Chapter 3 #2
The suggestion hit me like a shot of espresso to the frontal cortex.
For the first time in weeks, I felt my blood speed up for a reason other than panic.
I could see it—rows of easels, the cheap, heady reek of dollar store acrylics, some group of loud Texans making bad jokes while I taught them how to draw cacti and wildflowers.
Or maybe in the evenings, I could hang my own canvases in the window and let people judge them, the way they always had.
Maybe I could turn it into an actual gallery.
The idea was stupid. It was small. It was so perfect I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
“You really want to do that with me?” I asked, voice coming out smaller than intended.
Harper beamed. “Of course. You could do private parties, girls’ nights, whatever you wanted. Dairyville isn’t exactly brimming with options, you know? People would line up.”
Mom’s hand went to her chest, nails clacking against her pearls. “That is a wonderful idea, girls. Brie, you could bring some… sophistication to the town. And Harper, you’d be the talk of Dairyville with your own studio.”
I felt my posture change, back straightening, fingers tapping involuntarily against the edge of my teacup.
“We could do bachelorette parties,” I said, brain racing now.
“Or birthday groups, or those weird team-building things where everyone paints the same bad landscape and pretends it’s not a cult.
” My cheeks felt hot, but it was the good kind of flush—the kind that meant maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely dead inside.
Harper caught my energy and amplified it. “We could cross-promote—like, I’ll teach them to dance, and you’ll teach them to paint. They could do both in a weekend package.” She looked at Mom, eyebrows up. “We’d be entrepreneurs, just like you always wanted.”
Mom stared at me, a look of actual pride softening the lines at the corners of her eyes. “You see, darling? You only had to let people in. I’m so proud of you both.” She reached for my hand, squeezing it gently, and I didn’t even pull away.
For a minute, it was easy to imagine that we were a real family, that the last five years hadn’t been a parade of disappointment and self-sabotage. Even Oscar looked approving, standing on his hind legs to set a miniature cupcake on my plate.
I felt lighter. Giddy. The urge to cry was still there, but it was from something other than misery.
That’s when the bell over the bakery door jingled.
I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The air changed—the room got charged, like someone had slipped an electric eel into the espresso machine. My wolf snapped to attention, claws out, heart stuttering in my chest.
I kept my head down, staring at the little pink cupcake on my plate, but I could track every move by sound. The slow, boot-heavy footfalls. The scraping of a chair as it was pulled out. The low thump of something (probably a fist) hitting the tabletop.
Wrecker spoke first, voice cheerful and loud. “Hey, ladies! Hope we’re not interrupting.” He slid into the table behind us, clearly on his best behavior. Big Papa followed, settling next to him, his sheer size dwarfing the entire corner of the room.
But it was Gunner who caught my attention, even though he didn’t say a word.
He just stood there, cowboy hat pulled down low, gaze scanning the table. He wore a button-down that probably cost as much as my entire outfit, sleeves rolled to show off forearms that looked like they could snap fence posts for fun. He didn’t make eye contact—at least, not until I looked up.
Then he did.
For half a second, everything else went fuzzy.
The room, the bakery, my own heartbeat—all muffled by the sudden, vivid clarity of his stare.
It was the same as at County Line—predatory, amused, and so fucking certain of itself.
He tipped his hat, subtle, and sat with his back to the wall, arms folded.
Oscar, unfazed, brought over a tray of cinnamon rolls. “For the gentlemen,” he said, bowtie crisp, voice even crisper. “Would you care for coffee?”
“Black. Strong,” Gunner said, not looking at me again. “Thanks, Oscar.”
Mom clapped her hands, delighted at the company. “Isn’t this fun, girls? I never tire of a full table. Brie, why don’t you tell the boys about the new art studio?”
I wanted to melt into the floor. Instead, I managed a thin smile and looked at Wrecker, who was already halfway through a cinnamon roll. “It’s not official yet,” I said. “Just a maybe.”
Wrecker grinned, mouth full. “You should do it. Dairyville needs something to liven it up. Maybe you’ll get the tourists to come back.”
Big Papa nodded, his voice gentle and deep. “A little color does wonders. You’d be surprised.”
Gunner stayed quiet, but I could feel his eyes every time I moved. My wolf did a nervous circle, whining at the attention.
I tried to focus on Harper, but every hair on my body was standing up. “I’ll just see you at the car,” I said, scooping up my purse. “I’ve gotta check on that thing.”
Harper looked at me, concerned. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just need to… you know.”
Mom frowned, but she didn’t protest. Maybe she’d finally learned it was better not to corner a wild animal.
