Grace
I wake with a jolt, heart pounding against my ribs. The room is too quiet, lacking the hum of vending machines and the distant rumble of highway traffic I've grown accustomed to. For a disorienting moment, I don't know where I am—only that the space beside me is empty.
Willow.
I bolt upright, scanning the unfamiliar room. Sunlight filters through curtains I don't recognize, illuminating a patchwork quilt and wooden furniture that isn't cheap motel standard. The memories rush back—the gala, Eli Greystone, his cabin in the woods.
And Willow is gone.
I'm out of bed in seconds, not bothering with shoes as I rush from the room. My heart hammers in my throat as I follow the sound of voices, skidding to a stop at the entrance to a small, rustic kitchen.
The scene before me is so startlingly domestic it stops me in my tracks.
Willow sits at a wooden table, her legs swinging freely, a plate of pancakes in front of her.
She's laughing—actually laughing—as Eli flips another pancake with a dramatic flourish.
He's barefoot, wearing a faded t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, looking nothing like the imposing figure from last night's gala.
My breath catches as I take him in—broad shoulders stretching the worn cotton of his shirt, strong forearms exposed where he's pushed up his sleeves, hair still rumpled from sleep.
There's something devastatingly attractive about him like this—relaxed, unguarded, a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
The morning light filtering through the windows catches on the stubble along his jaw, highlighting the sharp angles of his face in a way that makes my stomach flip unexpectedly.
"Higher!" Willow demands, and he obliges, sending the pancake spinning through the air before catching it neatly on the spatula.
"Morning," Eli says when he spots me, his voice casual, as if finding me wild-eyed and panicked in his kitchen is perfectly normal. "Coffee's fresh."
Willow turns, her face lit with a smile I haven't seen in months. "Grace! Mr. Eli is making pancakes shaped like animals! Mine was a wolf!"
I stare at the half-eaten pancake on her plate. It does, vaguely, resemble a wolf.
"I—" My voice catches. I'm still trying to process the scene, to reconcile the knot of fear in my chest with the utter normalcy before me. "You should have woken me up."
Eli slides the newest pancake onto a waiting plate. "She only got up about twenty minutes ago. Seemed like you could use the sleep."
There's no judgment in his tone, but heat rises to my cheeks anyway. I'm not used to sleeping deeply enough that someone can remove a child from my side without waking me. It feels like a failure, a dangerous lapse in vigilance.
"I was careful not to wake you," Willow says, as if reading my thoughts. "You looked so peaceful."
I force my breathing to slow, crossing my arms over my chest. I'm suddenly very aware that I'm wearing the same clothes from yesterday, rumpled from sleep.
"Hungry?" Eli asks, nodding toward the stove. "There's plenty."
My stomach growls traitorously, and Willow giggles. "Grace's tummy says yes!"
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. "I guess that's my answer."
Eli gestures to the empty chair beside Willow. "Sit. I'll bring it over."
I hesitate, then comply, sliding into the chair. The kitchen is small but cozy, with worn wooden countertops and mismatched mugs hanging from hooks. It feels lived-in, personal in a way that makes my chest ache with something I can't name.
Eli sets a plate in front of me—two pancakes vaguely resembling rabbits—followed by a steaming mug of coffee.
"Cream and sugar are on the table," he says, turning back to the stove.
I stare at the mug, then at the pancakes. It's been so long since someone cooked for me that I'm not sure how to respond. "Thank you," I manage, the words stiff and formal.
Willow kicks her feet happily, completely at ease. "Mr. Eli says we can stay as long as we need to," she informs me, syrup dripping down her chin.
I tense, darting a glance at Eli's back. "We'll figure something out today," I say firmly. "We won't impose on Mr. Greystone any longer than necessary."
Eli turns, leaning against the counter with his own mug of coffee. "It's not an imposition," he says simply. "And it's just Eli."
I take a bite of pancake to avoid responding, surprised by how good it tastes. Willow chatters away, telling me about the different animal shapes Eli has made, seemingly oblivious to the tension in my shoulders.
"Do you need to shower?" Eli asks after a moment. "Bathroom's down the hall. Clean towels in the cabinet under the sink."
The offer of a hot shower—a real shower, not the lukewarm trickle of budget motels—is almost too tempting to resist. But accepting feels like sinking deeper into the quicksand of his hospitality.
