-b-que.

I tell him how my neighbors filed a lawsuit against me for planting trees that shed leaves in their yard over the fence line. I stay away from topics like my singing career and mother, one because I don’t like talking about them and two because I don’t want anyone to overhear and connect the dots.

After finishing at the bakery, he takes me next door toTall Tail Books, and I pick out half a dozen books to take home, which Hunter dutifully carries with a smile on his face. While we’re there, he introduces me to Fynn. I hadn’t imagined meeting him this soon after Hunter telling me about him, but I guess that's how small towns work. He’s polite and curious but quiet, getting lost in his search for a book not five minutes after meeting me.

Chapter 26 – Lottie

Cooking with Sophie and Ginger is the most fun I’ve had in years. Even though Hunter insisted on driving me here, he did leave for a good portion of the time I was learning to cook. I’m thankful for this because I made a fool of myself more than once. But now I can successfully cook scrambles eggs without turning them to rubber, make toast and coffee without burning it, and even a chicken casserole. It’s a lot easier than I thought it would be, but it still took me two tries to get it right.

Sophie also made chocolate chip cookies that smell heavenly. She promises to teach me to bake on another day. Apparently, that deserves its own lesson.

Hunter strolls into the kitchen just as we’re cleaning up. I slide my near-perfect chicken casserole in front of him on the kitchen island and smile proudly.

“Look what I made.”

He sniffs it and hums appreciatively.

“Go ahead, take a taste.”

Handing him a fork, he doesn’t hesitate to plunge it into the creamy cheesy noodles and chicken. The bite is more like an entire serving size on his fork, but he fits it into his mouth easily, his eyes widening in surprise at the taste.

“Tastes just like Moms.”

Which is the biggest compliment he could give me. Last night, when he stayed at the cabin with me, he made dinner for us again since I’m apparently useless in the kitchen.Well, maybe not anymore.His cooking skills still far succeed my own, though, and probably always will.

Spending another night under the same roof as Hunter and him still not doing more than being thoughtful and sweet and giving me nothing more than toe-curling kisses was infuriating. How dare he get a girl all excited and leave her hanging.

I know he wants more with me and I him. Every moment I spend with him increases it threefold. His scent, the deep timber of his voice, the feel on his body so close to mine but not touching skin to skin. He’s fast becoming a drug, even more addicting than the cinnamon rolls atSticky Bun’s.

Hunter chews and swallows and immediately takes another mouthful.

“That good, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

Watching him eat something I made, and it being good, makes my heart all fuzzy inside. Before he can protest, I snap a Polaroid for my growing collection of memories. All I’ve ever known is music; it’s all I’ve ever been good at, and it's all I was allowed to do. Being able to make something else with just as much of myself in it as my music is a new sensation. One that I’d like to repeat.

Sophie pulls the cookies out of the oven and barely sets them on the cooling rack before all three of us reach to grab one. Hunter shoves the entire thing in his mouth in one go while Ginger and I take more reasonable bites of ours. They’re warm and gooey and fill my stomach with warmth beyond just their temperature.

I feel a wholeness growing inside when we leave Hunter’s parent’s house. One that makes me smile for no reason andsticks with me the entire way back to the cabin, containers full of leftover casserole and cookies at my feat.