Page 12 of Claws for Celebration (Hollow Oak Mates #3)

MOIRA

T he morning air carried the scent of fresh bread and brewing coffee as Moira pushed through the door of The Griddle & Grind.

She'd barely slept after the events of the previous night, her mind replaying the moment she'd seen Lucien's stained shirt and bloodied skin, the careful way he'd moved as if every breath caused him pain.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Twyla called from behind the counter, her hair catching the morning sunlight. "You look like you wrestled with a pillow all night and lost."

"Something like that," Moira admitted, settling onto one of the vintage stools at the counter. The familiar warmth of the café wrapped around her like a comfort blanket, though it couldn't quite chase away the energy that seemed to be buzzing beneath her skin since dawn.

"Let me guess," Twyla said, already reaching for the coffee pot. "Someone kept you up past your bedtime with worry and wonder?"

The knowing tone in Twyla's voice made Moira look up sharply. "How could you know that?"

"Honey, this is a small town. Word travels fast when our local bookstore owner comes limping through the streets at dawn looking like he tangled with a mountain lion.

" Twyla poured steaming coffee into a ceramic mug painted with wildflowers.

"And when said bookstore owner's research partner spends the night fussing over his injuries like a mama bear protecting her cub. "

Heat flooded Moira's cheeks. "It wasn't like that. He was hurt, and I happened to be there. Basic human decency, nothing more."

"Uh-huh." Twyla slid a plate containing a still-warm blueberry scone across the counter. "And I suppose the way you two look at each other is also basic human decency?"

"We don't look at each other any particular way," Moira protested, though even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

The memory of Lucien's dark green eyes watching her as she'd cleaned his wounds was burned into her consciousness, along with the way his breath had hitched when her fingers accidentally brushed uninjured skin.

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." Twyla leaned against the counter with the satisfied expression of someone who'd made her point. "Sugar, you've got it bad for our mysterious bookkeeper, and anyone with functioning eyeballs can see it."

Moira took a careful sip of coffee, buying time to organize her thoughts.

The truth was more complicated than simple attraction, though she couldn't deny that element existed.

Caring for Lucien's injuries had created an intimacy she hadn't expected, a tenderness that went beyond professional courtesy or friendly concern.

"It's complicated," she said finally.

"The best ones usually are." Twyla began wiping down the already spotless counter with unnecessary vigor. "Want to talk about what's making it complicated?"

"He's..." Moira searched for words that could adequately describe the enigma that was Lucien Vale. "There's more to him than he lets on. Sometimes when he looks at me, it's like he's seeing something I don't even know exists. And last night, those injuries..."

"What about them?"

"They looked like claw marks, Twyla. Deep ones.

But he insisted it was a hiking accident, some kind of fall down a rocky slope.

" Moira set down her mug with more force than necessary.

"Either this mountain has the most aggressive rocks in existence, or he's not telling me the truth about what happened. "

"And that bothers you?"

"Of course it bothers me. I spent an hour cleaning blood out of wounds that looked like something tried to shred him, and he acts like it's no big deal. Like getting mauled is just part of his regular evening routine."

"Maybe it is," Twyla said quietly.

The words sent a chill down Moira's spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Lucien takes his responsibilities seriously. Sometimes that puts him in dangerous situations." Twyla's expression had grown thoughtful, as if she was choosing her words with unusual care. "He's not the kind of man who asks for help, even when he needs it."

"Responsibilities? He owns a bookstore, not a wilderness rescue service."

"People have layers, honey. Just because someone appears to live a quiet life doesn't mean that life isn't more complex than it seems on the surface."

Moira thought about the way Lucien moved through his shop with predatory grace, how he seemed to know exactly where every book belonged without checking his catalog system, the careful precision with which he'd arranged her research workspace.

Nothing about his behavior suggested simple retail management.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked.

"I'm not telling you lots of things," Twyla replied with her characteristic honesty. "Same as you're not telling me lots of things about what you've been discovering in those old family records."

The deflection was skillfully done, but Moira caught it anyway. "This isn't about my research."

"Isn't it? You're learning about your family's history, about traditions and abilities you never knew existed. Maybe you're also learning that the people around you aren't exactly what they first appeared to be either."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning sometimes the most important discoveries come from paying attention to what's right in front of us instead of what's written in old books."

Moira bit into her scone, the sweet blueberries bursting across her tongue while she processed Twyla's cryptic advice. The café owner had a talent for saying things that sounded like harmless small-town philosophy while carrying layers of meaning that made Moira's head spin.

"Can I ask you something?" Moira said finally.

"Always."

"Do you think I'm losing my mind?"

Twyla's expression softened with genuine warmth. "What makes you ask that?"

"The things I've been experiencing lately.

Books that seem to respond to my touch, dreams that feel more like memories, the feeling that everyone in this town knows something I don't." Moira's voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm living in two worlds simultaneously, and I can't figure out which one is real. "

"Maybe they both are," Twyla suggested gently. "Maybe the trick isn't choosing between them but learning how they fit together."

"That's a very diplomatic way of avoiding my question."

"You want a straight answer?" Twyla leaned forward, her brown eyes serious. "No, I don't think you're losing your mind. I think you're finding it. The question is whether you're brave enough to accept what that means."

Before Moira could ask for clarification, the café door chimed again, and she looked up to see Lucien entering with careful movements that suggested his injuries were still bothering him.

He'd changed into a fresh shirt that concealed the bandages she'd applied, but she could see the slight tension in his shoulders that spoke of suppressed discomfort.

"Morning, ladies," he said, that slow smile transforming his angular features. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please do," Twyla said, already reaching for another mug. "I was just telling Moira how much the whole town appreciates visitors who take such good care of our local business owners."

The knowing glint in Twyla's eyes made Moira's cheeks burn again, but Lucien seemed oblivious to the subtext as he settled onto the stool beside hers.

"How are you feeling?" Moira asked, noting how he favored his left side while adjusting his position.

"Much better, thanks to your excellent field medicine skills." His voice carried warmth that made her stomach flutter. "I owe you breakfast at the very least."

"You don't owe me anything," she said quickly. "I just did what anyone would do."

"Not anyone," he corrected, his dark green eyes holding hers with an intensity that made the rest of the café fade into background noise. "Thank you, Moira. For taking care of me."

The sincerity combined with the way he was looking at her as if she'd done something remarkable rather than simply applying basic first aid, made her chest tight with emotions she wasn't ready to examine.

"You're welcome," she managed, acutely aware of how close he was sitting, how the morning light caught the slight wave in his dark hair, how his presence made her feel both grounded and off-balance simultaneously.

"Well," Twyla said with obvious satisfaction, "isn't this cozy? Nothing like a little emergency medicine to bring people together."

As Moira sat between Twyla's knowing smiles and Lucien's careful attention, surrounded by the warm atmosphere of the small-town café while her mind reeled with questions about magical books and mysterious injuries, she realized that her carefully ordered academic life had become something she no longer recognized.

The only constant in the chaos was the man beside her, whose secrets seemed as deep as her own growing abilities, and whose presence had become the anchor that kept her tethered to sanity in an increasingly surreal world.

Whatever was happening to her, whatever she was becoming, Lucien Vale had somehow become essential to the process. Realizing the vulnerability of caring about someone whose true nature remained tantalizingly hidden behind dark green eyes and gentle smiles was overwhelming in multiple senses.