“Could keep it to yourself then!” Moira called as Vera left, the door swinging shut behind her.
Fat chance of that. In some ways, Vera was an ideal older sister—protective, present, caring, and willing to leave their family pack to join the Rosewoods when Moira needed to run. The flip side of that was Vera feeling entitled to offer opinions and guidance on every aspect of Moira’s life, whether she asked for it or not.
In some ways, it felt like Vera wished Moira had never grown up. The more independence Moira showed, the more strained their relationship grew, and now she dealt with constant jabs from Vera about her rundown apartment, her dead-end job, and her lack of ambition.
Pushing all that down, Moira dumped the second half of her coffee into the sink and brewed herself a cup of chamomile, wishing she had something a little stronger to steady her nerves. Whether Vera had believed her or not, Moira knew that she wasn’t ready to see Jonah again and would probably never be ready.
Thankfully, the door chimed again, letting in the first paying customer of the day. Moira sold him a dozen doughnuts and a loaf of sourdough, and the comfortable rhythm of business took her mind off Vera’s news. Between baking and selling, manning the ovens, and the till, the first half of the day went by in a blur.
Hanging her “Out for Lunch” sign on the door, Moira headed into the backroom again, clearing a spot on her desk. She had just sat for a quick lunch, chicken salad on a fresh ciabatta and a decaf, when there was a knock at the door.
For a second, she imagined Jonah standing there, banging on the door. She tried to picture what he’d look like all grown up, his lanky, gangly form stretched even taller, his buzzcut reveling bald patches he desperately tried to ignore, a farmer’s tan. It gave her some small joy, and enough bravery to poke her head out to see who it was.
Adria.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Will you forgive me for interrupting your break if I come bearing pizza?” Adria asked, holding up a box that smelled like heaven.
“I’d forgive far worse sins for a slice of Tony’s.” Moira hugged her friend tightly, careful not to jostle the pizza box. “Come on back, I’ll get us some plates.”
“Still no pizza place in town?” Adria led the way to the back room, the smell of cheese, bread, and pepperoni wafting behind her.
“No, and I question every single day why I still live here.” Moira wrapped her sandwich in wax paper and set it to the side. It would be dinner later.
It was one of the last holdouts in town, but eventually the pizza shop closed, unable to compete with the three pizza options in the next town over as the population in town dwindled. She cleared a space on the desk for the pizza box and handed Adria a plate, taking one for herself.
“You’re always welcome in our town,” Adria said, grabbing a slice. “Evelyn has an empty townhouse next to her place, and you know she lives right near James.”
Adria’s voice went singsong on the man’s name in a way that Moira, through her many single years, had become painfully familiar with. It was the voice every well-meaning friend used when they wanted to set you up with someone. But Moria wasn’t interested in dating. She didn’t need the distractions when she was working hard for her goal, and she didn’t need a man’s opinions on her life choices.
“I like my place, and it’s so close to here,” Moira said, savoring the first bite of pizza. She was starving after all those hours on her feet without a break. “And James is cute, but I’m not looking.”
“You’re still just as much a Rosewood, even if you live out here. I’m just being greedy. I want you around more!” Adria’s nose crinkled as she smiled.
Motherhood suited her friend. She hadn’t stopped glowing since pregnancy, and the whirlwind of raising a toddler hadn’t left her with any less love for her friends. She was everything a luna should be.
“Let’s get together Friday night, me, you, Vera, Evelyn. I’ll bring dessert if you bring Tony’s,” Moira offered.
She loved an excuse to bake up something new, something not yet ready for selling in the bakeshop. Mrs. Alden had approval rights on what was stocked and kept it traditional.
“Deal. Evelyn can host, she’s got all that space, and she doesn’t have a mate or a kid to share it with, so we don’t have to dodge blocks or men,” Adria promised.
“And I’ll make a tray of brownies for you to bring home, so they won’t even miss you,” Moira laughed.
They made their way through most of the slices, discussing motherhood and the latest pack gossip, who was hooking up and who was breaking up until finally, the last slice was gone. In the lull, Adria seemed to be searching for words, uncharacteristically quiet.
“What is it?” Moira prompted.
“Look, Vera might’ve already told you,” Adria began. “I mean, I’m sure she did, even though I told her to wait until we knew for sure if he was coming back.”
“Jonah?” Moira said, feigning nonchalance. Her friend knew some of what she’d gone through in high school, but she’d spared her the most mortifying details. It had been a way of leaving the girl she’d been, the girl who’d gotten bullied in the past. “Yeah, she told me. And like I told her, I’m fine. It’s so far in the past, I probably won’t even recognize him.”
Adria searched Moira’s face, all the concern of a mother in her eyes. “I’m worried he’s going to try for alpha. He might be here for a long time, not just a short visit.”
Moira felt the wind get knocked out of her. She covered it by cleaning up the desk, whisking away the pizza box and the dirty plates. It was one thing to have to see him once or twice and never again, and another entirely to see him for the foreseeable future.
“Please tell me he got ugly,” Moira begged, coming back with two cups of hot chocolate, swimming with homemade marshmallows.