"Beth," she says.
"What?"
"Youlikethem."
I reach out, pluck the prosecco bottle from the edge where Maren left it, and take a long, deliberate sip. "I am pleading the fifth."
"Then if you won't reply directly, maybe you can just give some... details?" Harper pushes. "Like, how does it actually feel living with them these days?"
"There are no details. There's—" I set the bottle back on the ledge. "It doesn't matter how I feel about them. I can't start something with three people when I don't even know if I'm staying in the same town as them. That's unfair to everyone involved."
"Counterpoint," Maren says, holding up one dripping finger. "What if you're using the uncertainty as a convenient excuse not to try?"
I narrow my eyes at her. "I'm taking that as an accusation."
"Then it's a deeply loving accusation," Maren replies without missing a beat.
Harper tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "I'm not trying to pressure you, Beth, but I've been thinking about what you said on the porch earlier. About how the shop feels like an exhibit of the life you thought you'd have."
I stiffen slightly, bracing myself.
"So I have to wonder," Harper continues gently. "When you picture yourself selling the shop and leaving Lakeview... is it because the dream you originally wanted is actually gone? Or is it because youcouldstill have exactly what you want with these three alphas, and you're just terrified of having the rug pulled out from under you a second time?"
I stare at her. The deck light catches the water droplets resting on her collarbone.
"When did you get this insightful?" I mutter.
"I've always been this insightful. Maybe you only notice when you're not too busy deflecting." She holds my gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Which you kind of just did."
I close my mouth.
The water bubbles around us. Pine-scented air, warm steam, the cold dark pressing in just beyond the ring of the deck lights. I let my head fall back against the rim of the jacuzzi and look straight up. Stars are starting to puncture through the dark purplish sky.
"I don't know what—"
A howl—low, stretched long, and rolling across the tree line from somewhere in the dark beyond the cabin—cuts through the night, and all three of us go completely rigid.
"Was that a wolf?" Maren sits up straight. "That was a wolf."
"There are no wolves around here," I say, though my voice lacks any real conviction.
"Obviously therearewolves around here," Maren hisses.
We hold our breath and listen. Nothing. Just the jets, the drip of overflow, and the forest folding back into its nighttime quiet.
"Maybe it was someone's dog," I suggest weakly.
"That was not a dog," Harper says.
"What, you're a dog expert now?"
Awoooooo.
Another howl. Longer. Louder. And definitely not distant. It rolls out from somewhere in the trees behind the cabin, close enough that I can feel the bass of it hum against my ribs.
"Okay," Maren says. "That is not a dog."
"Let's get out of here right now," Harper says, already gripping the edge of the tub.
