Chapter 41 Nora
Nora
The tavern finally opened.
Exactly at eleven.
Trigger insisted.
“If we’re having a grand opening,” he said, flipping the sign from CLOSED to OPEN, “we do it on time. Eagle River doesn’t need rumors. It needs coffee, bad music, and fried food.”
The Magnolia Ladies showed up at ten thirty.
Of course they did.
They stood outside in their coats, purses clutched like weapons, eyes sharp and curious and far too perceptive. When they saw me through the window, every single one of them softened.
Not pity.
Recognition.
I took a breath and unlocked the door.
“Morning,” I said.
Mabel was the first in. She didn’t say a word — just wrapped me up in the kind of hug that smelled like perfume and home and unyielding strength.
“We heard there was trouble,” she murmured into my hair. “Didn’t need details.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m okay.”
“We can see that,” Clara said briskly. “Which means the rest is none of our business.”
Hazel snapped her fingers. “Now. Where is Wolf?”
I glanced over my shoulder.
Wolf stood near the bar, tall and tense, scanning the room like it might suddenly turn hostile. He’d tried to give me space this morning.
Tried.
He was failing spectacularly.
Hazel waved him over like she’d known him his entire life.
“Come here,” she said.
Wolf hesitated.
Then took one step.
And another.
Hazel patted his cheek. “You look like a man unsure what to do with his hands.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wolf said solemnly.
Mabel studied him. “You protected our girl.”
“I protected my girl,” he said.
All three women gave him the same unimpressed look.
“No,” Clara said. “You chose.”
Wolf blinked.
I didn’t miss the way his shoulders eased — just a fraction.
People filtered in slowly after that.
Not crowds.
Neighbors.
Familiar faces.
Farmer Joe bringing eggs “just because.”
Mrs. Ellison from the post office quietly slipping an envelope into my hand with a note that read, You’re not alone.
No one asked questions.
But everyone knew something.
And everyone treated me exactly the same — which somehow meant everything.
By noon, the tavern smelled like food and warmth and something steady.
Trigger sang.
Terribly.
Saint worked the register with unsettling cheer.
Havoc leaned against the wall, pretending not to enjoy himself.
And Wolf?
Wolf hovered.
Near the door.
Near the bar.
Near me.
I took a slow breath, wiped my hands on a towel, and walked over to him.
“You’re doing that thing,” I said quietly.
He frowned. “What thing?”
“The thing where you track exits every six seconds and tense when someone walks behind me.”
His jaw flexed. “Habit.”
I lowered my voice. “Wolf… this is my safe place.”
He hesitated.
“I need to stand here,” I continued. “In my space. Without you between me and the world.”
His eyes searched mine — conflict raw and visible.
“And I need to know,” I added gently, “that you trust me to live.”
That landed.
Hard.
He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to unlearn protecting you.”
I smiled softly. “You don’t have to stop. Just… loosen your grip.”
A long beat passed.
Then Wolf stepped back.
Not far.
But enough.
He leaned against the bar instead of standing in front of me. His hands unclenched. His gaze lifted from my shoulders to my face.
“There,” he said quietly. “I’m trying.”
Warmth unfurled in my chest. “I know.”
Mid-afternoon, Sheriff Tate stopped by.
Not in uniform.
Just a man from town.
The room quieted — not tense, just attentive.
He nodded to me. “We’re telling people there was a credible threat. Outsiders. Handled.”
“That’s enough,” I said.
He smiled faintly. “Thought you’d say that.”
Before he left, he leaned in and said softly, “You did good, Nora.”
So did you, I almost said.
But some things are just understood.
That evening, when the sun dipped low and the jukebox played softly and the town settled into itself again, Wolf appeared beside me carrying two plates.
“Food,” he said. “You forgot.”
I laughed softly. “You sound like Trigger.”
He raised a brow. “I’m learning from the best.”
We sat at the small table near the window — my table now — watching Eagle River move past like it always had.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I am,” I said honestly. “I feel… like myself again. I’ll start back at the library tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly. “I knew that was coming.”
“And you?” I asked.
He stared out the window. “I don’t know how to be near you without bracing for impact.”
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine.
“You don’t have to tense every second,” I said. “Just stay.”
He turned his hand over, threading his fingers through mine.
“I can do stay,” he said quietly.
Outside, the tavern lights glowed warm against the cold.
Inside, life moved forward.
And for the first time in a long time, my routine didn’t feel fragile.
It felt reclaimed.