Page 96 of Wild Card 13

"Deal."

North Line Tavern sat on the corner of a neighborhood block lined with trees exploding in shades of amber and crimson.

Pumpkins flanked the front entrance beneath overflowing planters of mums, while strings of café lights crisscrossed the patio overhead despite the late-morning sun already brightening the cool Minnesota sky.

Someone had tucked plaid blankets over the backs of nearly every outdoor chair.

A chalkboard sign near the sidewalk read:

Adoption Brunch

Coffee • Pancakes • Local Rescue

Below it, in different handwriting:

Dogs receive complimentary bacon. Humans must pay.

I smiled before we'd even parked. "That has Arlo written all over it."

"Oh, one hundred percent."

The patio buzzed with quiet conversation instead of noise. Families shared syrup-covered pancakes beneath patio heaters. Two older women compared knitting projects while an enormous golden retriever slept across both of their feet. A little boy proudly walked a senior beagle past the tables while one of the rescue volunteers matched his tiny steps. Somewhere toward the back, someone laughed so hard it carried across the entire patio.

"This place gets cuter every time I come," Bea murmured.

"I know." The words escaped before I realized I'd said them. Because it did.

Every season seemed to suit Northbend differently. Summer spilled onto patios. Winter wrapped everything in lights. Spring smelled like fresh rain and lilacs. Autumn somehow convinced everyone to slow down.

Arlo spotted us almost immediately. "There you are." He rounded the end of the patio carrying two fresh mugs despite the one I'd already finished. "I planned ahead."

"You bribed us."

"I incentivized attendance."

He hugged Bea first. "Good to see you."

"You too."

Then he pulled me into an easy one-armed hug that smelled faintly of coffee beans and maple syrup. "You actually came."

"I said I would."

"I wasn't entirely convinced."

"I resent that."

"You'll recover." He pointed toward a table tucked near the patio railing. "I saved your favorite spot."

My gaze followed his hand. Then stopped. Naomi looked up from her coffee. Our eyes met across the patio. She smiled.

I looked back at Arlo. "You invited Naomi?"

His forehead creased. "No?" He looked genuinely confused.

Before I could question it further, Naomi pushed back from the table and walked over. She wore a rust-colored knit sweater beneath a denim jacket, her blonde curls twisted into a messy bun already surrendering to the breeze. She stopped a few feet away and lifted both hands in surrender. "We are not talking about Buzz."

The words came before I could even say hello.