Aspen
The coffee shop girl doesn't recognize me.
Good.
I watch her through the window before I go in—the way she moves behind the counter, efficient but tired. Dark hair pulled back. Smudge of something on her cheek she hasn't noticed.
The wolf stirs when I open the door. Not in the usual way. It goes quiet.
That should worry me.
She's fixing the espresso machine, muttering something under her breath. When she turns around, I see her face clearly for the first time.
Pretty. Not in the way the women at pack functions are pretty—no performance to it. Just bone structure and exhaustion.
"What can I get you?"
Her voice is customer-service smooth but there's an edge underneath. Irritation, maybe. Or just fatigue.
"Coffee. Black."
I'm not here for coffee. I'm here because my wolf went quiet yesterday when I walked past this place, and I need to know why.
She makes the drink without small talk. Good. I'm tired of people filling silence with noise.
When she hands me the cup, I make sure our fingers don't touch. Werewolf temperature runs high and I don't want to startle her.
But I feel the heat anyway. Hers, not mine.
Impossible.
"You work here every day?"
She looks at me warily. "Most days. Why?"
"Curious."
It's not a lie. I am curious. Curious why my wolf—which has been clawing at the inside of my skull for twenty-eight years—suddenly decided to take a nap.
I should leave. Should not come back.
But I hear myself say, "You're good at this."
"At making coffee?"
"At making people feel like they're not just another transaction."
It's true. She looked at me like I was a person, not a Prime. Like I was just some guy who wanted coffee.
I leave before she can respond. Before I have to explain why I'm still standing there.
In the car, I pull out my journal.
*The coffee shop girl. Second visit. The wolf is still quiet. I should stop going. There's no purpose to it.*
*I'll go back tomorrow.*
I close the journal and head to Summit Tower, where people expect me to have answers I don't have.
The wolf stays quiet all day.
---
Her name is Lorellai.
I knew that already—saw it on her name tag the first day, written on every cup she makes. But saying it out loud is different.
She looked surprised. Like she didn't expect me to remember.
People always expect me to remember them. I'm Alpha Prime. Remembering names is basic political competence.
But I didn't remember hers for political reasons.
In the car, my phone buzzes. Magnolia.
*Mother wants to know if you're bringing someone to the gala next month.*
I stare at the text. Think about the coffee shop. About Lorellai asking what I do with genuine curiosity, not because she wants something.
*Still deciding,* I type back.
The wolf is quiet. Has been quiet all week. Only stirs when I'm not at the coffee shop, like it's reminding me where we need to be.
This is a problem.
I pull out my journal.
*Her name is Lorellai. She studied veterinary medicine. She's here because the world doesn't make space for human vets when werewolf vets exist. She doesn't seem bitter about it. Just realistic.*
*The wolf is still quiet around her. I don't know what this means.*
*I should stop going.*
I close the journal.
Monday morning, I'm there at 9:07.
---
I shouldn't have touched her wrist.
But I did.
And her pulse was racing under my thumb and I wanted to keep holding on.
This is a problem.
Back at Summit Tower, I try to work. Can't focus.
The wolf is restless for the first time in weeks. Not aggressive. Just... waiting.
At 8:45 PM I'm staring at my phone.
At 8:58 I call.
"Two minutes early," she says when I answer.
"I'm impatient."
"I noticed."
Silence.
"Well?" I ask.
Long pause. I hear her breathing.
"I have one more condition."
"Name it."
"You don't lie to me. Ever. I don't care how bad the truth is. You tell me."
"Done."
"I mean it, Aspen. The second you lie to me, I walk. Penalty clause or not."
"Understood."
She takes a breath.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll do it."
The silence on my end is deafening.
"Be ready tomorrow at six PM. I'll send a car."
"For what?"
"The gala. You're my date."
"I don't have anything to wear to a—"
"Taken care of. The dress will arrive at noon."
"You bought me a dress?"
"I bought you twelve. You'll choose."
Of course I did.
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Welcome to the next year of your life, Lorellai Kismet."
I hang up.
Pull out my journal.
*She said yes.*
*The wolf is satisfied.*
*I should be satisfied.*
*I'm not.*
*I'm terrified.*
*What have I done?*
I close the journal.
Text her from my personal number.
*Wear the green one. —A*
Then I sit in the dark and wonder if this was the smartest or stupidest thing I've ever done.
The wolf doesn't care which.
It's quiet again.