Page 3

AUTUMN

A utumn paced the length of her room like the floorboards had personally offended her. She had slept decently the first night there, but still, her mind had been busy and given her complicated dreams.

The scent of lavender clung to the air like a polite ghost—persistent, a little invasive, and probably enchanted by some old woman with a fondness for charm bags and passive-aggressive energy.

Her boots thudded softly on the wood, rhythm matching the mental war she’d been waging since Dorian’s ridiculous, yet annoyingly well-timed, proposal.

Mate. He’d said mate. Like that wasn’t a word loaded with every kind of implication a supernatural woman might want to avoid. She could barely commit to a favorite coffee order. And now she was supposed to fake-date a bear shifter with eyes like honey and shoulders built for sin?

Her reflection in the old mirror frowned back at her, violet-blue eyes tired, mouth set in a stubborn line. She looked like someone who didn’t do small talk or spontaneous decisions.

“Three weeks,” she muttered. “Just three weeks, cleanse the house, play pretend, take the money, leave.”

It was the paycheck that was pushing her toward yes. The inn needed real work, and Dorian—sunshine incarnate in flannel—had a way of making his chaos sound like a plan.

But there was something else. Something harder to name.

Curiosity.

There was a story buried in this house. In Dorian, too. She could feel it, coiled tight beneath the easy smiles and warm mugs of coffee. And Autumn, for all her introverted edge, had always been a sucker for untold stories.

She grabbed her notebook, clipped a charm to her belt loop—one carved from red jasper to absorb spiritual agitation—and headed downstairs.

The house didn’t creak when she moved through it. Not like it had when she first arrived. That was either a good sign… or a very, very bad one.

She found Dorian in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up again, arms dusted with flour, and a slightly scorched baking sheet on the counter.

“Is that… bread?” she asked, eyeing the dough ball with a suspicious lean.

“Supposed to be,” he said, glancing up with that disarming grin that made her stomach dip. “Might end up as a weapon if it doesn’t cooperate.”

Autumn smirked despite herself. “If this inn thing falls through, you’ve got a future in shifter-proofing.”

He chuckled and wiped his hands on a towel. “You sleep okay?”

She shrugged, noncommittal. “The bed didn’t eat me, so we’ll call it a win.”

“I’ll take it.” He leaned against the counter, drying his hands slowly. “Thought about my offer?”

She hesitated. “I did.”

“And?”

Another breath, then she crossed her arms. “Here’s the deal. I don’t do drama. I don’t do clingy. And I sure as hell don’t do real feelings.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges. “Got it. Strictly fake feelings only.”

“I’m serious, Dorian. This is just for show. The second this house is cleared, I’m gone. We don’t blur lines.”

He gave a solemn nod, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “No lines blurred. Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout.”

“Nope,” he said, “but I was a ranger. That’s gotta count for something.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me hazard pay and at least three favors.”

“What kind of favors?”

“I’ll let you know when I think of them.”

He grinned like he’d just won a bet. “Deal.”

Autumn grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter, peeled it, and leaned against the fridge. “We’ll start slow. Casual touch here and there. No pet names.”

His mouth twitched. “I was gonna call you sugar blossom.”

She pointed her banana at him. “You try it, I walk.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Noted. Strictly professional fake-dating with casual fond glances and occasional hand-holding.”

“And no telling the town yet,” she added. “Let me scope things out first. Spirit-wise.”

“Of course.” He tapped his temple. “I trust your ghost radar.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is. You got that look when the air shifts. It’s all intense and haunted. Very chic.”

Autumn shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re exhausting.”

“You like me anyway.”

She said nothing, not sure why she wasn’t able to deny it.

They spent the rest of the morning walking through the house again, this time with Autumn making more descriptive notes, checking pressure points, and letting her senses expand just enough to feel what wasn’t visible.

The first time it hit her, they were in the old study.

A whisper.

Soft. Not words, exactly. Just… longing. A breath of emotion that didn’t belong to either of them. She paused, one hand on the edge of a dust-covered writing desk.

“You okay?” Dorian asked, watching her carefully.

“There’s something here,” she said quietly. “It’s not angry yet. Just… watching.”

He nodded. “That’s pretty much how the house has felt since I moved in. Like it’s waiting.”

“Most ghosts are,” she murmured. “For someone to listen. For a truth to be told.”

They moved on to the library next. She let her fingers trail along the book spines, eyes narrowing as one vibrated slightly beneath her touch. “This shelf shifts itself?”

“Only when someone’s going through heartbreak,” Dorian said. “Or when I play country music too loud.”

“Same thing.”

He laughed, deep and genuine, and the sound made something warm uncurl inside her chest.

They didn’t touch much, just the occasional graze of fingers when he handed her something, or when she steadied herself on a creaking floorboard—but every time they did, she felt her body heat up and tense all at once. His skin was warm. Always warm. Like a low-burning fire under the surface.

By the time they reached the third-floor landing, she was bone-weary and buzzed from the constant low hum of spirit energy.

“I need a break,” she said, leaning against the wall.

Dorian nodded and opened the window nearby. A breeze drifted in, cool and pine-scented, carrying the distant sound of laughter from the square below.

“You ever think about leaving?” she asked suddenly, surprising herself.

He leaned beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “I did. After the fire. Thought about running as far from these mountains as I could.”

“But?”

“But something kept pulling me back. Maybe it’s the land. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Or maybe this old house whispered sweet nothings when no one was lookin’.”

Autumn looked at him trying to understand.

He wasn’t what she expected when she took the job. Too kind. Too open. And yet… there was steel under the sweetness. A quiet kind of strength that didn’t need to prove itself.

Dangerous, she thought. The kind of man who could make her forget all her rules.

“You’re a strange one, Dorian Hawthorne.”

He smiled. “Takes one to know one.”.