Chapter 17 - Lucy

Last night was so wonderful.

Still, the silence in the car is tense. It almost feels like we came out of a night of arguing, not mind-blowing sex.

Peter stares out the window. I don’t know if he’s deliberately ignoring me or if this is just what he’s like. I can’t help feeling a bit disappointed and even hurt by the distance between us.

You went into last night without any expectations. Don’t blame Peter now. It was your idea, and he made no promises.

I search my mind for something to say, but the silence just gets deeper. I wanted to wake up in his arms, then make breakfast together before we came to town. Even though it’s completely unrealistic, there was a part of me that believed he would wake up a changed man.

Only in the movies, babe.

I park behind the shop, still struggling to find something to say. I desperately want to touch him, but I also feel like that could be the worst thing to do.

“Okay,” I say as we step into the kitchen. “Where would you like to start? I’ll pick up anywhere that you’re not confident.”

“I’ll start the bread,” he says. “I did pretty good with it last time.”

“You did,” I answer. “I’ll set up out front. Sarah is coming in mid-morning, so you shouldn’t have to serve.”

“That should work well for both of us,” he says with a cheeky smirk.

We share a moment of laughter, all the feelings inside me pile up behind my wall of control, threatening to knock it down and obliterate it. I want to rush over there and press my body against his, kiss him, and run my fingers through his unruly red hair.

But then Peter looks away, getting out bowls and pans, slapping them down on the table with unnecessary force. It’s maddening. I don’t know if he’s doing this on purpose to deflect me or if he genuinely isn’t feeling the same thing.

I head out front, setting up the window and getting the shop clean. Around six, I open the doors and serve a few early-morning workers stopping in for breakfast. I’m so busy for a short while that I forget about Peter.

I’m restocking mini donuts when I hear a clatter in the kitchen and realize I haven’t checked on Peter in quite a while. A sense of dread settles in me as I try to picture what I’m going to find in the back.

Bracing myself, I go through the swinging door, expecting to see my kitchen looking like twenty toddlers just had a violent food fight from one end of the room to the other. When I see Peter methodically kneading some dough on a spotless counter, I have to blink a few times to register the scene.

Loaves of fresh bread are set out on the cooling racks. The ovens are running and full of muffins, cakes, and pastries. The counters are clean, the utensils and pans are washed and dried, and all the ingredients have been properly packed away on the shelves.

“Peter?” I ask hesitantly.

He looks up, a frown of frustration on his face. “Hi. Sorry, I haven’t come out the front to help. I decided to try and make pastry, and it’s kicking my ass.”

I chuckle, walking over to check out his efforts. “Pastry kicks everyone’s ass. It’s one of the hardest things to bake. I’m amazed by how much you got done in the last few hours.”

“Yeah, I just followed the chart,” he says, gesturing at the poster above the sink that outlines our basic bakery procedures. “And it was kind of obvious what order I should do everything in. Then I cleaned up as I went along, so it wouldn’t be too much of a job later.”

“That’s great,” I answer, shaking my head a little. “What inspired you to try and make pastry?”

“I had a few bowls with leftover ingredients,” he says, rolling the pastry out into a long, thin sheet. “The mixture seemed to match up pretty closely, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

I take a closer look at what he’s doing. It looks like a slab of perfect shortcrust. I touch it gently, watching it spring back under my finger.

“Are you trying to tell me that you went off-label on a pastry recipe?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he answers, frowning. “Is that okay? I just didn’t want to waste anything.”

I shake my head. “It’s cool. I just don’t think you realize what you’ve done.”

“What?” he asks, annoyed.

His scowl is so defensive, I have to giggle. “No, Peter, you don’t get it. I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. Pastry is one of the hardest things to make. Even if you’re really experienced, it’s easy to screw up. You’re telling me you just threw some stuff together and made a perfect shortcrust? I don’t know… I feel like there had to be magic involved.”

He chuckles. “You’re the one with magic. Although, with the way you cast spells, no wonder it doesn’t work.”

My smile falls right off my face. Peter puts his attention back on the pastry as I slink back to the front to serve customers.

So that’s how he really feels.

Luckily, the shop gets busy, and I don’t have time to think. I’m dreading the idea of getting Peter to help at the counter, but thankfully, Sarah and Fiona come in before I have to ask him.

“So?” Fiona asks as we clear out the lunch rush. “How is it going with Prince-Not-So-Charming?”

I snort. “That’s an apt enough way to put it.”

“That bad?” Fiona says, grinning. “He’s out there with a big grin on his face, and the kitchen doesn’t look like it’s been hit by rogue asteroids. I assumed things were getting better.”

“I thought they were, too,” I sigh. “But last time I went in there, he made a crack about my spell-casting skills being extremely poor, so I figure he’s still counting the minutes until he can get away from me.”

“I think it’s still a bit romantic,” Sarah says longingly. “You asked the universe for your true love, and he was delivered right to your back door. It makes me wonder if I should try it.”

“DON’T!” Fiona and I yell at the same time.

“I didn’t think you were a witch, Sarah,” Fiona says.

