Page 131 of Knotting the Firefighters

Definitely never boring.

The truck pulls onto the main road, five people with complicated histories and incompatible communication styles heading toward an adjacent town for a shopping trip that's somehow transformed into a statement about pack dynamics and territorial claims.

My life is absurd.

Completely, utterly absurd.

But looking at the borrowed clothes I'm wearing—Bear's shirt, Aidric's jeans, Silas's belt—visual evidence that I'm theirsnow, whether temporary or permanent, whether I'm ready or not?—

Maybe absurd is exactly what I need.

With these four ridiculous Alphas with their cowboy aesthetics and their bickering and their surprising capacity for care are exactly what I've been missing.

Maybe…

Bear's voice cuts through my thoughts, warm and teasing from the back seat.

"So, Firefly, ready to prove you're not a tomboy?"

I twist in my seat to meet his gaze, determination evident in my expression.

"Absolutely. Prepare to witness the full extent of my fashion sense and feminine style. Going to blow your mind with wardrobe transformation."

His grin widens, challenge accepted.

"Looking forward to it. Prove it when we're in the mall and you update your new wardrobe.

FITTING ROOM CONFESSIONS

~BECKETT~

The changing room chair is surprisingly comfortable for furniture designed to accommodate impatient partners—plush cushioning that doesn't immediately trigger lower back pain, positioned at an optimal angle for observing without appearing to leer.

Not that I'm leering.

Just appreciating.

There's a distinction.

I've been sitting here for approximately thirty minutes while Wendolyn cycles through what must be the twenty-fifth clothing combination from the impressive stack she'd accumulated during our boutique exploration.

Girl knows what she wants.

Decisive shopper despite claims of fashion uncertainty.

Grabbed items with practiced efficiency that suggests more confidence than she's willing to admit.

The boutique itself is perfect for this excursion—a small-town establishment that caters to locals rather than tourists, quiet on weekday afternoons, staffed by an elderly woman who'd taken one look at Wendolyn in her borrowed men's clothing and immediately understood the assignment.

"Let's get you properly outfitted, dear."

No judgment, no questions, just practical assistance and genuine enthusiasm.

Exactly what Wendy needed.

We'd arrived in the adjacent town around early afternoon after stopping for breakfast at a family-owned restaurant that served portions large enough to feed small armies. The meal had been surprisingly pleasant despite Aidric and Calder's ongoing cold war—good food, comfortable atmosphere, the particular coziness of establishments that have served their communities for generations.

No one knew us.