"I need to find a job today," I say instead. "And a place for us to stay."
Eli doesn't look surprised, just thoughtful. "I might be able to help with the job part. A friend of mine runs a security company. They could use someone to handle the administrative side."
I narrow my eyes. "I don't need charity."
"It's not charity." His voice is calm, but there's a firmness underneath that wasn't there before. "Theo's expanding his operation. He needs someone organized who can manage the office while he's in the field. It's a real job with real pay."
"I don't have references," I admit grudgingly. "We've been moving around too much."
Eli shrugs. "Theo's a wolf. He can tell if you're lying about your skills." A hint of a smile touches his lips. "Besides, my recommendation goes a long way."
I want to argue, to insist I can find something on my own, but the reality of our situation weighs on me. We have no money, no connections, and Willow needs stability. Pride is a luxury I can't afford.
"Fine," I say finally. "I'll talk to him."
Willow beams, syrup smeared across her chin. "Does that mean we get to stay?"
I reach over with a napkin, wiping her face. "It means we're going to try to make things work here. For a while."
The smile she gives me is worth every ounce of pride I'm swallowing.
"I should get cleaned up," I say, pushing away from the table. "If I'm going to meet your friend."
Eli nods. "Take your time. I'll call Theo and see when he's available."
I hesitate, then ask, "Where are the towels again?"
"In the bathroom. And—" He pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time. "I left a new toothbrush on the counter for you. Still in the package."
The simple gesture—a toothbrush—hits me with unexpected force. It's such a small thing, but it speaks of forethought, of preparation. Of expecting us to stay, at least for a little while.
"Thank you," I say quietly, and retreat before he can see the confusion on my face.
The bathroom is clean and modest, with worn but good-quality fixtures. I turn on the shower, letting the steam fill the small space as I undress. My reflection in the mirror looks tired, wary—the face of someone who's been running too long.
The hot water is glorious, washing away the tension of the past twenty-four hours. I stand under the spray longer than necessary, savoring the simple luxury. When I finally step out, I feel more human than I have in weeks.
The toothbrush sits on the counter, still in its packaging—blue, brand new. I unwrap it slowly, the plastic crinkling in my hands. Such a small thing, and yet it feels monumental. A toothbrush means staying, at least for a night or two. It means Eli expected us, prepared for us.
I don't know how to feel about that.
After breakfast, Eli suggests we take a drive to see the Sanctuary site. I hesitate, but Willow's already bouncing in her seat at the idea of going somewhere new.
"Please, Grace?" she begs, her eyes wide and hopeful. "I want to see where the wolves live!"
I sigh, outnumbered. "Alright. But just for a little while."
Eli's truck is clean but clearly well-used, with a comfortable lived-in feel. Willow climbs into the back seat, buckling herself in with practiced ease. I slide into the passenger seat, hyper-aware of Eli's presence beside me.
The drive is quiet but not uncomfortable.
Willow peppers Eli with questions about wolves and shifters, and he answers each one patiently, his deep voice filling the cab of the truck.
I watch the scenery pass by—dense forest giving way to clearings, then back to forest again.
Whispering Pines is beautiful, I have to admit.
Peaceful in a way that soothes something raw inside me.
We turn onto a dirt road that winds through the trees, eventually opening into a large clearing. Construction equipment sits idle near stacks of lumber and other building materials. The foundation of what looks like a large building has been laid at the center.
"This is it," Eli says, parking the truck. "The future home of the Whispering Pines Sanctuary."
Willow unbuckles her seatbelt the moment the engine stops, eager to explore. I follow more cautiously, taking in the expansive property.
"It's... big," I say lamely, unsure how else to describe it.
Eli smiles, a genuine expression that transforms his face. "That's the idea. Room for everyone who needs a safe place."
We walk the perimeter slowly, Willow running ahead, kicking at pine needles and chasing butterflies. Eli points out where different structures will be built—cabins for families, a schoolhouse, a clinic, communal gardens, gathering spaces.
"The main lodge will be there," he says, indicating the foundation we passed. "Administrative offices, community kitchen, meeting rooms. The heart of the place."
I listen, watching as he gestures, his face animated in a way I haven't seen before. This isn't just a project for him—it's a purpose. A mission.
"How long will it take?" I ask.
"To finish everything? A couple of years, probably. But we'll have the first phase up and running within six months, if all goes well."