Page 8 of Match Made In Growl

Criss set his mug down slowly and watched her cross to the counter where Twyla was already lighting up like a Christmas tree, arms open and voice rising in the particular pitch she reserved for people she'd been waiting to ambush with affection.

He didn't know who she was. He didn't know her name or why she was in Hollow Oak or what she'd been doing out in a storm all day. But his tiger did something it had never done before.

It paid attention.

5

STEPHANIE

Steph had promised herself she'd wait at least twenty-four hours before walking into the Griddle & Grind, mostly because she knew what was waiting for her behind that counter. But the storm had broken, the sketches in her journal were still making her pulse race, and she'd earned a cup of something hot and a conversation with someone who'd talk enough for both of them.

The bell chimed as she pushed through the door, and she barely had time to register the warmth and the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon sugar before a voice cut through the café like a foghorn wrapped in honey.

"Stephanie Ward, you get over here right now."

Twyla Honeytree came around the counter with the speed and determination of someone half her actual age, which was considerable and unknowable, given the fae blood that kept her looking like a woman barely brushing thirty. Her hair was twisted up with a wooden spoon, and her soft brown eyes, flecked with that strange brightness that always seemed to know more than they should, were already cataloguing everything about Steph from her mud-caked boots to her rain-damp curls.

"Look at you." Twyla grabbed her by the shoulders, held her at arm's length, inspected her like she was a shipment that had arrived damaged, then pulled her into a hug so tight Steph's ribs creaked. "You're too thin. You're not sleeping. And your hair needs oil. Sit down."

"Twyla, I just walked in."

"And I've been waiting for you since Diana told me you rang and said you were coming. Which was three days ago, by the way. Three days I've been holding a table and you."

“I wasn’t even here. I just got in yesterday.”

“That’s neither here nor there.” Twyla was already steering her toward the counter, one hand on her elbow, the other waving at someone in the kitchen. "Mara, bring out the lavender scones. The good ones, not the ones from this morning."

"The ones from this morning are fine."

"They're adequate. You're getting the good ones." Twyla planted her on a stool and set about making tea without asking what kind Steph wanted, because Twyla never asked. She decided. "Now. Tell me everything. How's the dig? How's the drive? How long are you staying? And why do you look like you've been crying recently even though you'll tell me you haven't?"

Steph opened her mouth, closed it, and then just let it happen. That was the thing about Twyla. Fighting the current was pointless. You just had to let her sweep you along and hope you ended up somewhere warm.

"The dig is promising. The drive was long. I'm staying as long as the excavation takes. And I haven't been crying."

"You haven't been sleeping either."

"I slept fine last night, actually. Diana's inn is comfortable."

"Diana's a sweetheart, but comfort isn't the same as rest and you know it." Twyla set a cup of something floral and steaming in front of her, then leaned both elbows on the counter with focused attention. "So. Who was he?"

Steph's hand paused on the cup. "Who was who?"

"Whoever put that look on your face. The one you're trying to hide behind work and field notes and pretending you're fine." Twyla's voice had dropped just enough to keep it between them, though in a café this size, "between them" was a generous concept. "I've known you for years, Stephanie. You don't show up anywhere looking like a stray cat in the rain unless something knocked you sideways."

"It's not relevant to why I'm here."

"I didn't ask if it was relevant. I asked who he was."

Steph took a sip of the tea.

"His name was Grant. Structural engineer. We dated for a year and a half. He decided I was too focused on work and not focused enough on making his life easier, so he found someone who was." She kept her voice level, factual, like she was giving a field report. "It ended two months ago. I'm fine."

Twyla studied her for a long moment with those ancient, ageless eyes. "You're not fine, but you will be. Hollow Oak's good for that. This town fixes things people didn't know were broken." She straightened up and pushed the plate of scones closer. "Eat. You need butter and carbohydrates and someone who isn't going to let you disappear into your work for six weeks without human contact."

"I have plenty of human contact. I talked to Diana, Nora, Tom Brewster."

"Professional contact doesn't count."