Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Wren
Levi reappears with a pair of rolled socks and a lopsided smile. “He disappeared with the sandals,” he says, eyebrows lifting like he’s both amused and apologetic. “But are you okay?”
I nod, though I feel like a live wire, every nerve slightly frayed. “Yeah. Thanks again. For everything.”
He crouches beside me and helps me ease the socks over my still-damp feet. His touch is gentle, respectful. I glance down at his hands—strong and callused, capable. The kind of hands that rebuild things.
He doesn’t say anything about how ridiculous I must look, curled up on a clinic cot in borrowed sweats, smelling like char and smoke, barefoot and blinking like I’ve been time warped.
He finishes tugging the socks into place and rises with a soft grunt. The warmth of his palm lingers on my ankle.
I shift, my hand smoothing the hem of Levi’s hoodie, which smells faintly of pine and antiseptic. “Where’d everyone else go?” I ask, realizing how quiet it is now.
The clinic is still, and the rest of the paramedic team is nowhere to be seen. Night pulled itself over the town like a thick quilt.
“They left,” Levi says. “I’ll drop you by the station so you can grab your cat, then I’ll close out my shift, too.”
“You’re sure? I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”
He shakes his head with a low chuckle. “Trouble? Nah. You’re lucky Beau got there when he did, though. The place was starting to spit sparks.”
I wince, heat crawling up my neck. “Yeah. That was… not my best moment.”
He walks ahead, pushing open the clinic’s door for me. “C’mon. Let’s get you to Pancake.”
The ride is quiet at first, the truck humming softly beneath us as we pull away from the small-town clinic and into the sleepy twilight of Fox Hollow.
Golden-pink skies stretch above the treetops. Everything smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet.
A few minutes in, Levi speaks again, glancing my way. “Not sure if you remember me, but we went to the same high school.”
I blink, looking at his profile. His beard is fuller now, hair shorter, but there’s a familiarity there I didn’t clock before.
“I was a few years ahead,” he continues. “Class of ’08.”
That triggers something.
He smiles a little when I don’t answer. “You were in the same year as Tessa Maddox, right? That’s my sister.”
I grin. “Tessa? Yeah. She used to draw horses on every page of her notebook. I remember her.”
“She’s doing well,” Levi says, nodding.
I smile, relaxing a little. The rhythm of conversation is easy with him. Not heavy or loaded. Just… calm.
“This town,” I murmur, half-laughing. “It’s not as different as I thought it’d be.”
Levi chuckles. “You’d be surprised. Some things have changed.”
“Like?”
He pauses for a couple of seconds before saying, “Oh! I’ve got one. Blade and Butter is now a fusion of gastropub and bakery. Same building, new name—B&B. Got one of those chalkboard menus and everything. Real fancy.”
“That’s unreal,” I say, laughing. “I used to save up my allowance just to split pancakes with my friend Norah in that booth by the window.”
He glances at me, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe one of these days we can get dinner there.”
I hesitate. I like him. He’s kind. Steady. And if this were another time—another version of me—I might say yes. But I don’t want to mislead him.
And I don’t date Alphas.
“I’m not here for long,” I say gently. “Just helping out with fixing up the café while my folks are away.”
We’re just pulling into the fire station lot when I say it. Levi parks without pause, unfazed.
“That’s okay,” he says, smile intact. “Didn’t hurt to ask.”
He hops out and rounds the front to help me down, his hand warm on mine. The minute my feet hit the ground, I hear a familiar yowl.
“Pancake,” I whisper.
The cat bolts from Beau’s arms—fur puffed, ears twitching—and barrels straight for me. I drop to my knees and scoop him up, burying my nose in his fur. He smells like everything familiar—under a light layer of smoke.
“Hey,” Beau says, approaching us with a slight grin. “How’s she doing?”
Levi answers for me. “She’s okay. Smoke exposure was mild. Simon cleared her, but she needs rest.”
Beau nods, arms crossed. His tan skin looks bronzed under the parking lot lights, hazel eyes glinting gold. “Good. Glad you’re alright.”
Levi turns to me, stepping back slightly. “I’d better take the car back. But hey—it was good seeing you, Wren. Despite the circumstances.”
“You too,” I say honestly.
He nods, then heads off, waving once before disappearing around the corner of the station.
It’s just Beau and me now. And Pancake, who is nestled stubbornly into my chest, is already purring like a diesel engine.
“How bad was it?” I ask quietly. “Do I even have a café still?”
