Chapter 31
Wednesday afternoon, the park was exactly the quiet piece of nature Tuesday and her wolf needed, and she found a bench off in a little grove of trees without much foot traffic around it.
It was a far cry from wilderness, but the rest of the world was muffled a little, and the trees around her were a kind of sanctuary.
She clamped her gooseneck holder to the armrest, aimed it where she wanted, called him using video, and then started unwrapping one of the bacon steakburgers.
His face came onto her screen with a warm smile, and she saw him take in the fact she was outside.
“Where are you? And what are you eating?”
“Centennial Park, and there’s this fantastic little Korean deli nearby.
I ordered two bacon steakburgers and a fried fish burger.
” She held her foil-wrapped food up for the camera.
“I ate the fish burger on the walk through the park. I’ve had dinner from them a few times.
Bulgogi, katsu, spicy pork. So good. But walking and eating…
” She reached for her drink. “Burgers seemed safest.”
While she drank through the straw, he asked, “Who the fuck is holding your phone?”
Right. He could see both of her hands at the same time. One holding the burger, the other holding the drink.
She put both down, removed the phone from the holder, and aimed it so he could see her flexible gooseneck holder, and how it was clamped to the bench.
“That seems like a pretty specific tool to just happen to have handy.”
“I keep it in my purse pretty much all the time. I mean, when I’m not on a date.”
He looked like he didn’t get it, so she added, “I get all kinds of noteworthy b-roll footage. Anytime I’m in an interesting place I think I can use, I’ll film myself eating, or walking, or whatever.”
He lifted a brow. “And why do you need footage?”
She put the phone back into the holder, picked her sandwich up, and wondered why she hadn’t told him this from the beginning. It felt awkward, now.
“I have a cooking channel. On YouTube. I’m not, like, huge. It brings in decent money, but I’m not going to quit my regular job. It’s just kind of a side gig thing.”
He took a few seconds to respond. “If it’s monetized enough for decent money, there’s a lot involved in producing that kind of thing. More than a side gig.”
“Okay,” she admitted. “So maybe I’m big enough to pull in a following even when I only publish once a week.
If I tried to do it every day, or even a few times a week, it would absolutely be a full-time job, but I only release once a week, every Wednesday.
And since setting up all the lights and cameras is a huge pain in the ass, I film five or six episodes while they’re up.
It takes all day, and sometimes into the next day, changing clothes between each.
I can take my time editing them at my leisure, adding in b-roll stuff.
I have five finished and scheduled right now.
I like to keep ahead of myself, so I’m never rushed.
I have most of my next filming day figured out — what I’ll cook, the opening sequences written, and all the bullet points I want to hit for each meal. ”
“Send me the link.”
It wasn’t a request, and damn if her clit didn’t respond to his voice, but she merely nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
“While you’re apparently in the mood to share, I need to ask a serious question.”
“Okay.” Because what else was she going to say?
“Did I do okay balancing the time and intensity Monday night? It’s the first time you’ve had to work the next day after a night with me, and if it was too much, if you struggled to get through your workday, I need to know so I can adjust.”
There was so much she wanted to say, but she was in a public place, so she had to figure out how to say it. She’d put earbuds in, so no one could hear him, but that didn’t fix what they might hear her say.
“I never changed,” she said, keeping her voice low. “And that was my choice, but you did a number on my asshole while—” She cut herself off before saying he neglected her pussy and clit entirely all night and the next morning. “Certain other parts felt neglected.”
His smirk was entirely without apology. “Mornings, for me, are about enjoying the work I put in the night before. Swollen, tender, raw tissues are my favorite — it hurts so much worse, even when I’m not being rough.
” A shrug. “But somehow, even when I intend to be gentle, your reactions inflame the sadist in me and I change my mind.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You seem to enjoy it, though.”
“I’m not sure enjoy is the word I’d choose,” she said. “But I can’t argue that it works for my inner masochist.”
His eyes softened. Her words had obviously touched him, and the look he gave her made her wish he was here, so she could touch him.
“I’m really glad you called,” he said.
“I know your week gets crazy starting tonight, and I wanted to hear your voice.” That sounded better than admitting she missed him, right?
But she’d actually had a reason to talk to him.
It hadn’t just been about hoping he’d have time to talk.
“I also need to tell you — I don’t think I can do it again this coming Monday.
The owner’s key staff arrives that morning, and the head guy is going to want to put his own mark on the dishes, and that’s fine, but I have a feeling it’ll be a marathon day. Tuesday too.”
He tilted his head. The disappointment was there if she knew how to look for it, which she did by now. “Thanks for letting me know.” A beat. “I might go see my family. Leave Sunday night, come back Wednesday afternoon.”
“Tell me about them.” She meant it as an easy question, an open door, but something shifted in his expression. Not closing off, exactly, but not far from it.
“My family feels like they’re… special,” he said.
“The Cherokee influence, the wolf thing, and a few other things they’d rather I not talk about.
