Page 144 of The Wolf in My Tavern

“We have,” my father says, as Betsy comes to stand at his side. She smiles up at him as he wraps his arm around her waist. “I had a bit of coin gathered over the years and, well, it was time for a new start. Home was calling to me. They have an excellent blacksmith here and don’t need anything from me. But we took a room here while deciding what to do next and chatted with the then proprietor. He was recently widowed. His daughter was nagging him to go and stay with her. She and her husband had a comfortable home with space for him and half a dozen brats who wanted to see their grandpa more often… Everything just fell into place. By then, Betsy was already in love with the tavern and making plans.”

“It has always been a dream of mine to have my own tavern someday.” She shares a look with my pa. “Although I’d have followed Heath anywhere.” She turns back to us. “But happen things work out for a reason. We get many passing travelers here, and the business is good.”

A serving man approaches behind the bar. “Can I get everybody drinks?” he says,

“Aye, thanks,” my father says.

“How about some food?” Betsy adds. “Can I interest anyone in a stew?”

Gray groans. “Fucking stew,” he mutters.

Ada giggles. “What is wrong with stew? That is what you always ate while staying in Bleakness.”

“I fucking hate stew,” he says. “I only stayed there because I was smitten with a certain serving wench, and my wolf would not let me eat elsewhere.”

A deep guffaw escapes me. There was a time when I was a jealous bastard, but not anymore. “Only your wolf?” I raise a questioning brow.

“Fine, whelp, you know both the man and wolf sides of me were well aligned in our pursuit of Ada, even if I was too thick-headed to admit it and, further, resorted to questionable actions along the way. But, Gods, give me a slab of juicy venison or anything involving meat that is not covered in gravy or sauce.”

“We recently added venison to the menu,” my father says. “We get a few shifters in here. More lately. Maybe word has gotten around.”

“Thank the gods,” Gray says. “I will die happy if I never eat another bowl of stew.”

We take a seat at the table where we eat, drink, and talk. It feels as though time slows and stops as they regale us with tales of their adventures, and we tell them about ours.

“You have grown up,” my pa says, leaning in close and speaking for my ears only. “Your mother would be proud.”

I feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes. Ada, ever sensitive to my mood, slips her small hand in mine, even as I see her other hand slip under the table to rest on Gray’s thigh.

We are all connected now. What one feels, the others experience echoes of.

As Gray closes his hand over hers, where it rests against his thigh, he glances at me.

“I’d like to think she would be proud of both of us,” I say to my pa. “You mourned her too long.”

“That's what I said,” Betsy agrees. “But happen we are all now exactly where we were meant to be.”

“There was some time of adjustment,” I say dryly.

“For all of us,” Gray agrees.

“I have heard you have a babe on the way,” my pa says, turning to Ada.

She grins. “Yes, and Betsy is due not long after.”

“Aye,” my father says. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a father again.”

“You are not so old,” I point out.

He rolls his eyes. “Not that I have a say in this when Betsy’s already talking about more.”

Betsy, unperturbed, smiles prettily back at him. “I want at least a dozen,” she says.

“That is a lot of babes!” Ada says.

Betsy shrugs and grins. “I’ve been waiting for him for a long time. It seems there is more than one thick-headed male around this table who does not recognize when they have a good thing.”

“You’re a bold lass,” my pa says affectionately. “Thank the Goddess you are—look at what I might have missed out on.”

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