Beau rubs the back of his neck, gaze drifting toward the station entrance like he’s replaying the moment. “Could’ve been worse. Honestly? With cleanup, it’s salvageable.”
I nod, but my stomach’s knotted. “What about upstairs?”
“The fire didn’t reach it. You’ll need to air it out, but it’s habitable. Nothing structural. Whoever built it ensured that insulation was installed to protect the apartment above from potential damage from below. You should thank them—they saved you a whole lot of misery.”
Relief washes through me, followed by fresh guilt. “Thanks,” I whisper. “Again.”
He watches me for a beat. “I could drive you home. I haven’t had dinner so that we could get some on your way home.”
Fuck! This is the second dinner proposal I’ve gotten tonight. I need to leave. “I’m not really hungry, actually.”
I see his face fall, then he schools his features. His gorgeous hazel eyes watch me now. “You got a way to get home?”
I hesitate. “I’ll grab a taxi. Don’t worry. I can manage on my own.”
He huffs a laugh, nods. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
He makes me wait as he grabs me a blanket and then waves as I step away. “Night, Wren.”
“Night.”
I climb into the back of a waiting cab. The interior is warm and faintly lemon-scented. Pancake settles beside me on the seat, kneading the blanket draped over my legs.
The cab driver was reluctant to let her in without a carrier, but the tragic way I look must have won him over. As we pull away from the station, the lights shrinking in the rearview, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
Fox Hollow is not what I remember.
When I left after graduation, the whole town felt like a sandbox I’d outgrown—same faces, same stories, same ten paces between my house and the diner. But tonight… it feels charged.
Like the old town has grown muscles, secrets, and new, unexpected angles.
And apparently an absurd number of attractive men.
Seriously. Levi looks like he moonlights as a cowboy for romance novel covers. Beaus got that sun-streaked firefighter thing going on.
And don’t even get me started on Dr. Hale, with his tired genius vibe and those glacier eyes behind black-rimmed glasses like he walked out of a medical drama.
Fox Hollow has grown into itself. And I’m just now realizing I might not fit into it the way I used to.
Still, there’s the other part of me—the deeply uncool, deeply anxious part—that is already dreading the phone call from my parents.
Because there’s no universe in which they don’t find out about the fire.
Especially not when their daughter nearly burned down their café three days into her “renovation project.”
I groan, covering my face with one hand.
“Note to self,” I mutter. “Try not to die here.”
Pancake meows in sympathy and headbutts my thigh.
Outside, Fox Hollow blurs by. Soft lamplight, narrow roads, fading blue sky. It’s quieter here than I remembered, but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe everything loud about my life got left behind the minute I walked back into this town.
By the time I finish brushing my teeth, the soreness in my calves is catching up with me.
I change into one of Rob’s old band tees and a pair of boxers I found in my overnight bag, tug my hair into a messy bun, and curl up on the right side of the bed, where Pancake has already made himself at home.
His tail thumps once when I climb in beside him, but he doesn’t move. Just lets out a sigh like he, too, is processing the long day.
I switch off the bedside lamp and stare up at the ceiling.
It’s strange how clearly I remember certain things now. When I was little, every few months, my mom would pack me an overnight bag and drop me at Grandma’s with a kiss and a whispered, “Be good for Nana.”
I always thought it was because they needed a break. Or maybe they were going to one of those adult dinner parties that required fancy clothes and no children.
Now I know it wasn’t that at all.
It was her heat. That was why they always kept the house locked. Why the blinds stay shut for days. Why Nana would draw a firm line about me not calling home until I was picked up again.
They’d vanish into their little cocoon and emerge three days later, like nothing had happened. Mom would be a little dazed, and Dad would never leave her side for a second. I didn’t understand then.
But I do now.
I reach for the small bottle the doctor gave me. The supplements are meant to help me ease through the cycle without incident, but they still make my throat tighten when I think about what could happen if I lost control. Again.
The way the heat blooms under my skin is like a fuse already half-lit.
I swallow two tablets dry. The taste is bitter, metallic. I scrunch my nose, slide deeper into the sheets, and wrap one arm around Pancake.
Rob still hasn’t texted.
I recheck my phone—nothing. Not a single “Are you okay?” or even a stupid meme, which was his default form of communication on most days.
You’d think that after texting him about nearly burning down my grandmother’s café, the guy I’d been seeing would at least check in.
Apparently not.
Seems Betas can be just as useless as Alphas when they want to be.