Chapter 9 - Jonah

Jonah spilled hot espresso over his hand when Moira walked in. Cursing, he stuck it under a stream of cool water and focused on the burn to keep from staring. He'd liked Moira in that tight dress the other night. How could he not? But he loved her like this too, bundled up against the chill, her skin luminous beneath a purple cap, rosy from the cold.

By the time she reached the counter, he had himself under control. Mostly. He was still replaying their kiss far too regularly for it to be healthy, and the feeling was more than physical. He desired her, craved her body under his own, but he wanted more than that. Selfishly, foolishly, he wanted all of her. Even though he already knew he would never get it.

"Oh hey, Moira," he said, trying for casual. "What can I get you?"

She looked surprised to see him there, fingers stalled above the coat buttons she'd been about to undo. "I didn't know you worked here."

"I just started. Figured it'd be a good way to get to know the town again. Everyone loves coffee, right?" He shifted a stack of cups one inch to the right, then back again.

Frowning, she looked up at the menu, then back at him. "And you know how to use all that?" She asked, gesturing at the equipment behind him.

Jonah brightened. "Actually, yeah. I love cooking, gadgets, and coffee, and espresso is the intersection of all three. We had a machine back at the White Winter house, and I ran the kitchen there."

He'd caught her by surprise again; could see it in the subtle wrinkle in her brow, like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

She made a skeptical sound. "I'll take a chance. One mocha, please, with whipped cream."

"You got it." He was so excited to make her drink, to show her that he wasn't inept, that he forgot to ring her up and turned to pull the shot straight away.

"Usually, they charge money here," she reminded him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Right, that," he said, punching in the price for a mocha.

He worked as she paid, drawing the perfect shot to pour into the steamed milk, already mixed with their cafe's dark chocolate powder. To the top, he added a swirl of whipped cream and a dusting of the chocolate powder.

"Here you go," he said, sliding it over to her. He watched her take the first sip, ignoring the customer who had just walked in. "How is it?"

She wrinkled her nose, and his heart dropped. Had he burnt the espresso? Maybe he'd over-frothed the milk. He ran through the list of possible issues, kicking himself for screwing it up.

"Actually," she said, annoyed, "it's delicious."

Jonah let out a sigh of relief and wiped his brow. "Feel like I just passed an exam."

She nodded her chin toward the person waiting at the counter. "Better get that."

He didn't want to turn away from her, drinking something he'd made her. Already, he was dreaming up what he'd cook for her if she ever agreed to let him. But he dragged himself away and took the next order. Three more customers came in quick succession, and when he finally had a moment to look up, he was surprised to see that she'd settled into one of the chairs.

During a lull, he grabbed a rag and went over there on the pretense of wiping down nearby tables. Moira had shed her coat, scarf, and hat, and she wore a snug sweater the same color as her eyes.

"You forgot your jacket," she said, quiet enough that only he could hear. "I mean, I forgot to give it back to you."

"You can keep it," Jonah said in a rush. "I mean, I have others; it's no big deal."

"I have coats of my own, Jonah, I don't need yours. Just come by and get it sometime, okay?" Moira stood and started wrapping herself up again.

"Like tonight?" He asked, hopeful.

It wasn't a guarantee of anything, he reminded himself before he could get too excited. She was just trying to get rid of any trace of him.

"Fine. I'll be home after six." She walked out, and he watched her go for too long, until a waiting customer cleared her throat.

"Sorry, I'll be right with you." He hurried over and spent the rest of the shift, willing the hours to pass faster.

At five o'clock, he clocked out and raced upstairs to shower and change into something that didn't smell so strongly of coffee. Then, after checking his reflection three times, he made his way over to Moira's, taking the long way around to kill time.

"Jonah!" A voice called out to him, yanking him from his daydreams.

He looked up. Spencer waved from across the road.

Jonah waved back. "Hey, Spencer. Just on my way to grab something from Moira's."

