Page 25 of A Wolfe in the Woods

I stood there, halfway in the door. Her words were so simple, her tone convincing. When she spoke, it was like a charming spell. Unlike Jonathan, who had all the power to break one.

Could I be around people and not feel the need to be obligated? It wasn’t something I was accustomed to. I’d practiced beingpolitefor so long, I didn’t know how to be anything else…especially how to justbe.But something in May’s voice unclenched a tight knot I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying.

I blinked, then gave a small nod. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me freshen up first.”

I didn’t take long.

After washing my face and pinching my cheeks for some color, I smoothed my hair back and wrapped a cardigan around my shoulders. By the door hung one of the guest lanterns—an old metal one with a glass globe and a brass handle. I took it down from the hook, and when I twisted the knob, a warm, steady light flickered to life.

Outside, the woods were dusky and pale under the glow of a rising moon. The trees overhead stretched long, their branches shifting gently.

I walked slowly. The reception cabin wasn’t far. Just down the gravel path, right across from my cabin. Not even a couple minutes’ walk, with only the faint creak of the lantern in my hand and the gravel crunching under my shoes to break up the hushed sounds of the summer night.

Somewhere in the trees, an owl called, low and distant. A bush rustled nearby. I told myself not to be afraid. These were the woods, after all. Sounds like that were normal…natural.

As I neared the cabin, I could hear murmured voices, the clink of silverware through a back window. Inside, I could see movement. Shadows cast themselves on the curtains, the glint of firelight shimmered.

The door creaked open before I reached it. May stood there, warm golden light spilling out behind her, her hand on the knob, her face a map of crinkles with an inviting smile.

“There ya are,” she said. “Come on in.”

I stepped inside but then stilled on the threshold. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt something shift. The energy, the air. It felt warm and tangible, like stepping into a shaft of sunlight when I’d been beneath a shade for so long.

Everything looked as I remembered—the check-in counter, the wall of brochures, the soft lamp light warming the front room. Then May led me around the corner of the back wall, through a door I hadn’t seen.

I blinked.

The reception cabin was larger than it appeared from the small lobby, deceptively so. The front entry only hinted at what lay beyond it.

The room held a long dining table near a stone fireplace, with a modest but cozy kitchen tucked off to the side. There was a row of gleaming copper pots from hooks above the stove and a woven rug softening the hardwood. The walls were lined with shelves full of cookbooks, candles, and old photographs that I couldn’t make out in the dim lighting.

It felt more like someone’s home, complete with bundles of dried herbs hanging from the windows and chipped mugs and well-loved dishes stacked through the glass of a nearby curio cabinet.

The scent of butter and smoky meat filled the air, along with something faintly sweet. Something familiar. Moonshade berry, maybe?

The table was already made, I saw. A beautiful roast glistened under the soft light at the center, steam curling off it. A dish of golden potatoes sat beside it, skin crisped and herbs tucked between. There were fresh herbs in a vase next to it too, a pitcher of water catching the light. At the far end, a plate of small tarts, their dark filling glinting like purple sapphires over sugar-dusted crusts. Moonshade berry. I was right. It was warm and inviting in a way that made my chest hurt a little, remembering what I sorely missed, remembering what I’d lost. What I’d given up.

Jonathan sat at one end, elbows resting on the edge of the table, turning a fork slowly between his fingers. He didn’t look up right away, but he must’ve heard me. There was a subtle shift in the air when he finally glanced over.

I was surprised when he stood, the epitome of gentlemanly manners that I, frankly, had not expected from him.

I placed my lantern down on a side table and approached the feast laid before me.

The scent hit me more fully now. My stomach, which had been quiet all day, gave a low, traitorous grumble. I glanced at the roast again, then the tarts, steam still curling faintly from their sugared tops.

May caught the look in my eyes and smiled. “You’re welcome to fix a plate and take it back to your room, if ya prefer. No one’s gonna mind,” she said kindly, giving me an out.

I hesitated.

My plan was to step in, be polite, take my supper, and go. But now…with the fire crackling, the table set, and the food smelling delicious—I felt myself wavering.

“Or ya could stay…your choice either way,” May added. I swore her lip was twitching.

Before I knew it, I sat down at the table. Guided by something inside, I did what I rarely would: I listened to myself. May’s smile deepened, like she’d known all along that I’d stay. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jonathan reclaim his seat, sinking down with his heavy weight, replacing the fork on the surface.

“Don’t be shy—dig in. We eat plenty round here,” she said with a wink. Her hand waved toward Jonathan. “This one eats like a wolf.”

Hesitantly, I glanced over. With a pang, I realized they’d been waiting for me to arrive. He started into his meal, his plate already heaped with food, eating with a kind of hedonistic ease that was neither rushed or greedy. Instead, I got the impression he was an indulgent man, like he meant to enjoy every bite and didn’t care who saw. It was…oddly attractive.