Chapter 20
TWENTY
JUNIE
Junie stared at the message, then flopped back against her pillows with a groan. Glimmer lifted her head from the spot she’d claimed on the adjoining pillow, scales shifting from sleepy purple to interrogative amber.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Junie’s voice came out scratchy. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
Glimmer’s tongue flickered. You didn’t have to, her expression seemed to say. You came home smelling like burger grease and lion and existential crisis. The gossip network has been buzzing since dawn.
Junie threw an arm over her eyes. The gossip network. Of course. By now, half the town probably knew they’d abandoned a fancy restaurant to eat cheeseburgers in a parking lot.
They probably didn’t know about the conversation, though.
About the way Leo had talked about his father with that hollow look in his eyes.
About the way she’d told him things she’d never told anyone—not even Avine, not entirely—about her grandmother and her mother and the fear that lived in the spaces she kept hidden.
I want to find out.
His voice echoed in her memory. That rough admission in the neon-lit darkness of Lucinda’s parking lot. The way he’d looked at her when he said it, like she was a question he’d been avoiding and had decided to answer.
Junie groaned again and pulled the pillow over her face.
She was so screwed.
The day passed in a haze of distraction.
Junie spent the morning at her shop—still closed for repairs, still smelling faintly of char and broken glass—trying not to think about Leo Castellan and failing spectacularly.
Every time she looked at the empty shelf where her grandmother’s book should be, she remembered his promise.
We’ll get it back.
Said like a vow. A commitment he had no intention of breaking. She’d believed him. That was the terrifying part.
At 6:47 p.m., Junie stood outside the door to Avine’s suite and seriously considered making a run for it.
She could hear voices inside. Laughter. The clink of glasses. Her friends were already assembled, and in approximately thirty seconds, they were going to want to know everything.
Everything.
Including the parts Junie wasn’t sure she understood herself.
The door swung open before she could flee. Avine stood in the doorway, dark hair loose around her shoulders, wearing one of those soft sweaters that made her look like a particularly elegant librarian. Her expression held knowing amusement.
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m not hovering. I’m gathering my thoughts.”
“You’ve been gathering your thoughts for three minutes. Cassia assured Narla you’d bolt.” Avine stepped aside, gesturing her in. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
Junie squared her shoulders and walked into the wolf-mate’s very tastefully decorated suite.
Avine’s rooms at the Siren’s Rest occupied the entire east corner of the third floor—a sprawling space transformed from dusty storage into comfortable elegance.
Overstuffed couches faced a fireplace burning with witchfire in shades of blue and green.
Candles from Narla’s shop lined the windowsills, their flames responding to the emotional temperature of the room.
A low table held an impressive array of wine bottles, cheese plates, and what appeared to be an entire bakery’s worth of Dahlia’s pastries.
Cassia was sprawled across one couch, sea-glass eyes bright with anticipation. Dahlia perched on the other, Marzipan curled in her lap, both watching Junie with identical expressions of patient curiosity. Narla sat in the armchair by the fire, serene as ever, Ember the owl dozing on her shoulder.
“She didn’t bolt.” Cassia sounded disappointed. “You owe me five dollars, Narla.”
“I said she’d come inside eventually. There was no time limit.” Narla’s smile was gentle. “Hello, Junie. You look… interesting.”
“Is that code for ‘you look like you haven’t slept’?” Junie dropped onto the couch next to Cassia, accepting the wine glass Avine pressed into her hands. “Because I haven’t. Slept, I mean. Not really.”
“We know.” Dahlia’s voice was soft, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “Eat this.” She pushed a plate toward Junie—cinnamon rolls drizzled with frosting and dusted with edible glitter. “It’s not enchanted. Probably.”
Junie took one. The first bite flooded her mouth with sweetness and the faint tingle of kitchen magic—comfort and the inexplicable urge to tell the truth.
“Dahlia.”
“Sorry.” Dahlia didn’t look sorry at all. “The surge has been making my charms a bit enthusiastic. But it’ll help you relax.”
“Help me relax, or help me spill all my secrets?”
“Is there a difference tonight?”
Junie took another bite anyway. She’d come here to talk, hadn’t she? Might as well have magical pastry assistance.
“So.” Cassia sat up, curling her long legs beneath her. Outside the window, the evening sky flickered with heat lightning that definitely hadn’t been in the forecast. “Tell us everything. Start from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”
“The beginning of what?”
“Don’t play dumb. It’s unbecoming.” Cassia’s grin turned sharp. “You went on a date with the sexy lion alpha. Spill.”
Junie took a long drink of wine. Set down her glass. Looked at the four faces watching her with varying degrees of patience.
“It was a disaster.”
She told them everything—the ruinous restaurant, the wine that tasted like sorry dirt, and the way she’d said so out loud, and Leo had actually laughed.
Startled and full, like he’d forgotten he could.
The diner they’d found instead. The parking lot.