Mentally, he kicked himself. It was apparent Moira didn't want anyone to see the two of them together, but it had slipped out of his mouth. He didn't want Spencer to think he was up to no good on Rosewood lands, wanted to let him know he had a reason to be there.

Spencer jogged over and up close; Jonah could see his face was strained.

"What's going on?" Jonah asked.

"Someone's causing trouble again," Spencer said.

He gestured toward the row of quaint shops lining the town's main street. It was obvious what he meant. In the glow of the streetlights, Jonah saw the store's broken glass front and the hack marks in the door, as if someone had tried to break it down with an axe.

Amidst the other shops, with their window boxes stuffed fat with mums and their perfect facades, it stuck out like a haunted house. A few other Rosewoods Jonah didn't recognize were gathered around it, assessing the damage.

"Wow," Jonah breathed, eyes wide. "Was anyone hurt? That looks like a lot of aggression someone was working out."

Spencer huffed a laugh. He was looking at Jonah with wary eyes. "No one was hurt. And yeah, it does. Know anyone with a bone to pick with the Rosewoods?"

He should have known the blame would fall on him. "It wasn't me, if that's what you're thinking. Did it happen last night?"

"Well, we know it wasn't a Rosewood. That leaves the Silversands or the White Winters, and the Silversands have never caused us any trouble." Spencer crossed his arms over his substantial chest and drew himself up to his full height.

Jonah shrugged, shoulders slumping as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He wasn't going to try to out-posture Spencer, had no desire to. He just wanted to go find Moira.

"Could it have been a rogue wolf?" He asked.

There was a reason the rogue wolves ended up at the White Winter pack—they tended to be the troublemakers, the rebels, the misfits.

He'd been one of the misfits. Not much for troublemaking, but seemingly unable to fit in anywhere. Jonah had to get a message out to Devon and the rest of the White Winters, to let them know what was happening there before they had to deal with the blowback of suspicion falling on them.

"Maybe, but this seems more intentional, more targeted than just some bored wolf. Look, I know you've been gone a long time but it would be really helpful if you could do some digging of your own. You've got a foot in the Silversand and the White Winter world and you might be the only one who can really ask around without stirring up too much trouble," Spencer said.

It wouldn't win him any points with the Silversands to go in accusing one of them of vandalism, especially not at the behest of another pack's alpha.

"I don't know, man, that's going to be tricky right now."

Spencer's eyebrows drew down. "Not to be an ass, but if we don't figure this out soon, suspicion is going to naturally fall on the newcomer. That's you. So if you like it here, if you intend to put down some roots, you'd better help sort this out."

He left the threat hanging in the air and walked back across the street to the scene of the destruction, leaving Jonah with his head hung. Yet another strand of the web entangled him, pulling tighter. Even though he'd known coming home would be complicated, he hadn't anticipated all the ways it could go so horribly wrong.

As he walked down the street, he felt the wary looks from everyone he passed. The mistrust was plain on their faces, and he couldn't blame them for it, even though it made him want to run and hide. Who was attacking the Rosewoods, and why now?

Before he went to see Moira, he had to speak to Devon. Jonah stepped into the cover of the trees and shifted into his wolf form. He let out a long howl, the call of the White Winter pack, and waited for a response. It came a moment later, just long enough for him to start to wonder if it would come at all. Devon's call.

Jonah ran for the sound. They howled back and forth, zeroing in on each other's position. He left the Rosewood territory, crossing into the no-man's land that filled the space between the White Winters and the Rosewoods, a dense thicket of wild wood.

It wasn't just Devon. Half of the pack spilled into the clearing, Devon and Beth at the lead with Emma close behind. Jonah shifted. Even after only a short time away, it felt odd being back among them.

"Already giving up?" Emma snarked, smoothing her hair back from her face.

Beth shot her a look that, surprisingly, shut her up. "Hey Jonah. Is everything okay? We weren't expecting to hear from you so soon."

