Page 93 of A Wolfe in the Woods

Blanche didn’t notice me staring this time. She sat in my armchair, bare legs stretched out, wrapped in my flannel with my father’s ancient laptop balanced on her knees—its screen dimand flickering like it was on life support. Every few seconds, the hosting-setup loading bar crawled forward a fraction of an inch. It now read12%.

In between the glacial progress, her hair had slipped into her face, and she’d brush it back. She continued to scribble notes on a pad propped against the chair: shapes, sketches, bullet points, even a tagline crossed out and rewritten twice. Rough concepts for the future redesign of the Juniper Hollow B&B website.

She didn’t seem to mind this work. If anything, she looked energized by it.

Blanche had a certain look when focused…lip caught between her teeth, brow scrunched, head tilted like she was listening to something only she was attuned to. If I wasn’t careful, I’d stare too long. Not just because she was beautiful, but because that quiet, fierce determination of hers was almost luminous, making it impossible to look away.

The stark contrast between us at the moment was obvious. She was immersed in sketches, color palettes, and something creative taking shape. My tasks were the opposite. Bleak paperwork and bills, that felt like chores. Her work gave her energy. Mine drained it. She was building something new, something hopeful, while I sifted through relics of old problems, old debts, and old ghosts.

I leaned back, letting the chair squeak. She looked up instantly.

“How goes the battle?” I asked.

She huffed a breath, pointing at the laptop like it had personally offended her. “Your father’s laptop is older than some civilizations. The hosting is taking forever to set up, so I’m sketching ideas while it thinks about its life choices.”

Another rumble of thunder shook the walls. Blanche didn’t even flinch, only remained focused.

“Juniper Hollow needs a strong visual identity,” she said, flipping a page. “Your cabins are gorgeous, but your branding…not so much. But we’ll get it there.”

There it was again. That simple offer. That earnestness I didn’t know what to do with.

I looked back at the envelope in my hand. The corner was creased from how hard I’d been gripping it.

“What’s that?” Blanche asked softly. Of course she saw.

I hesitated. She tilted her head, waiting. I sighed, then rubbed my thumb along the embossed letters. “One of the many investment companies my father used to deal with. Thought they’d lost interest.”

Her brows knit. “Is that…bad?”

“Not agoodone in the pile.” I dropped it onto the desk. “Doesn’t matter.”

A beat of silence passed before she spoke again. “You know you can tell me things, right?”

Just then, lightning cracked outside, bright enough to flash white across her face, interrupting us. A half second later, thunder shook the floorboards.

And then the power died. Just—gone.

A dismayed gasp left her mouth as the laptop screen went black. It was so old, it couldn’t hold a charge without being plugged in. I reached for the emergency lantern on the mantle and flicked it on, bathing us both in amber light.

Blanche groaned, sinking back. “No, no, no…I had progress!”

I walked over, leaning down beside her armchair. Her face was inches from mine, lit warm by the lantern. The shirt’s collar slipped slightly off one shoulder. For a second, my pulse forgot what it was supposed to do.

“I’m sure your hosting setup saved something.”

“Gods, I hope so,” she replied, tapping the keys of the laptop. “Dammit.”

The storm deepened, drumming harder. Leaves slapped the siding. Wind moaned through the gaps in the eaves. Blanche shivered slightly.

“Cold?” I asked.

“A little.”

I picked up the woven blanket from the couch and draped it around her shoulders. It pooled around her like a cocoon. My hand brushed the side of her neck and lingered a moment before I pulled away.

“Hold on,” I murmured. “Let me get a fire going.”

Even though it was a summer storm, there was a cool breeze blowing down through the forest. A fire would give us lightanda bit of warmth. I crossed to the hearth, stacking kindling and a few dry logs from the basket. One strike of a match, a soft flare of sulfur, and the flames caught quickly, crackling up the chimney, spilling warm, flickering light across the room.