The things they’d each admitted in the dark that couldn’t be unsaid.
“Oh, honey.” Avine moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around Junie’s shoulders. “What did he say?”
“He said he wanted to find out.” Junie’s laugh came out watery. “What he actually wants. He wanted to find out. And then he walked me to my door and he didn’t kiss me and I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell is wrong with me that I want him to.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Dahlia’s voice held unexpected steel. “Wanting things isn’t wrong.”
“Isn’t it?” Junie pulled away from Avine’s comfort, standing to pace the length of the room.
Glimmer shifted on her wrist, scales flickering with agitation.
“I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this.
Keeping things light. Making jokes. Not letting anyone close enough to hurt me when they inevitably leave. ”
“And?” Cassia prompted.
“And now there’s this lion who sees right through all of it.” Junie stopped at the window, staring out at the darkening sky. “He doesn’t laugh at my jokes to make me feel better. He finds me funny. He doesn’t let me deflect—he waits, with those stupid eyes, until I say what I mean.”
“That sounds terrible.” Cassia’s deadpan was flawless. “How dare he respect you enough to want the real you?”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m absolutely helping. You’re not ready to hear it yet.”
Junie pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Below, Haven Shores was easing into evening—shops closing, streetlights flickering on, the familiar rhythm of a town she’d lived in her whole life.
A town Leo Castellan would eventually leave.
“He’s going back to San Francisco.” The words came out quietly. “He has an empire there. A pride to lead. A whole life that has nothing to do with Haven Shores or potion shops or chaos witches who can’t even brew a simple sleep aid without it turning prophetic.”
“Has he said that?” Narla’s voice was calm. “That he’s leaving?”
“He hasn’t said he’s staying.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
Junie turned from the window. Narla was watching her with that knowing expression—the one that made Junie feel simultaneously seen and exposed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that people change, Junie. Situations change. What someone plans and what happens—” Narla’s lips curved. “Well. Ask Avine about plans.”
Avine laughed softly. “I planned to spend three months in Haven Shores fixing up an inn and then move on. Very firm about it. Very certain.” Her fingers touched the mating mark at her shoulder, visible above her sweater’s neckline. “And then I met a wolf who had other ideas.”
“That’s different.” Junie’s protest sounded weak even to her own ears. “You and Theo had a mate bond. You had the surge pushing you toward each other.”
“And you think you don’t?”
The question landed with unexpected force. Junie felt ripples spreading through her, disturbing things she’d been trying hard not to examine.
“Leo hasn’t—I mean, he never said—” She trailed off, remembering. The way his attention tracked her across every room. The coffee left outside her door each morning. The way his control cracked when she was close.
“You’re deflecting again.” Cassia’s observation was pointed. “This time with incomplete sentences. Progress.”
“I’m not deflecting, I’m—”
Dahlia’s smile was sad around the edges. “We all have our armor, Junie. Mine comes with frosting.”
Marzipan meowed in agreement, then yawned and went back to sleep. Junie felt the fight drain out of her, replaced by exhaustion that went to her bones.
“I think I like him.” The admission came out miserable.
“Genuinely like him. Not the physical attraction—though that’s there, and it’s inconvenient—but him.
The man who organizes his protein bars by nutrition content and doesn’t know how to accept kindness and laughed at my stupid joke about wine like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ”
“And that’s bad because?” Cassia’s eyebrow arched.
“Because he’s leaving, Cassia.” The words tore out of her, unfiltered and exposed. “Because I’ve spent my whole life protecting myself from this exact moment—caring about someone who’s going to walk away. Everyone I’ve ever let close has eventually—”
She stopped. Her throat was tight. Her eyes burned.
Glimmer butted her head against Junie’s palm, scales steady. The familiar’s presence was grounding—a reminder that not everyone left. Some creatures stayed.
“Junie.” Narla’s voice drew her attention. The candle witch had risen from her chair, moving to stand before her. “May I share an observation?”
“Can I stop you?”
“No.” Narla’s smile was gentle. “I’ve been watching Leo Castellan since he arrived in Haven Shores. Watching the way he moves through our town, interacts with our people, responds to our magic.”
“And?”
“His scent has changed.”
Junie frowned.
“Changed how?”
“His scent has changed. When he arrived, he smelled like fog and money and tension. Now he smells like sea salt. Haven Shores is getting into him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that whatever Leo Castellan planned when he came here, his instincts are telling a different story.” Narla returned to her chair, lowering herself with the ease of someone who’d said her piece.
“Lions are territorial creatures. They don’t bond with places accidentally.
And they don’t change their scent signature for somewhere they’re planning to leave. ”
Junie looked at Avine, who nodded slowly. “Theo mentioned it too. Said Leo’s lion has been different lately. Less guarded. More present.”
“That could mean anything.” Junie’s protest was weak.
“It could.” Avine agreed. “Or it could mean that sometimes, people surprise you. Sometimes they stay.”