Page 1 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)

Resolutions weren’t really a thing for Joe Reaverson. When he saw something that needed doing, he took care of it right away. And when an improvement suggested itself, he adjusted his routine to include it. But this January was different. Joe was ready for a change.

Coming around to the decision had taken a while, but there hadn’t been any need to rush. If what everyone said was true—and he knew it was—then he’d have centuries with Kip. Plenty of time to sort things out. That’s why, with one thing and another, a whole decade had slipped away.

That was just … life.

As routines went, there’d been a lot of adjusting to do.

Red Gate Farm was now a busy Amaranthine enclave.

Ash had become a world-famous television celebrity.

Cyril had campaigned for office and been elected president.

And in the background, behind all the big important stuff, Joe had become Kip’s bondmate.

For practical reasons. A sort of … fix. Their bond meant Tami wouldn’t outlive her twin brother, and it’d made it possible for Kip to stay close to Ash.

Two birds with one stone. But Joe had been growing increasingly aware that their impulsive plan—forged without much forethought—had rooted and budded and sprouted and looked to be yielding a modest crop of consequences.

Grandpa George had always been so much better at seeing the direction things were headed and stepping in with the pruning shears. Nipping things in the bud. Culling to improve the quality of the coming harvest.

At the time, Joe had honestly thought he was doing something selfless. Kip had been a friend indeed to a friend in need.

Looking back, Joe could see what Argent had tried to tell them.

Maybe even warn them. The fox had explained with exaggerated patience that many bondmates were dear friends who didn’t want to be parted.

But all the while—by some trick of tone or expression—he’d managed to insinuate that this wasn’t them.

Because Kip and Joe barely knew each other.

Because a soul-bond had a way of blurring boundaries.

Because Joe hadn’t understood what having a bondmate would entail.

But in his panic over becoming part of some kind of reaver breeding program, Joe had ignored caution and lunged for safety. Because Kip really did make Joe feel safe. The problem was all the other things Kip made him feel.

Joe had somehow managed to fall in love quietly enough for Kip to overlook it.

Strange, given the intimacy of the bond they were nurturing.

Joe’s best guess was that the wards Argent had imposed for Kip’s safety were keeping Joe’s feelings under wraps.

Then again, it might actually be that most of Kip’s attention was still fixed on Ash.

It was understandable.

Kip and Ash had been together for hundreds of years, and somewhere along the way, Kip had fallen for his best friend. He’d been secretly in love for long, long time. Yet when Ash lost his heart to Tami, Kip had bravely encouraged the match, then broken down and cried in Joe’s arms.

He’d let Ash go.

But … he hadn’t.

Not all the way.

Joe had reasoned it out a thousand times. Kip’s relationship with Ash was a little like Joe’s relationship with Red Gate Farm. There was a longstanding, deep-seated sense of belonging. Joe and Kip had that in common: neither of them wanted to lose the place that was theirs.

Really, Joe shouldn’t be harboring any dissatisfaction.

Joe had known how Kip felt, and it hadn’t bothered him.

Not then. To his way of thinking, love was a sturdy, abiding thing.

Of course Kip couldn’t just stop. Treasuring Ash was so ingrained, it was part of who Kip was. And he showed it in so many small ways.

Glances.

Smiles.

Posture.

Plans.

Kip’s life revolved around Ash. It always had.

But should it still?

Joe had begun to wonder what it would be like for Kip to look at him the way he looked at Ash. How it would feel to inspire secret smiles. To affect the set of Kip’s shoulders and the flick of his tail. To be his first thought, not his last duty of the day.

The decade gone seemed to be saying that patience wasn’t the answer.

For a long time, Joe hadn’t even realized he was following in Kip’s footsteps, not wanting to burden the one he loved with any inconvenient or inconsiderate feelings.

But lately, when Joe was alone, walking the farm at sunrise and getting his feet under him …

? Times like this, he let himself dwell on the softness of red fur, the shine of mischief in clear brown eyes, and the little noises his bondmate let slip during tending.

Joe wasn’t satisfied.

Kip was his, but he wasn’t.

Not all the way.

Changing that meant changing something. So he resolved to make a fresh start. It could be something small. Something even he could handle.

Mind made up, he didn’t dawdle.

Early chores done, he returned to the house for breakfast with his family. Same as always. Kip was there, already dressed for work, halfway through a big stack of pancakes. He waved a fork but went right back to listening to Mom.

Dad passed Joe a plate, and he sat in his usual place. Conversation flowed around him. He paid attention, but he didn’t contribute. Same as always.

But when it was time for him to head out again, he stepped into his boots, pulled on his barn coat, leaned back through the kitchen door, and softly called, “See you, Alder.”

And left.

He didn’t get far.

Joe was barely to the end of the front walk when his bondmate was suddenly in front of him, eyes full of questions that Joe wasn’t sure he could answer. Yet.

“Hey. What was that …?” asked Kip.

“Your name …?”

“I know my own name, Jiro.” The redhead’s smile turned quizzical. “It’s fine, but why the sudden change?”

This change was the farthest thing from sudden.

More importantly, it had worked. Kip was curious.

That was good.

Probably.

Joe hadn’t considered having to answer for the switch, but the words that slipped out next were honest. “I wanted something of my own.”