Chapter 18 - Lara #2
Skylar laughs, and Fern is busy opening cupboards and finding mugs as if she's been in this kitchen a hundred times. I sit down at the island next to Dina without really meaning to and let it happen.
"Right," Luna says, pulling things out of the bags.
"Don't be polite. You keep what you want; we can take the rest back for Goodwill.
I've raided my own wardrobe and Skylar's and Fern's, and there are a couple of bits from the shop in town.
Sweaters. Two pairs of jeans, Fiona thinks, will fit you.
Pajamas, etc., all by Skylar, and she really likes the kitsch ones. "
"They're cute," Skylar says, defensive.
"They are cute," Luna agrees. "But they have penguins on, which I felt should be flagged."
"I'll have them," I tell her, and the words come out before I've decided.
"Excellent," Luna says, smiling before she continues to inventory the bags. "Toiletries in the second bag. Shampoo. Conditioner. The bath stuff because we don’t think Wilf strikes us as the type to have bubble bath. Toothbrush, toothpaste. A hairbrush. Hairbands."
"And a book," Skylar adds, holding up a paperback. "From Fiona. She said sorry she couldn't come up. She's at the nursery today. She said you mentioned not having read anything recently."
I look at the book. It's well used, not new. It looks like one of Fiona's own.
"It's secondhand, sorry," Skylar says when she sees my face. "Fiona's a reader. She said she's read it twice already and she thought you'd like it."
"I don't know what to say," I tell her. "Thanks. Thank you, all of you. This is too much, I…"
"Then don't say anything," Luna tells me. "Sit down. Have a drink and some cake. That's the whole afternoon. Sit."
I sit.
Fern puts a mug in front of me, and Skylar cuts the cake. Dina shifts in her seat and reaches across and pats my wrist once, briefly, not pushing, the way a woman who's had her own hard year says I see you without saying it.
"Right," Fern says, dropping into the chair opposite me. "Wilf's cabin. I have never been inside Wilf's cabin. Hardly anyone has. This is a moment."
"He doesn't have people up here?" I ask.
"Almost never," Luna replies. "He had Bryan up last summer to help him with the roof. And obviously he’s had quite a few in to help with the refurb, but less so for cake."
"He keeps to himself," Skylar tells me, putting cake in front of me. "He always has. It’s just his way."
"Sam was terrified of him for ages, Fiona’s boy," Skylar says.
"Thought Wilf was about eight feet tall and scary.
Then last summer at the pack picnic, Wilf turned up for an hour and gave Sam a sausage straight off the grill, and that was that.
Sam decided they were friends. Wilf carried him round on his shoulders for forty minutes, and now Sam always asks if Wilf's coming to the pack event. "
"He fixed the clinic door last summer," Skylar says, piping up. "Came down on a Sunday for it. Wouldn't take a thank-you. Said he was bored, which was a lie."
"He always says something like that when he offers to help out," Luna adds. "It's his thing. Making it sound like it’s no big deal when he’s actually being thoughtful."
"He's a private man," Dina adds. "Some people are. Caleb really likes him; he was good to him when he first joined Silvercreek."
It's all said without any of them making it sad or making him sound like a problem that needs to be solved.
They're talking about him the way you talk about someone everyone is fond of who has settled into being the version of himself he wants to be, and they've all stopped pushing him further than he wants to go.
They like him. They wish he'd come to more things, but they've stopped expecting it.
I don't know what to make of that, so I concentrate on my coffee.
"He's been different with you, though," Skylar says, light, not making a thing of it.
"Has he?" I ask before I think about whether I want the answer.
"I would say so, just by the fact you’re staying here,” she says, and everyone nods.
They don't push it, and the conversation moves on.
Luna asks how I'm finding the cabin. I tell her good. They talk about the town. Fern and Skylar talk about the clinic they run together, and I keep wanting to ask Fern how she manages working in a clinic for shifters when she’s human, but that somehow feels rude to ask.
"You’re with Connor?" I ask. "How did that happen? I mean, how would you have met? Sorry if that’s rude…"
Fern laughs, “No, honestly, don’t worry, it’s not rude at all. It’s a long story, but you should know, it’s not considered strange here for a human and a shifter to be together. Connor’s just Connor.”
“He’s the head of security?” I ask. “He seems quite serious.”
Now Fern really laughs, “Believe me, that’s not the Connor I get at home.”
Soon, the whole group of women is trading stories about their supposedly gruff shifter mates who all have softer sides at home, and they seem so genuine I can’t help but listen in silent surprise. Before I know it, I realize we’ve been talking for hours.
"Goddess, look at the time," Skylar says. "Sorry, Lara, we've kept you all afternoon.”
“Oops,” Skylar says. “We’re supposed to be running the evening clinic.”
They pack up the same way they unpacked, which is fast and easy.
The kitchen looks like a kitchen again in under ten minutes.
The women all hug on the porch, and I watch as they head back to the trucks.
Connor and Wilf are coming around the side, finishing up whatever they were doing in the yard that’s been keeping them busy all afternoon.
Connor heads straight for Fern and kisses her before they get into the truck.
"Come down to ours when you're ready, Lara," Dina says, waving.
"I'd like that," I tell her.
Luna's the last to walk away.
"Lara," she says. "Anything you need, you ring me. Wilf's got the number. I mean it. And we’ll be in touch when Anya is coming, so you can talk to her."
"Thanks," I tell her.
Wilf walks toward me, and we watch the trucks disappear down the track again. He doesn’t ask how it goes; he just studies for a moment, and then, seeming satisfied, he gestures inside.
“Is there any of Skylar’s cake left?” He asks, adding. “She always makes good cake.”
I nod, chuckling. “You’re in luck. There are a couple of pieces left.”
“Come on then,” he says, and I follow him back into the cabin.
I cut the cake as he shrugs out of his coat, noting how remarkably domestic this whole thing feels for two people who barely know each other.
That’s not quite true, though, is it? In some ways, I know Wilf better than I’ve ever known anyone, but I remind myself that the physical doesn’t really count, even when it feels like it should.
I don't tell him that. I just give him the cake.