12. Twelve
Twelve
L eslie’s house was scrubbed to a shine, and her parents had offered to pick up takeout from the diner on their way over. She’d managed her nerves pretty well until Ryker’s first message that his flight out of Richmond was delayed. His second message regarding a second delay made her clutch loose waves of her hair in both fists and give a little shriek while standing in the middle of her immaculate house. Now, two hours before dinner was scheduled, she was finally driving home with her boyfriend in the passenger seat. She could only hope the traffic out of Nashville didn’t make them late.
Ryker watched her drive in silence, the crinkle between his eyes at an all-time crinkly record.
“It’s fine,” she said.
He nodded.
“I… Never mind. It’s fine.”
“Will they be snarky if we’re late?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that. I just…today I needed everything to go as planned.”
Another nod, and then he reached across the console and offered his hand. Leslie laced her fingers with his, and the contact brought her a sense of calm.
He said, “Do you want a distraction? Or no talking?”
She tightened her grip. “This is good. Thanks.”
The quiet that settled between them was simple and bracing and lasted most of the way home. Traffic wasn’t great, and by the time she drove down Main Street in Harmony Ridge, her parents would be arriving in ten minutes.
“We made it,” Ryker said.
“I guess we did.”
“Hey.” He squeezed her hand until she swiveled in the driver’s seat to meet his eyes. “We made it, and now you don’t have time to stew while we wait for them. Perfect timing.”
In minutes she had parked on her gravel driveway. Within the space of a human heartbeat, she and Ryker were outside, leaving both doors open, darting around the front of the car into each other’s arms. The kiss lasted and lasted as Ryker pushed his fingers into her hair, which she’d worn long especially for him. She ran her fingers down the lean muscles of his back and rested against the solid form of him.
At last they took a step back. Ryker kept a lock of her hair wrapped around his finger, leaned back in, and gave her a second quick kiss. “Missed you.”
“Yeah,” she said and rose on her tiptoes for one more kiss. “Perfect timing.”
In a few minutes they went inside, and Leslie put an Ella Fitzgerald record on her turntable. Ryker’s musical tastes ran similar to hers—folk and jazz—but he was tragically unfamiliar with any album older than they were. Leslie was determined to broaden his appreciation for classic artists.
“Guess who,” she said, pointing to the turntable.
“Umm.” He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them. “I don’t want to be wrong, but I think this has to be Ella Fitzgerald.”
“Gold star!”
A few weeks ago, she had shown off her little sound system with great pride; it hadn’t been cheap, but music was too important to scrimp on. Ryker was appropriately impressed and, like her, preferred vinyl to digital. They’d both winced at digital music since they were teenagers with newly-apex hearing. It sounded squished and artificial compared to the organic depth of sound that came from vinyl records.
After only a few songs, Dad and Mom were walking in the front door. Leslie tried to see them through Ryker’s eyes, noting details she took for granted. Dad was an inch taller than Ryker, with wavy brown hair and eyes such a pale blue, humans often glanced twice. Ryker did. Mom was a few inches shorter than Leslie, and her eyes were pure purple, a shade darker than Leslie’s own. Her dark-blonde hair was Leslie’s natural color. But it wasn’t only their physical appearance that Ryker would notice. The more noticeable thing to a vampire would be their energy—body language, micro-expressions, the sense of their movements and how they took up space in the room. They were at ease in her home, as always, but their characteristic reserve might not translate that way to someone who didn’t know them—especially Mom’s.
They both carried takeout containers in rustling plastic bags. For a moment there was no chance for awkwardness as everyone convened on either side of the bar that divided Leslie’s cozy kitchen from her dining nook.
Dad handed over a container to Ryker. “Yours, I think? Breakfast sampler with a side of cinnamon chocolate chip pancakes.”
“That’s me. Leslie’s got me hooked on breakfast food.”
“By the way,” Leslie said as she claimed her burger, fries, and milkshake, “Ryker, meet my mom, Debra, and my dad, Paul. Dad, Mom, this is Ryker.”