Jonah pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "It's.. fine. So maybe everybody already hates me because I was a dipshit teenager, but that's not why I'm here."

Devon grabbed his shoulder and gave him a squeeze, grinning. "It just means you're a real White Winter, being hated everywhere you go." He sobered, taking a second look at Jonah's face. "What is it, Jo?"

"Something strange is going on in the town. Vandalism. They're targeting the Rosewood landmarks." Jonah lowered his voice, pitching it for Devon and Beth alone. Emma leaned in. "I hate to ask, but, was it anyone in the pack?"

The three other wolves exchanged a look. Jonah was already on the outside of their world.

"Not us," Beth said, shaking her head. "I promise that. Not even Emma would dare. Right, Emma?"

Emma shrugged. "I've got better things to do."

"I didn't think so really," Jonah said, "but either way, they think it's a White Winter."

"And they probably think it's you because you've got that guilty, hang-dog face on 24/7 and they hate you anyway. Give it up and come home already, Jo." Emma's dig hit harder than she could know in the wake of everything with Moira.

He hung his head. "I'm not coming back until I've sorted everything out here. I just wanted to give you guys a heads up."

Devon caught his arm as he turned and pulled him a little away from the rest of the pack. "Look man, just know that you can always come back. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not even yourself."

If only Devon knew. He had everything to prove. Not just to the packs but to Moira too. He watched them shift and retreat into the woods, off on their hunt, and wished he could run with them. Escape in the simple joy of being a wolf. But he had places to be and someone waiting on him.

It was fully dark by the time he reached her place. He knocked on the door and stepped back to wait, glancing up at her window. She was home, judging by the light glowing there, but that was no guarantee she'd come down to see him. Maybe she'd just toss his coat out the window.

Then he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and her voice, muffled through the door.

"Coming!" She called before flinging the door open.

"Hey, Moira," he said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.

Her hair was pulled up in a messy pile on top of her head, and the smell of sugar and vanilla hung in a cloud around her. He hadn't yet decided which look he liked best on her, but this one, the faded t-shirt and yoga pants, was a strong contender.

"Here you go," she said, holding the jacket out to him.

"Thanks." He didn't want to take it yet; he didn't want her to have a reason to shut the door and leave him. "Can we go for a walk?"

She reared back. "A walk?"

He should have thought this through more, but he hadn't planned it. It was just in that moment when she was standing there, close enough to touch, that he realized he wanted more time with her. Needed it. Just to sort out everything with the soothsayer and the pack, he told himself. His interest in Moira could not go beyond that. It would only complicate something that was already a monstrous knot.

Jonah shifted from foot to foot. "To the beach, maybe?"

She considered, which was a victory over slamming the door in his face. "Fine. But not for long."

Then she did shut the door, and he heard her running back up the stairs. He tried to kill the leap of excitement he felt rising in him at another night with Moira by his side, but it proved impossible. By the time she came back down, wrapped in a coat, he was bouncing on his toes.

"Why did you want to go for a walk?" She asked bluntly as they headed toward the beach.

He kept a careful distance between them but wished she'd let her arms hang by her sides again, where he could brush his fingers against hers. Instead, she kept them wrapped tightly around her body as if cold despite her puffy coat.

Jonah chose his words carefully. He didn't want to scare her away. "First, I want to apologize."

He heard her suck in a breath, saw her step stutter. He caught her arm and pulled her to a stop so he could face her. She dropped her eyes to the sidewalk.

"I was an asshole back in high school. Insecure, cruel, a bully." It had taken hearing it from others to understand that what he'd done to her had gone far beyond the teasing he'd thought it had been. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me."

She lifted her chin with a defiant look in her eye. "You were the reason I left that school and the pack, do you realize that? You ruined my life."

He winced at the pain in her voice, present despite the time that had passed. "I wish I could go back and change it, but I can't. I can only beg for your forgiveness now, and I understand that I don't deserve it, and I don't expect it."

It was hard to meet her eyes. They were deep pools of blue, and he had the strange sensation that they were pulling him in, whirlpools with a current all their own.