Sarah shrugs. “I dabble a bit. Ever since I was a kid, if I wished really hard for something, I usually got it.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ve never understood that phrase better than I do right now.”

“Hey, Lucy?” Peter calls, sticking his head out through the kitchen door. “Rider just texted me. He wants me to come in for a meeting. Can we go soon?”

“Sure,” I answer, keeping my voice casual, but fear bubbles up in my guts. “Let me just wash my hands and grab my bag.”

“Well, he just interacted with you in a fairly nonconfrontational way,” Fiona remarks. “That’s progress.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but do you know what happened last time I went to a wolf meeting?”

“I heard,” Fiona says, shaking her head.

“I didn’t know you regularly hunted and killed live prey,” I say, cringing.

“You what?” Sarah shrieks.

Fiona rolls her eyes. “Would you prefer I chew on a week-old carcass?”

“Oh, God!” I yell. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Take me with you,” Sarah gasps, turning white.

“Guys, it was a joke,” Fiona chuckles.

“No,” Sarah replies, shaking her head. “Not to me.”

“Forget about the eating habits of werewolves for five seconds—or, like, forever, if that helps,” Fiona says to me. “Just go into that meeting with the intent to listen and learn. This is extremely daunting for Peter, okay? He’s been a lone wolf for a really long time, and lone wolves are notoriously difficult to integrate.”

“Okay,” I agree. “I didn’t know that. Are you sure he really wants to? I mean, he keeps indicating to me that he wants to leave.”

“He told Rider that he wants to stick around,” Fiona says. “That means he has to become a pack member and live by the rule of the alpha.”

“This is news to me,” I say, surprised.

Fiona shrugs. “He wants to hang around for Caleb, and to make up for lost time with Rider.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

He wants to stay with his family, not with me.

“Anyway, get going,” Fiona says, shoving me towards the door. “Let me know how it goes.”

I say goodbye to the girls and go through the kitchen, amazed by how clean and organized it is. Peter has even set up racks and utensils for tomorrow and packaged up leftovers in the chill room.

When I get outside, Peter is waiting by the car. He still seems distant, but at least he doesn’t look hostile.

“You did a great job in the kitchen,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Really?” he asks, smiling. “I was just trying to keep it tidy. I’ve come up with a few ideas that might save time, too, like preparing and bagging up ingredients in advance so they’re easier to mix.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say, getting into the car. “I noticed that you packed up all the leftovers and put them in the cooler. We usually just throw them away.”

“What a waste,” he says regretfully. “You can give them out at schools as treats, or as lunches for the less fortunate kids. Or maybe there’s a shelter around somewhere that would appreciate it.”

“I never thought of that.”

He shrugs. “Even if you can’t find any other use for it, the leftovers can be processed and added to animal food. There is always an alternative to waste.”

“You’ll fit right in at New Hope,” I say quietly.

“Yeah. I can’t wait to get there and check out the routine,” he says eagerly. “Rider was telling me how they work on a zero-waste principle, and the aim is to be completely self-sufficient and off-the-grid.”

Even though the conversation is flowing, and we aren’t bickering, I feel worse than I have all week.

To get so close to him and then find out he’s even further away than before is tearing me in half.

We park at Shelley’s and head inside, finding Bailey, Gina, and Rider sitting at the long table.

“Thanks for coming in so quickly,” Bae says, smiling. “We just wanted to follow up from yesterday, since the meeting was interrupted.”

Bae’s tact isn’t lost on me, and I keep my eyes down. I don’t feel good about creating a situation the day before, or escalating it by storming off like a volatile teenager.

“What we’d like is for you to start a course with the kids in each town,” Bae continues. “It will start with very small groups, working in town initially, so you don’t have to go far. Since you have so much experience living wild, I’d like you to teach all our youngsters the basics of survival.”

“It’s a job I’d love to do,” Rider says. “But as alpha, I have other business that keeps me busy. You’d have to check in with me and Bae regularly, and coordinate with our betas to organize your routine.”

“It will also mean talking to a lot of the parents and teachers in the area,” Gina says. “Your primary work will be with the kids, but to organize your session times and activities, you’ll need to learn to communicate and compromise with everyone involved.”

There is a hint of challenge in Gina’s voice. To my surprise, Peter grins and nods enthusiastically.

“When do I start?” he asks. “Organizing session times might be a bit of a nightmare at first, so I can work around Lucy. But once the spell is broken, I’ll be more flexible.”

There it is. He’s desperate to get away from me.

“Okay,” Gina says, beaming. “Let me set up a little meet-and-greet with a few parents and their kids to start with. But are you sure about this, Peter?”

“Positive,” he answers, still smiling. “How hard can it be?”

Gina clears her throat and tries to cover her grin. “Remember that you asked that question after you’ve come out of a full day wrangling seven-year-olds.”

I stay quiet as I promised I would. It feels like everyone at the table has forgotten my existence.

So, it looks like everything is going to work out, and Peter will stay and become a valued member of the pack. But once the spell is broken, I’ll probably never see him again.