“It’s good to meet you, Ryker,” Mom said as she read the handwritten labels on the containers and claimed the one marked spag/mb/bs .
“Spaghetti?” Ryker guessed.
“And meatballs and a breadstick.”
“And last but not least”—Leslie handed Dad the final meal—“the only thing you ever order: pot roast.”
Dad accepted the container with a mock somber nod. “If it’s not broken, don’t try to fix it.”
As they settled around her space-saving square dining table, Leslie’s throat tightened. Every cell in her body needed this not to be awkward.
“How was your flight, Ryker?” Dad said.
“Delayed,” Ryker said with a shrug. “We just got back.”
“It’s really something, the way y’all are making this long-distance thing work so well,” Mom said.
Another shrug. He was really leaning into the calm reserved energy. “Doing what we have to for now.”
Leslie’s shoulders stiffened. For now? Was she missing an implication there?
But the conversation continued, and she shoved the strange tugging doubt away. Of course everything was fine. Ryker wasn’t the type to imply. If he thought something wasn’t right between them, he would tell her straight out. She shook off the worry and refocused on the conversation, the relaxed rapport between her parents and Ryker. Dad was asking Ryker’s opinion of Harmony Ridge.
“You know, it’s funny. I don’t look forward only to seeing Leslie anymore. Now it’s Harmony Ridge too. The vibe is special.”
“We think so.” Mom smiled.
“And I’m keeping track of all my ‘firsts.’ First visit to Tennessee, first climb up a mountain—”
“Foothill.” Leslie reached out to poke his shoulder.
“Foothill, of course. First time ordering a breakfast sampler. First time meeting a wolf in person.”
She hadn’t warned him.
The giveaways were so quick, only a vampire would spot them. Dad blinked once, and his eyes darkened to charcoal. He blinked again, and they were pale as ever, barely blue. Mom’s eyes didn’t change, but a nearly inaudible hiss passed through her teeth—again, only for a moment before she pressed her lips shut.
In the next moment, or maybe it was still the same one, Mom’s smile was perfectly fine. “You’ve met the wolf artists at the fair, I take it. Nathan Corrigan and Ezra Sterling.”
“Them and a few others,” Ryker said.
Oh no. Leslie tried to glare at him both discreetly and sharply, but even as he noticed, Dad was asking, “Who else?”
The question was casual. Dad was fine now too, of course. But if Ryker gave a full answer, this evening might get worse than awkward.
“Ezra and Nathan are the only ones I’ve spoken much to,” Ryker said. “The others were more of a passing hi.”
Oh, he was good. No lies detected; no details either. Leslie wanted the release of a full, human-like sigh, but she buried it deep inside her along with every other bumpy conversation she’d had with her parents since she was a kid—almost all of them related to wolves or vampires.
The conversation moved on easily, thanks to Ryker’s aplomb and her parents’ skill at avoiding conflict. She had suspected both of them would be fascinated by his occupation, and she was right. He told them about his roots, his family, his early interest in the job he now loved. Then they insisted on singing Leslie’s praises, though she tried to redirect the conversation three times. Soon Ryker asked about her early penchant for building dioramas, and Dad piped right in with more stories that made her sound too impressive.
“Even at five years old,” Dad said, “when we’d go shopping and stop in the toy department, Leslie was most interested in the crafts aisle. First it was modeling clay. Then she discovered papier-maché.”
“Okay, enough, Dad. Ryker doesn’t…”
But Leslie couldn’t honestly finish her sentence. Ryker’s bright blue eyes shone with interest in her. Well, she’d feel the same, if the childhood stories were coming from his parents instead of hers.
“Never mind,” she said with a smile that felt as if it came from the center of her heart. “Clearly he does want to hear this.”
“Of course,” Ryker said. “It’s you.”
Two hours later, her parents said good night.
“Thanks for tonight, Les,” Mom said softly on her way out the door.
