Chapter 3 #2
When Fallon leaves, Wren reaches across the table and catches my hand. Her fingers are warm. “Okay. Spill it. What the hell happened?”
I look down at our hands before answering. “I ran into him at the bakery.”
“Holy shit.”
I nod, pressing my lips together. “He grabbed my arm, tried to talk. I told him to go back to Portland.”
“You didn’t even let him explain?”
“Would you have?”
Wren tilts her head, conceding. “Fair point.”
She knows all about his architectural career in Portland. She, of all people, knows the most about the unhealthy pattern I have developed with this man.
I deserve better… and she agrees.
The sound of clinking dishes fills the lull between us. I focus on the pattern of the wood grain beneath my hands, the way the afternoon light catches flecks of gold in Wren’s hair.
“I mean, I haven’t heard from him in months,” I finally say. “I just… I can’t do this again. He always does the same thing. Every time he comes back to town, I somehow end up…”
“In his bed?” she finishes softly.
I meet her eyes, heat crawling up my neck. “Yeah.”
Her face softens. “And last time was supposed to be the last time.”
“It was.” My voice catches. “And now he’s showed up again. And I can’t do it, Wren. Not again. The nerve of him, showing up here after everything.”
Fallon returns with our plates, mercifully interrupting my spiral. Wren’s pancakes arrive stacked high, syrup glistening down the sides.
My toast looks almost too pretty to eat, topped with slices of pear and drizzled honey.
Wren digs in immediately. “You need a distraction,” she says through a mouthful. “Get back on the dating apps. Swipe your way to forgetting him. You’re always the one preaching about how ‘the best way to get over one man is to get under another.’ Take your own advice here, babe.”
I laugh despite myself. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on. You’re still young, gorgeous, and your scent drives every Alpha within ten miles crazy. I mean, look around you. There are so many guys here who would die for a night with you.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, but I’ll pass.”
“So what’s your plan? Ignore him until he disappears again?”
“Exactly.” I reach for my chai, the spices warming my throat. “He’ll leave eventually. He always does.”
Wren’s smile falters, replaced by something tight.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She hesitates. “Don’t turn around.”
My stomach drops. “Why?”
“Because Dorian just walked in.”
Of course he did.
Despite every instinct screaming not to, I turn.
He’s at the entrance, shaking snow from his coat, dark sunglasses still on indoors like the arrogant Alpha he is. My breath catches before I can stop it.
He looks maddeningly good in a black sweater that fits like it was made for him, hair slightly tousled from the wind.
Fuck.
Is he here to haunt me?
I whip back around, pretending to study my plate.
“He’s coming this way,” Wren mutters.
My chest tightens. Every nerve in my body sparks in protest. Run, my instincts hiss, but my body won’t move.
“Hey, ladies.” His voice carries too easily.
“Hey, Dorian,” Wren answers, polite but wary.
I stay silent.
“Can I talk to you in private?” he asks, eyes fixed on me.
I shake my head, but Wren’s already standing, squeezing my hand before announcing that she’s leaving for the restroom. “Don’t kill him,” she murmurs before slipping away.
Dorian takes her seat. His legs are long, and when he settles in, they brush against mine beneath the table. The contact sends an unwanted shiver crawling up my spine.
He takes off his sunglasses, and I see it. Bruised skin under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept or maybe cried. The sight unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.
“Norah.”
I fold my arms. “Like I said, Dorian, we don’t have anything to talk about.”
He rubs his jaw with his thumb, that familiar habit he has when he’s choosing his words. “Considering I’ll be in town for the foreseeable future, I was hoping we could come to some kind of truce.”
My chair scrapes slightly as I lean back. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why the hell would you be in town? And why do you think I would even care?”
His gaze meets mine. “It’s my mom.”
The words land like a stone dropped into still water. “Margaret?”
He nods. “She’s not doing great, Norah.” Something in his voice shifts—low, raw, not the confident tone I remember.
“What’s wrong?”
His throat works before he answers. “She was diagnosed with MS.”
I blink. “What’s that?”
“Multiple sclerosis. It affects her nervous system. She’s been having trouble walking, with her balance. There’s treatment, but it’s… complicated. I came back to stay with her.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of it. Margaret James, the strong and practical woman who baked me cookies the first Christmas I dated her son, now sick?
“Shit,” I whisper. “When did that happen?”
“Couple months ago. She didn’t want anyone to know until they were sure.”
Before I can ask more, Wren appears at the edge of the table. Dorian catches the movement instantly, his expression guarded once again.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Norah.” His voice softens as he stands. “Take care, Wren.”
Then he’s gone, coat brushing past my chair as he walks out the door and into the snow. He didn’t even stop at the register.
I stare at the spot he left behind, my chest tight and my thoughts twisted.
Wren slides back into her seat, watching me carefully. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
She reaches for my hand again, her fingers curling around mine. “What did he say?”
I tell her everything. I can’t shake the image of his face—the faint lines of exhaustion, the weight behind his words.
His mom is sick. That must be so fucking scary for him.
I know how much he cares for her.
Margaret had been there for me once. When my aunt died, she brought soup, helped with paperwork, checked in when no one else did. And then everything with Dorian imploded, and I pulled away from them both.
Now she’s sick.
Guilt twists through me. I should have checked in.
“MS sounds terrifying,” I murmur.
“It is,” Wren says softly. “But she’s lucky to have him here now.”
Lucky. The word echoes too loud in my head.
Wren squeezes my hand again, gentle but firm. “You’re not a bad person for being confused, Norah.”
I nod, but it feels hollow. My chai’s gone cold, untouched beside the plate.
Dorian’s words replay in my mind. I’ll be in town for the foreseeable future.
Of course he will be. Fox Hollow’s small enough that running into him again is inevitable.
I draw a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. “I’ll drop by and check on his mom tomorrow,” I say finally. “Just to see how she’s doing.”
Wren gives me a knowing look. “You sure that’s all?”
“Yes,” I lie.
She smiles faintly. “Then I’ll come with you.”
I laugh quietly and pick at my toast, trying to believe that’s all it will be—a visit to an old family friend. Nothing more.
But deep down, I know better.
Margaret’s not the only James I’m currently worried about.