"What?" She leans forward. "Is it bad?"
"It's delicious," I reply with a grin.
She exhales like she's been holding her breath since she walked in. "Thank god, a win, finally. I've been feeling kinda stressed since my suppliers jumped their costs overnight. Bytwelvepercent."
I hold up the scone like a piece of evidence. "This is your new bestseller. Twelve percent won't matter when people are lining up for these."
Luna takes another generous bite and speaks through the crumbs. "Put me down for a standing weekly order."
The corner of Maren's mouth lifts. "Anyway. How are things going for you and pack Leroy?"
I set my scone down and brush the crumbs off my fingers. "Things are going good. Better than I expected. We're—figuring it out."
"Figuring it out," Luna repeats, grinning. "Is that what we're calling it."
"It's what I'm calling it," I say.
"Uh-huh." She tips her scone at me. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look remarkably settled for someone who's just 'figuring it out.'"
"I live in a house with three alphas who keep raiding my tea stash," I deadpan. "'Settled' might be a stretch. Though I have to say, they do replace what they take now."
"So what word would you use?" Maren asks.
I think about it. "Cohabitative."
"I'm not sure that's a word," Luna says.
"Fair enough, though." Maren tilts her head, her eyes narrowing with interest. "So, Beth—is now the time you walk me through the whole pack thing? I understand the broad strokes of what's going on, but I feel like I'm missing pieces."
So I tell her, from the top. How Jessica walked into my flower shop. How I panicked. How my tongue got ahead of my brain. How her face changed, and I was already too deep to take it back.
"I still get goosebumps thinking about it," Luna says, rubbing her forearm. "I wasright there."
"Sorry for putting you in that situation, babe," I tell Luna.
She waves me off immediately. "Don't you dare apologize. Honestly? I might have used the shears you had in your hands if I'd been in your shoes. The way you handled it is a win in my book."
"Totally," Maren replies, nodding her head slowly. "I wouldn't have had the first clue what to do in that situation."
And just as I’m about to launch into the pre-shower emergency meeting, Luna’s focus hitches. Her gaze sails right past my shoulder and anchors there, her eyes going saucer-wide. "Oh—" she breathes.
Maren follows her line of sight. "Oh."
I half turn and see an alpha about our age ordering a drink. Tall. Broad-shouldered. He's leaning against the bar with one elbow, commanding the space around him.
"I'm going to get us some drinks, I'll be right back," Luna announces, and she's out of the booth before either of us can respond.
We watch her cross the room. Watch the conversation ignite. Casual, then animated, then something else entirely. The alpha leans in. His smile widens. His body language rearranges itself from polite to purposeful.
Luna returns four minutes later with Mimosas for all of us and a phone number inked onto a cocktail napkin.
"Derek," she says, sliding back in with the unmistakable glow of a successful campaign. "In town to visit relatives. He thinks I'm fascinating."
"Are you fascinating?" I ask.
"Obviously." She tucks the napkin into her bag like it's a receipt she'll need later. "He asked for my number first, which I think means I still got it."
We raise our glasses in a synchronized tribute to Derek, the rims clinking cheerfully over the center of the table. We all take a long sip before Maren sets her mimosa down and pivots her focus right back to me.