” He said the last part as almost an apology, and she got it — more secrets.
He’d kept from talking about them a whole lot not because he didn’t want to share, but because he felt like he couldn’t, and that was just one more wall between them.
And both of them were quite purposefully avoiding all the secrets they couldn’t talk about.
So she moved them away from that by pointing out there were some things he could share, and that he’d already started on it. “On a mountain southwest of Asheville.”
“Yeah. Most everyone’s still there. We aren’t Amish.
We have electricity, but we live off the land a whole lot, and kind of keep to ourselves.
Leaving isn’t easy, figuring out how the real world works.
” He was quiet for a moment. “There’s a tradition of arranged marriages, and they do it from at least fifth cousins out, but still — it’s one of the reasons I needed to branch out and get away.
I knew who they expected me to marry when I was seven years old, and I got to see her the day she was born.
She’s nice enough, but…” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.
Tuesday went still. “You had a match picked out from childhood.”
“Yeah.”
“And you just—” She searched for the right words.
“I left. There were a lot of reasons, but getting away from that was a big one. I mean, she’s nice enough, and I felt terrible, walking away.
I tried to explain it to her, and she was actually nice about it, which made it even harder.
” He took a breath. “It worked out though. Another arrangement fell apart, a woman leaving, which left a man unmatched. The two of them are together now, with two little ones.” He smiled.
“I’m genuinely happy for her, and thrilled not to have it on my conscience anymore.
Makes it a helluva lot easier to visit.”
Tuesday looked at him through the screen and thought about what it took to walk away from something your entire community believed.
From a life you’d grown up inside of, things you’d been taught as basic truths since before you could form a memory of it.
The weight of that. The loneliness he had to feel when he’d stepped outside of it into a cold, harsh world.
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “The mountain, the way of life? I mean, not the arrangement, but everything else?”
Something in his face softened in a way she didn’t often see.
“I miss the mountain, the community feeling.” He smiled.
“My mom texts me so much, I can’t miss her, but I still miss my grandparents, and my closest cousins.
” A shrug. “But not enough to go back. I have my own couple of acres on the side of the ridge, and I have my brothers. Also, honest work that’s respected. ”
“I’m glad you’ll have a chance for a visit. If your family knows about me, please tell them I said hello.”
She’d probably overstepped with that, but she wanted to know what he’d told them.
“My grandfather does, because I went to him for advice. Haven’t shared you with anyone else yet. It’s… private.”
He’d shared details about her with his grandfather.
That seemed like a big fucking deal, but she’d have to think about the fact he texted and talked to his mother daily, but hadn’t mentioned her.
Not now, though, not while he could see every thought flash across her face.
He was entirely too good at figuring out what she was thinking, even over video, when he couldn’t rely on scent.
Thankfully, he changed the subject by asking her how often she talked to her parents, who lived out of town.
“Mom texts me sporadically. Maybe a dozen times one day, then nothing for a few days. An outfit she especially likes, her and dad on a date night, smiling. A lot of pictures on game day, also travel pictures for away games. Dad sends me corny jokes and a whole lot of political memes.” She laughed.
“Mom might be my biggest YouTube fan. She even makes most of the meals I post, and then sends me pics of them. Dad has given me strict instructions to never, ever, post about Brussels sprouts again.”
Knife laughed, and she realized she needed to get back. Her food was long-since gone. “The team is probably wondering if I’m coming back from lunch. We usually eat together, but I needed some time with the trees today. Not that I told them that.”
“I’m really glad you called. Have a good week.”
“You, too.”
She shut the call down before things could get more awkward, and before he could see what saying goodbye was costing her. While she could still keep her face neutral.
It’d been even harder Monday, having to go to work after they’d finished breakfast the next morning. He’d stood to wait for his friend to pick him up, and she’d walked down the sidewalk without looking back because she felt like a damned railroad spike had been hammered through her chest.
She’d tried to tell herself it was because they were away from their normal. She wasn’t pulling out of his gate and driving away this time. Walking away in a strange place made it hurt more.
But she’d known she was lying to herself. Their attachment was growing, and every goodbye was going to be harder.
Her wolf had the answer, but her inner animal didn’t fully understand the ramifications of choosing him over the pack.
Of losing the land she could run on whenever she needed to, of losing monthly moon runs with all the people she’d relied on all her life.
Knife wasn’t the only one with a huge community, it’s just that hers didn’t control her entire life.
But it was still a giant part of her world.
Huge gatherings at most human holidays and a whole lot of wolf-specific ones, like the solstices and equinoxes.
It would crush her to be excluded from such a big part of her life.
She’d no longer be the same Tuesday if the pack bonds weren’t part of her soul.
That was too heavy for her to be thinking about right before she headed back to work though, so she focused on what she’d be walking back into — the final ingredient decisions on what would go into the deep-fried deviled egg appetizer, how it would be plated, and then the job aids on the whole thing, breaking everything down step-by-step.