I slid out from the table and made a beeline for the door, heart hammering so hard I could barely hear anything else.
As I pulled the door open, I glanced back once—just enough to see Wrecker punch Gunner hard in the arm, cinnamon roll flying out of his hand as he laughed.
Gunner’s gaze caught mine, just for a split second, and his mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile.
I slammed the door a little too hard, the bell jangling like an alarm, and stepped into the blinding daylight.
Safe for now.
I kept walking, fast enough that my shoes made angry clacks against the sidewalk. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I was halfway across the Dairyville town square, the bakery already two blocks behind me and fading into just another background hum of the morning.
The square was supposed to be peaceful. Trees, benches, a tiny fountain shaped like a cow (because of course it was), and a bandstand that hadn’t seen a band since the Eisenhower administration.
Most days, you’d see an old guy reading a newspaper, or kids running in circles with popsicles.
Today, it was almost empty—a couple of women pushing strollers, one guy talking to himself near the library steps.
It should have made me feel safe, but all it did was underline how exposed I was.
I collapsed onto the first empty bench I found, cradling my purse to my chest like it might deflect bullets. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I’d have an aneurysm. I pulled my scarf tighter around my throat, a stupid, useless gesture, but it felt better than nothing.
My wolf wasn’t helping. She paced, restless, ears perked for footsteps that never came. I tried to breathe, in for four, out for four, the way I’d read on some website about how to calm yourself. But it was like I’d forgotten how to inhale without inhaling panic.
I dug my phone out, desperate for distraction, but the only thing on the screen was Harper’s text:
you good?
I stared at it. Lied, as usual:
yeah. just needed some fresh air.
I couldn’t bring myself to hit send.
I closed my eyes, but that was even worse.
All I could see was Gunner’s stare—green and gold, with the kind of certainty that made you want to both run and crawl into his lap at the same time.
My body was betraying me, and I hated it, hated that no amount of logic or self-help or fuck-you-mom resolve could turn off the part of me that wanted to go back and finish what he’d started at County Line. My wolf whined, low, needy.
No. Not happening. I had a plan now. I had paint and parties and, if I was lucky, a new purpose that didn’t involve getting bent over the hood of Gunner’s truck.
I kept my eyes open, watching the square with the jittery energy of a lab rat waiting for the next shock. The flowers in the planters were too bright; the breeze too sharp. Every sound was amplified—the squeal of brakes, the far-off thud of a basketball, the faint grind of boots on pavement.
Someone was watching me. I could feel it.
I scanned the storefronts—nothing. The library, the post office, the empty windows of the courthouse. Every shadow was a threat, every passing car a loaded gun. I caught a flicker of movement in the alley behind the bakery, but it was probably just a cat.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was hunting me. Not for violence, but for something worse. For the first time, I understood what prey felt like—why rabbits go into shock before the teeth even hit.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a number I didn’t recognize again.
don’t run, it’s not as bad as you think
The message made my blood run cold, then hot. My hands shook. I wanted to laugh—maybe it was Gunner, maybe not. Maybe it was someone else entirely, but I doubted it. The wolf in me knew her own kind.
I forced myself to sit still, spine rigid, chin up. If someone wanted a show, I’d give them the front row.
The sensation built, the air getting thicker, the light sharper. Every part of me was tuned to the next move. It was almost a relief when it happened.
From the far side of the square, I heard boots. Slow, measured, heavy. They got closer, and I could feel my wolf shiver—first in fear, then in something almost like anticipation.
I gripped the edge of the bench until my knuckles ached, but I didn’t move. I wouldn’t give him, or anyone, the satisfaction.
Gunner didn’t say anything. He just walked past, slow, his silhouette blocked by the sun, then stopped halfway to the bandstand. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to.
He just stood there, hands in his pockets, head tipped down, like he was listening to a secret only the pavement knew.
My wolf howled, silent and fierce, and I bit my lip to keep from joining her.
I didn’t go to him. I didn’t get up. I sat and watched, daring him to make the first move.
He didn’t. Not yet.
But I could feel it—like thunder just before the lightning, like the split-second when you know you’re about to fall and you can’t stop yourself.
For the first time in months, I felt something other than shame or dread.
I felt alive.
I wasn’t sure if that was better. But it was something.
My phone buzzed one last time:
just breathe, okay?
I had looked away. He had sent the texts. There was no question now.
I inhaled, slow, deep. The air tasted like clover and sweat and leather.
I held it in as long as I could and waited for the world to come crashing down.