"Why did you do it?" She asked, searching his eyes for the answer. "Why me? I mean, I know I was pathetic, but—"

"You weren't pathetic," Jonah cut in. "Not at all. I was… I was fascinated by you. You always did your own thing, like you didn't care what anyone else thought. So, unlike me."

Her frown deepened. "So, you bullied me. Made my life hell because I was some kind of fascination to you?"

He felt two inches tall, cut down by her words, and he deserved it. "Yes. I'm sorry, Moira. I'm sorry I was a bully then, and I'm sorry I barged back into your life and made you relive some of that. I was the worst kind of boy, and you have every right to hate me."

But he hoped she didn't, more than he'd ever hoped for anything in his life. Moira was better than he ever could be.

"I don't forgive you for that," she said, her fingers digging into her coat. "I can't forgive you for it."

Jonah's stomach sank, even though he'd expected it. He nodded.

"But I'll give you a chance," she said. "To prove that you're not the person you were back then. That you've managed to change."

He looked up, hope blossoming in his chest. "Really? I will, Moira, I'll prove it every day."

All he wanted was to hug her, to pull her into his arms and feel her against him. Instead, he smiled and started walking.

"Is that why you wanted to come out here?" She asked, stepping into place beside him.

He felt lighter without that weighing on him. It was only the first step, but it was something. Now, he just had to make good on his promise to prove to her that he was a better man now.

"That was part of it. I figured if you slapped me and told me never to talk to you again, I wouldn't get to this part. But I wanted to talk to you about what the soothsayer said," he began, treading carefully.

They crested the top of the dune. Before them, the ocean was a sheet of glass, reflecting the moon. He held out his hand to help her down the steep hill, the cold sand filling his shoes. To his surprise, she took it and held it until they reached the bottom.

"That we're fated mates." She dropped his hand.

"And that the pack depends on us. I want to make you a deal," he said, kicking sand in front of him as he walked.

The waves were lazy, crawling up the shore and tiptoeing back out. He loved the beach at night, loved the grey stretch of it, the quiet whisper of the tide. And he loved the way she looked, with the wind tugging strands of her hair loose and the moon's glow on her skin.

"A deal?" She prompted.

"I'll buy the bakery and give it to you, if you'll pretend to be my true mate for a time."

She stopped in front of him, and he wondered if that smack he'd expected earlier was about to arrive. "Are you bribing me?"

"Yes, kind of, if you want to think of it like that." Jonah was not making great progress in proving that he was a better man. "But I was thinking more of a deal, one where we both benefit. You get the bakery; I get the pack in order."

He didn't reveal his other reason for it—that he wanted an excuse to spend more time with Moira, a reason to be close to her. Jonah would keep that to himself and just enjoy whatever moment she allowed him in her presence.

"You'll buy the bakery?" She said it quietly, disbelief in her voice. "For me?"

"It'll be completely yours, don't worry about that. It's what you want, isn't it?" He knew it was, and he'd do everything he could to make it happen for her.

"And all I have to do is pretend to be your mate?" She narrowed her eyes. "You know it will be pretend in all ways, right?"

He nodded quickly. "Right, yeah, of course I do. It's just a deal. No emotions."

Jonah wondered if she was thinking of the kiss they'd shared the other night, like he was. There was something between them, and maybe it was just the physical attraction, a byproduct of being fated mates, but it had felt like the start of something real to him. He held his breath, waiting for her response. Everything hinged on this moment.

"Okay," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. "You've got yourself a deal, Jonah. One fake mate in exchange for the bakery."

He shook her hand and grinned. "Pleasure doing business with you."

She smiled back, and his heart soared, knowing he'd put it there. That was something, wasn't it? Now, he just had to figure out the identity of the Rosewood vandal, buy a bakery, fix up the Silversand town, and sort out the alpha business. He was going to prove to Moira that he was a good man. First, he just had to become one.