Page 64 of A Wolfe in the Woods

Blanche blinked fast, as if she wasn’t sure whether to cry or smile.

“I didn’t want to guess at what you'd like,” I added. “So, I tried to remember what you loved.” I nodded toward the door. “Did you catch the sign out front?”

“I did,” she said slowly, a bit unsure. “Red’s Cabin?”

“The scarf, the car…” I let my voice trail off…then she got it and began to blush. “…the cheeks.”

She turned to me, one brow raised. “You named a cabin after me?”

I held up a hand in mock defense. “May’s idea. But I painted the walls and handled the finer touches.”

She shook her head, smiling as she looked around again. “That’s a lot of effort. Did you actually make that sign?”

“Courtesy of too many hours in the wood shop.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Say you like it,” I teased. “Or I’ll have done all of it for nothing.”

“I love it!” she replied, stepping toward me without thinking, then caught herself, stopping just short of a hug. There was something soft in her eyes—gratitude, unguarded and real.

I set her bag down by the foot of the bed, then turned back to her. “Come on,” I said. “There’s something else.”

I gently closed the door behind us and led her back to the reception cabin.

Warm golden light spilled through the windows—May’s doing—and a faint crackle from the fireplace pulsed within. As we stepped inside, a wave of warmth met us, laced with the scent of something savory and slow-cooked, waiting.

On the table, set for two with antique plates and linen napkins folded with care, was a meal May and I had prepared together earlier. Fresh-baked sourdough still warm in its basket, a tomato-basil tart with a flaky golden crust, grilled squash with rosemary and lavender salt, and oysters on ice, today’s catchfrom the coast off Vellamara, including oysters. I’d driven into town to pick them up myself.

Blanchette looked over the table, eyes like an owl’s. She took her seat and commented, “May makes a beautiful meal.”

“Actually,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I slid into the opposite chair, “I chose the menu and May helped prep.”

She glanced at me, one brow lifting. “I see. So, I’m having dinner with the chef.” A small smile curved her lips. “Lucky me.”

“Would you like to start with the…” I began to ask.

“Vellamara oysters!” she announced, lifting one carefully.

“Lemon, garlic, or hot sauce?” I offered, testing her.

“Lemon only. You should know better.”

“Oh, we’ve got ourselves a purist, folks.” I grinned.

She drizzled the lemon with theatrical precision, then ate the oyster in one fluid motion, slinging it back like she was taking a shot.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my gods.”

Blanche tilted her head back and sighed. Her expression melted into something downright blissful. It was almost obscene. I couldn’t help but stare, fists clenching beneath the table.

She opened her eyes again, pupils blown wide. “I haven’t had these in years.”

“Good?” I confirmed after clearing my throat. I shifted in my seat.Get it together, Wolfe,I chided myself silently.

“‘Good’ is not good enough to describe them,” she said, reaching for another. “I’ve been to some of the best restaurants in Graymore over the years…but no oyster will ever compare to the ones right here, right off the coast. Not even close. They’re perfect. They taste like…home.”

We’d just uncorked the second bottle of Elvenberry wine—a birthday gift from Megan that Blanche had been saving for a “special occasion.” She’d chosen to bring it herself, and judging by the soft flush in her cheeks and the way she smiled at me over the rim of her glass, I was starting to think this might’ve qualified.