Chapter 12 Definitely Not A Date #2
“It was. But you adapt. Learn to push certain things to the background, bring others forward when you need them. Now it's just... how I experience the world.” He glanced at me. “Though some things are harder to ignore than others.”
“Like what?”
His jaw tightened. He looked away, focused on the trail ahead with sudden intensity. “We're almost there.”
I filed that deflection away for later examination. Daniel Callahan, master of changing subjects when things got too personal.
The trail opened into a clearing that stole my breath.
It wasn't large, maybe fifty feet across, but the space felt sacred in ways I couldn't explain.
Stone formations rose from the earth in a rough circle, weathered and ancient, covered in moss so thick they looked soft.
The ground between them was carpeted with grass that seemed too green, too lush for the season.
And in the center, a pool of water so still it looked like glass, reflecting the canopy above with mirror-perfect clarity.
“What is this place?” I whispered, because speaking at full volume felt wrong somehow.
“We call it the Dragon's Rest.” Daniel moved to one of the stone formations, sat on its weathered surface like he'd done it a thousand times. “There are stories about this clearing that go back further than the pack's written history.”
“Dragons?” I sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. “Actual dragons?”
“The legends say so.” He pulled the canvas bag into his lap, started unpacking containers of food.
Sandwiches, fruit, something that looked like homemade cookies.
“According to my great-grandmother, there was a dragon that lived in these mountains before humans came. Before wolves, even. It was ancient when the world was young, and it chose this place to build its nest.”
“What happened to it?”
“The stories vary. Some say it flew away when humans arrived, seeking somewhere quieter.
Others say it's still here, sleeping beneath the mountains, waiting for something to wake it.” Daniel handed me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.
“My grandmother believed the second version.
She used to tell me the dragon's dreams were what made the forest feel alive.
That we weren't protecting the territory from threats outside. We were protecting the dragon's sleep.”
I looked around the clearing with new eyes. The stone formations could have been parts of a nest, I supposed. If the dragon was big enough. If any of this was real.
“Do you believe it?”
“I believe something lived here once. Something powerful enough to leave a mark that hasn't faded in centuries.” He gestured at the pool.
“That water never freezes, even in the deepest winter. The stones are warm to the touch year-round. And sometimes, on very quiet nights, you can feel something breathing beneath the earth.”
“That's either incredibly cool or absolutely terrifying.”
“Most things worth knowing about are both.”
We ate in companionable silence. The sandwiches were good, simple, clearly made by someone who understood that food was fuel and didn't need to be complicated. The cookies, though. The cookies were incredible.
“Did you make these?” I asked around a mouthful of chocolate and butter and something that tasted like home.
“Evan's recipe. His mother used to make them.” Daniel's voice went soft. “He taught himself after she died. Said he couldn't stand the idea of losing them too.”
“They're amazing.”
“I'll tell him you said so. He'll be insufferable about it for weeks.”
“Worth it.”
We finished eating as the light shifted, afternoon gold deepening toward the amber of approaching evening. I should have suggested heading back. Should have been responsible about time and obligations and all the things that usually drove my decisions.
Instead, I found myself saying: “Tell me something else. Something about you, not the pack.”
Daniel went still beside me. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything.” I turned to face him, tucking one leg under me on the stone. “I know Daniel the Alpha. Daniel who carries the pack on his shoulders and makes hard decisions and keeps everyone safe. I want to know the other Daniel. The one who exists when no one's watching.”
“That Daniel is boring.”
“I doubt that very much.”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the pool like it held answers he wasn't sure he wanted to find. Then, slowly: “I like woodworking. Building things with my hands that aren't weapons or defenses. I have a workshop behind the pack house that most people don't know about.”
“What do you make?”
“Furniture, mostly. Chairs. Tables. I made the desk in my office.” He almost smiled. “It took me three years. I kept getting interrupted by pack emergencies.”
“That's the most relatable thing you've ever said to me.”
“Is it?”
“Interrupted projects are the story of my life.” I leaned back on my hands. “What else?”
“I hate mornings. Everyone assumes Alphas are early risers, but given the choice, I'd sleep until noon and stay up all night.”
“A nocturnal wolf. Shocking.”
“It's not about being a wolf. I'm just not a morning person.” He said it with such flat sincerity that I laughed. “What?”
“Nothing. I just... I like this version of you.”
Daniel's expression shifted. Something flickered in his eyes, there and gone. “What version is that?”
“The one who admits to hating mornings and making furniture. The one who tells dragon stories and packs cookies for outings in the forest.”
“This isn't an outing. It's a tactical retreat from paperwork.”
“Sure it is.”
“It is.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Alpha.” I grinned at his scowl. “You know, for someone who's supposed to be terrifying, you're remarkably easy to tease.”
“I'm not easy to tease. You're just remarkably persistent.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
Daniel shook his head, but I caught the slight curve of his lips. “You're impossible.”
“I prefer 'charmingly tenacious.'”
“Nobody prefers that.”
“I do. Just now. I decided.”
He actually laughed. Short, surprised, like it escaped before he could catch it. The sound did something warm to my chest that I chose not to examine too closely.
