Falling for anyone else would be a betrayal. It’s as simple as that. Claire deserves better than that kind of forgetting.
Jude’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You good?”
“Fine.”
He studies me for a beat before picking up his drink again. “You know, you can honor her and still live, Ryker.”
I don’t answer. There’s nothing to say that would make sense.
Mick calls out from the bar, something about closing early if the storm rolls in tonight. The place hums with easy laughter, chairs scraping, boots thudding against old wood floors.
I’ve spent half my life in places like this—taverns that feel like second homes, built from years of shared exhaustion and stubborn pride.
Norah stands to leave, pulling on her coat. Wren waves to Mick, then slings her bag over her shoulder.
They pass close to our table, and for a heartbeat, the scent hits—warm spice and clean cedar, an undertone of something floral. My Alpha instincts recognize it before my mind does.
Norah hesitates. “Hey guys,” she says, voice light but warm.
Jude grins, adjusting his glasses. “Look who’s out past nine. You finally taking a night off from the flower shop?”
She laughs softly. “Trying to. Wren said I needed a night out before the holiday chaos starts.”
Wren nudges her, smirking. “And before the town ropes her into organizing the Christmas market again.”
Norah rolls her eyes, then her gaze flicks toward me. Her smile falters. Not out of discomfort—or at least I don’t think so. It’s more like surprise. “Hi, Ryker.”
“Hey, Norah.”
Simple, but it feels heavier than it should.
She shifts the strap of her bag, the edge of her scarf brushing her chin. “How’s the renovation coming along?”
“Good. Cabins are shaping up. Should have heat running by next week.”
“That’s great.” Her eyes soften, just slightly. “Those old cabins have stories in their walls. It’s nice to see someone bringing them back.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say more.
She lingers like she might add something else, then just smiles. “Well. I’ll let you two finish your beers.”
“See you around,” Jude calls as they head for the door.
Norah gives a small wave, and the tavern light catches on her hair as the door swings shut behind them. The wind rushes in, cold and sharp, carrying the first hint of snow.
I stare at the empty spot she left behind, and for a breath, the tavern feels too warm.
Jude finishes his drink and sets it down with a soft clink. “You’re gonna have to stop pretending you don’t care, man.”
I huff out something that isn’t quite laughter. “You’re reading too much into things.”
He leans back, arms crossed. “You’re staring like she hung the moon. That’s not nothing.”
“She deserves someone who isn’t stuck in the past.”
“And maybe you deserve someone who reminds you there’s still a future.”
The words hang there.
