“I’m folding! This is folding!” Luna protests, viciously attacking a bowl of what I assume is cookie dough.
“That’s not. You’re going to make them tough!” Oli reaches for the bowl, his dimples deep as he tries and fails to look stern.
“Maybe I like them tough,” Luna retorts, holding the bowl away from him. “Not everything needs to be soft, Oli.”
“Cookies do.” Oli finally wrestles the bowl from her, his movements careful despite their playfulness.
I clear my throat, and they both look up, guilty as cubs caught stealing treats.
“Ethan!” Luna’s face brightens, and that thing in my chest twists harder. She runs over and gives me a quick kiss, light and sweet. My wolf hums in response, restless and eager for more contact, but I hold still.
“Want to learn how to make the world’s toughest cookies?” she asks.
“I’m sure they’ll be edible,” I say, moving to the coffee pot. “Eventually.”
“They’ll be perfect,” Oli corrects, shooting me a look that says don’t you dare criticize her baking. “Luna’s a natural.”
That earns him a sprinkle of flour on his nose and a smile from Luna.
“Liar,” she says, but she’s pleased.
I pour my coffee, trying not to stare.
Six weeks. She’s been here for only six weeks, and the entire dynamic of our pack has shifted around her like she’s always belonged here.
“Don’t you have stuff to finish?” Oli asks me pointedly.
Luna rolls her eyes at both of us. “There’s enough dough for everyone.”
“I’ve got work,” I say, though leaving is the last thing I want to do. “Just needed coffee.”
I take my mug and retreat. The herbs waiting on my workstation seem even less important now.
Back at my station, I try to focus but watch the clock instead.
Thirty minutes later, I hear Luna’s footsteps heading toward the back of the house, where Axel usually works on bikes and cars.
My tinctures aren’t getting done anyway, so I follow at a distance.
The garage door is open, and I lean against the wall outside, just within earshot. Casual eavesdropping is a necessary skill. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Hand me that wrench.” Axel’s voice is gruff as always, but missing its usual edge.
“This one?”
“No, the—yeah, that one.”
Metal clinks against metal. I risk a glance inside. Axel lies half-under his old motorcycle. Luna sits cross-legged on the floor beside him, a spread of tools arranged neatly within reach. Herjeans ride up, revealing the scars that wind around her calves. She doesn’t try to hide them anymore.
“So what exactly did you do to break it this time?” she asks.
“Didn’t break it. Upgrading it.” A grunt. “Wrong bolt.”
Luna hands him another one without being asked. “You always say upgrading when you mean fixing.”
“Do not.”
“Do too. Like last week with the carburetor.”