We finished the cookies in comfortable silence, watching the light shift across the clearing. The pool reflected the changing sky, gold bleeding into amber bleeding into the first hints of purple. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't felt in months. Maybe longer.
I stretched my legs out, crossed my ankles. “What do you do for fun? When you're not being the Alpha, dealing with pack politics, handling territorial disputes. What does Daniel Callahan do just for himself?”
He considered the question longer than I expected. “I'm not sure I remember.”
“That's depressing.”
“It's honest.” He picked up a pebble, turned it over in his fingers.
“When Claire was alive, we used to take trips.
Nothing fancy, just driving until we found somewhere interesting.
She'd make me stop at every roadside attraction, no matter how ridiculous.
World's largest ball of twine. Mystery spots that were obviously just optical illusions. She collected refrigerator magnets from every place we visited.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.” His voice was soft but not sad. Just remembering. “After she died, I stopped. Told myself I didn't have time, that the pack needed me here. But really I just couldn't imagine doing it without her.”
“I get that.” I watched the last of the sunlight paint the stones gold.
“Anna and I had a thing about Sunday mornings.
Pancakes, terrible coffee, the crossword puzzle.
She'd do the words and I'd pretend to help while actually just watching her think.
After she died, I couldn't even look at a newspaper for months.”
“Does it get easier?”
I glanced at him. “Some days are still hard. But some days I can talk about her and it doesn't feel like drowning.”
Daniel nodded slowly. “That's good. That's something to work toward.”
“We’ll get there.”
“Maybe.” He tossed the pebble into the pool, watched the ripples spread outward. “Thank you. For asking. Most people either avoid the subject entirely or want to have deep emotional conversations I'm not ready for.”
“Hence why you're out here with me instead of dealing with pack business?”
“Hence why I agreed when you kidnapped me from my office, yes.”
“See? I'm providing a valuable service.”
“You're providing something,” he said dryly. “I'm not sure valuable is the word.”
“Rude.”
“Honest.”
I threw a cookie crumb at him. He caught it without looking, which was both impressive and annoying.
We stayed until the light was nearly gone, talking about nothing and everything.
Daniel's favorite books (historical fiction and, embarrassingly, romance novels that he made me swear not to tell anyone about).
My worst client stories (the fish tank kitchen was only the beginning).
The names of stars his mother had taught him and the constellations Anna used to point out to Nate when he was small.
It felt easy. Natural. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.
“We should head back,” Daniel said eventually, standing and brushing off his jeans. “Before it gets too dark for you to navigate the trail.”
“I could navigate the trail.”
“You tripped over a root on the way here.”
“That root was strategically placed to sabotage me.”
“The forest doesn't sabotage people.”
“It sabotages me specifically. We have a complicated relationship.”
Daniel snorted and offered me a hand up. His grip was warm, solid, gone almost as soon as I was on my feet. “Come on. I'll guide us back before you declare war on the local vegetation.”
We walked back through the darkening forest, Daniel's wolf-enhanced senses keeping us on the path while I stumbled along behind him.
Occasionally he'd point out things I couldn't see on my own.
The owl watching from a branch overhead.
The family of deer bedded down in a thicket.
The fox that followed us for nearly a quarter mile before curiosity was satisfied.
“Show off,” I muttered when he identified the fox before I'd even heard it moving.
“Survival skill,” he corrected. “Knowing what's in the forest keeps the pack safe.”
“And impresses easily impressed humans?”
“That's just a bonus.”
By the time we reached the truck, night had properly fallen, and the stars overhead were brighter than I'd ever seen them in the city. I stopped, head tilted back, just taking it in.
“It's different out here,” I said. “The sky. You can actually see it.”
“Light pollution's minimal this far from major cities. On clear nights you can see the Milky Way from the pack house roof.”
“You go up there often?”
“When I need to think. Or when I need to not think.” He unlocked the truck, held the door open. “Maybe I'll show you sometime.”
“I'd like that.”
The drive back was quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just two people who'd spent a good afternoon together and didn't feel the need to fill every silence with words.
When we pulled into the pack house lot, my truck sat alone under the security light, waiting patiently for its owner to stop gallivanting through magical forests.
“Thank you,” I said as Daniel put the truck in park. “For today. For showing me that place.”
“Thank you for getting me out of the office.” He almost smiled. “I needed it more than I realized.”
“Anytime. Seriously. If you ever need a break from Alpha duties, I'm apparently very good at tactical retreats.”
“I'll keep that in mind.”
I climbed out, then leaned back in through the open door. “Same time next week? I hear there's a world's largest ball of twine somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. We could start a magnet collection.”
Daniel's expression did something complicated. Surprise, maybe. And something softer underneath.
“I'll check my schedule,” he said finally.
“That's not a no.”
“It's not a yes either.”
“I'll take it.” I tapped the door frame twice. “Goodnight, Daniel.”
“Goodnight, Michael.”
I watched him drive around to the garage before I got into my own truck, still smiling for reasons I didn't want to examine.
This was friendship. Just two people who'd been through hell finding someone who understood. Nothing complicated about it.
Nothing complicated at all.