Page 18 of Wolf Fated

“Of course I do. I think it’s wonderful anyone could write a book. It’s amazing!” His expression slides into one of quiet concern. “But, you don’t think so.”

I shrug. “I never really thought about it that way. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do, I guess.”

“What made you decide to pursue writing in the first place?” he prompts, his tone gentle yet laced with a genuine curiosity that catches me off guard.

I hesitate, my gaze dropping to the worn laminate as I wrestle with the weight of the memories that threaten to overwhelm me.

I don’t talk about my childhood.

Ever.

Even to Mark, but when I lift my chin and meet Mitch’s gaze I’m not scared to answer his question. I don’t understand why when the words usually burn like bile up my throat. Now though…now when that strange feeling of wanting to tell him everything switches on and I….I want to share. It’s important he knows.

“I didn’t have the typical upbringing. No parents, no family support...just a string of foster homes and social workers who saw me as nothing more than a burden to be shuffled from one place to the next.” The admission hangs heavy in the space between us, laden with a lifetime of loneliness and isolation that still manages to sting, even after all these years.

But Mitch doesn’t flinch, doesn’t offer empty platitudes or hollow reassurances. Instead, he simply nods, his expression one of quiet understanding and acceptance.

I swallow hard and continue. “I started writing when I was little. It became my escape. And when I got older, when I realized that I could turn that passion into a career...well, it just seemed like the natural path to take.”

As the words trail off, I find myself searching Mitch’s gaze, seeking a hint of judgment or pity. What I find there is neither of those things. There’s an understanding that reaches into the very depths of my soul.

I realize that for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’ve allowed someone to see the real me–the broken, battered parts I’ve kept carefully hidden from the world. Instead of turning away in disgust or dismissing me, Mitch has met me head-on, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of the storm that has been raging within me for far too long.

“I don’t want to burden you,” I say.

A small huff of air leaves his full lips. “You’re no burden, Sarah.”

I stare at him and do nothing but believe him. “How can…why do I…want…to tell you these things?”

“I’m not just hearing your words, Sarah. I’m feeling them, down to the very core of my being,” he murmurs, his voice a low, resonant rumble.

Mitch’s words ease the ache that’s always there deep down inside. And from that ache, the voice of reason that speaks of self-preservation and the bitter lessons learned from past heartaches whispers in my head.

And that voice is right.

I can’t let myself get swept away, not again. Not when the wounds from Mark’s betrayal are still so fresh. With a monumental effort, I remove my hand that found its way somehow under his.

Mitch doesn’t push, doesn’t try to force his way past the barriers I’ve thrown up. He simply nods, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“It’s time I showed you around town. Get you oriented before the festivities start up,” he says, his tone easy and relaxed, as if he can sense my need for space.

I nod, grateful for the opportunity to regain my bearings and put some much-needed distance between us. As much as I’m drawn to this man, this steadfast, unwavering force of nature, I can’t afford to let my guard down completely.

Because if I do, I might be swallowed whole and I don’t know if that’s the right thing for either of us.

Chapter Ten

Mitch

As we cruise down Moonshadow Avenue, the heart of our little slice of paradise, I drink in the sights and sounds with a newfound sense of discovery.

“What is this place?” Sarah murmurs, her eyes wide with awe and bewilderment as she takes in the eclectic array of buildings—buildings I take for granted having looked at them for years.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I can’t resist the urge to reach across the console and give her hand a gentle squeeze. “Welcome to the heart of Willowbrook.”

As we roll to a stop at the intersection, I gesture toward the first shop, a charming little apothecary nestled between a bakery and a jeweler’s storefront. “That’s the Herb and Potion Emporium. They specialize in all sorts of natural remedies and...specialty items.”

Sarah’s brow crumples, and I see the wheels turning as she processes the unusual name. But before she can voice her curiosity, I’m guiding the cruiser onwards, my gaze roaming over the next shop.

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