Leslie could have hugged her, but neither of her parents were major huggers. “I’m glad you came over, Mom. It was good to have y’all.”
Mom smiled, and then her eyes glittered amethyst with mischief as she stage-whispered, “Also, Ryker is wonderful.”
Dad gave her a thumbs-up, and Leslie gave a mock sigh belied by her grin. Then they were gone. Leslie shut the door, and she and Ryker went to her living room and settled on the couch with blankets. She nestled up against his side and indulged her sigh at last.
When the sound and scent of her parent’s car had faded from sensory range, Ryker said, “I think that went well, but correct me if I’m wrong.”
“No, it was fine. Better than fine. They like you.”
He gave a low hum and encircled her with one arm. Leslie rested against him. She was sort of spent. She must have been even more anxious than she realized. Ryker said, “I assumed, given they raised you and you’re friendly with wolves… But they’re not?”
“So…you’ve hit on the big mystery of my childhood.”
“I thought estrangement from your Mom’s people was the big mystery.”
“Oh, there’s that one too. But that one didn’t show up as often as this one. They’re sort of contradictory when it comes to wolves. They never discouraged me from getting to know pups from the pack, but—”
“Hold up. A wolf’s children are called pups ?”
He was serious. Just because he’d never met one in person before visiting her town… “How do you not know this?”
“How would I know this?”
“Let’s see. Pretty sure the entire world knows the normal body temperature of a vampire is sixty-eight degrees. Pretty sure the entire world knows that vampires sleep approximately eight hours a week. Pretty sure the entire world knows that vampires stop outwardly aging around thirty years old, that we can hold our breath for hours—”
“Okay. Okay.” He tightened his arm around her, and his thumb drew circles on her forearm. “Sorry. I did it again.”
“It’s not right, Ryker. They shouldn’t be ignored the way they are. It’s that or they’re misjudged so badly, I can’t… I’ve heard things in town that frosted my blood. One of the worst haters in town is Willow’s dad. Remember Willow?”
“Willow who loves your art? Ezra’s wife?”
Mate, but close enough for now. “Same Willow. Her father says horrible, gross things about his own son-in-law. My parents aren’t like him, but they’re… I don’t know how to describe it even after all these years. Talking about wolves makes them tense up, and my dad’s eyes go gray every single time.”
“Maybe they’re like Tai, sensitive to scents.”
Leslie shook her head. “If it were that, a wolf would have to be in the room to bother them. You saw all it takes is the mention of one.”
“True. Hmm.” Of course, now he was on the puzzle like a kitten on catnip.
“It’s like they’re threatened by the simple thought of wolves despite the fact they live only miles from a whole pack.”
“But y’all never had a run-in with them, as far as you know? Maybe it happened when you were a kid, and you don’t remember.”
Maybe. But… “If they really think the pack is dangerous, they should have warned me off or something. It doesn’t make sense. They weren’t consistent.”
“Have you asked them about it?”
“…careless questions.”
Leslie jolted up on the couch at the sudden memory of Mom’s voice. A shiver passed through her body. Ryker moved with her, kept his hand at her back. “Hey. Leslie. What is it?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t ask them. I don’t ask careless questions.”
“Why would this question be careless?”
“I don’t know.” What was wrong with her? She was on the verge of tears for no reason at all.
“Okay.”
Ryker’s arms came around her, and she nestled against him, pressed her cheek to his solid chest. He stroked her hair, and for a few long minutes, they were quiet.
“I have no idea what just happened,” she finally whispered into his shirt.
“I don’t think it just happened. I think it happened a long time ago.”
“And I was remembering…it, whatever it is?”
“Mmhm. Your family’s got a history with wolves, Leslie. Not Ezra’s family, probably, but some of them.”
“If that’s true, then…then I hate it.”
“I don’t know how else to explain what I saw tonight, especially how your dad’s eyes changed.”
“Don’t try to explain it then,” she said, and her fingers curled into his shirt.
Some questions didn’t get answered. She’d known this since…since she was very small.