Page 10 of Howl Will I Know

“Yet.”

Not good.

She smiles again as I stare at her. That smile is going to become a problem.

“My second visit today,” Nora says, tipping her head toward Lucky Bean. “Apparently, moving house requires caffeine and carbs.”

I nod abruptly. “Makes sense.”

“Right?” Her smile widens.

I should leave.

Immediately.

Instead, I stand there like I’ve forgotten how legs work while her gaze moves briefly over my face, my hair, the scars near my jaw.

The wolf settles deeper inside me, calm and satisfied in a way I haven’t felt in years. I don’t like that at all.

Nora finally steps aside, leaving the sidewalk clear. “See you around, Hewit.”

No. Absolutely not.

I walk away without answering, fast enough to put distance between us but not so fast anyone could reasonably call it running. I have some dignity left.

Behind me, Nora laughs at something Melinda shouts from the café doorway.

The wolf lifts its head and whines. Usually, when it stirs like this, it wants to get away from whoever I’m with.

Not this time.

This time, it wants to stay.

With Nora.

Chapter 4

Nora

By the time I reach Briar End Lane, I’ve learned three things about Screaming Woods.

The first is that nobody here gives directions using street names if a landmark will do. Melinda from Lucky Bean tells me to turn left at the house with the chimney shaped like a witch’s hat, continue past “the shrieking tree,” and stop before I reach the bridge.

The second is that she wasn’t joking about the tree.

The third is that my new neighbor is Hewit.

I haven’t decided what to do with that information yet. Melinda warned me. She was right about him being a grump, but I get the feeling that isn’t the whole story.

I slow the car as the cottages come into view, tucked against the edge of the forest where the town gives way to trees. Number fourteen is smaller than it looked in the listing photographs, although considerably prettier. Cream siding, dark green trim, a narrow porch, and a chimney that leans just enough to give the place character without making me immediately question the structural integrity.

Next door, number twelve is darker. Dark siding, dark shutters, no flower boxes. No porch furniture or cheerful welcome sign nailed beside the door. His shutters are closed, as if the house is avoiding eye contact.

Of course it belongs to Hewit.

I pull into my driveway and turn off the engine. For several seconds, I sit there looking between the two houses.

I smile. “Subtle.”