Never has the weight of responsibility felt heavier.
Can’t I for once make a selfish decision? Give myself something to ease the strain of this endless stretch of duty?
A knock sounds on my door, and it’s all I can do to keep from growling at the new arrival to go away. To leave me alone in my melancholy. If this is some young wolf, bringing a stupid pack squabble to me only days after I had to oust the woman who had raised me, they might not make it out of this room in one piece.
I donothave the patience to deal with petty bullshit right now.
“Come in,” I bark. Maybe just my tone will have the visitor reconsidering.
But when the door cracks open, I’m hit with a delicious scent mixture of book pages and lemons, and I know my growly mood will have no effect on the intruder.
Weirdly, that knowledge puts me at ease.
Juliet marches into my office, a box in her hand and a determined pinch to her lips.
Mmm. Missed her.
“Roderick,” she says in greeting, flouncing up to my desk. “I’m not here to fight with you,” she declares.
Leaning back in my chair, I ignore my wolf’s happy rumblings and allow my gaze to trail over the sassy librarian. Like always, she’s too tempting to be allowed in public. Juliet has on some silly high-waisted dress pants that do too much for her ass and heels that would put her mouth in a much more convenient position for kissing if I stood next to her.
Also, I need to stop thinking about her height in relation to ease of making out.
Don’t stop. Kissing is good. Licking is better.
I suck in a deep inhale at the thought of dragging my tongue over her tart-smelling skin.
Too gods-damn tempting.
Instead of answering the librarian’s declaration, I give a silent nod, letting her take that to mean whatever she wants.
Juliet takes it as an invitation to plop the box she’s cradling down on my desk. The container isn’t airtight, so I can easily smell the delicious tang of lemon and butter scents from within. Sitting on the top of the box is an envelope with my name neatly spelled out in a looping script.
Curious, I slip my thumb under the flap and tear, the noise overly loud in the quiet between us. Inside is a black card made of heavy stock, with tissue paper moon and stars on the outside. Inside, written in the same script, only this time with a reflective silver ink, are six words.
Dear Roderick,
I am sorry.
—Juliet
I lift my eyes to find her watching me. At my raised eyebrow, she sighs.
“It’s a lemon cream pie. I am here to apologize.” She points to the card, as if the meaning wasn’t clear. “My understanding is that in small towns”—she waves toward my open window, asif to indicate the whole town of Pine Falls—“I’m sorryshould be accompanied by baked goods.”
She offers us food. She wishes to mate!my wolf howls in my head, instinctively reacting to the edible gift.
If Juliet were a werewolf, I would agree with my beast about her intentions.
But she’s a human. A human who dislikes me.
She doesn’t know the meaning behind this. Calm down.
She knows wolves. Knows how to court. She wants to mate!
I give my head a shake, as if I can rattle him out of my brain. Looking to focus on something else, I open the box and find a dessert that looks as good as it smells. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I’ve watched a lot of Hallmark movies.”
