Page 7 of Wolf's Chance

“But he doesn’tneedto know that, Willow!”

Shaking my head, I switched the store computer on. “You two make my head hurt. You did accounting at college, you want to be a bookkeeper, he wants you to be his bookkeeper, you get along great—I don’t understand why you aren’t working at the mill.”

Lily groaned loudly. “Because then he has all the power.”

“He’s your dad.” Rubbing my forehead tiredly, I met her sullen frown. “You both confuse me,” I admitted. “If my dad were here, I’d jump at the chance to work with him every day.”

Lily snorted. “You don’t even know who your parents are. For all you know, he could be some child-abusing alcoholic andis probably dead or in jail.” Her snort turned to a disdainful sniff. “You told me you were found outside a church in a cardboard box. Abandoned. Why would you want to know those people? Theyleftyou.”

She would never understand. She had her father, a man who doted on her. Her mother had left them both a long time ago after a sordid affair with her father’s best friend, and while I knew her mom had tried to reach out a few times to Lily, her efforts had been in vain. Lily Summers was the most caring person on the planet until you wronged her, or her dad, and then God help you because she didn’t believe in forgiveness for betrayal.

But still, Lilyknewwhere she came from. Despite her relationship with her mom, she still knew her.

I didn’t have that knowledge regarding my birth parents. I’d spent my life in an orphanage until I was ten. Then I was fostered by a nice couple, who kept me until I was sixteen. They died in a car crash, and I was back in the foster care system, spending time in three different homes until I hit eighteen.

My original foster parents had left me a sizable sum when they passed, which had taken seven years to pass through the legal system when my “aunt” had contested the will. It was with their money I’d bought my home, a simple two-bed bungalow, in a small town at the foot of a mountain, surrounded by fresh air.

A fresh start in a new town.

One where I was surrounded by nature and felt at peace. I’d met Lily in my first week, and we’d hit it off. In her way, Lily had adopted me more solidly than any foster parentbefore her, and when days were hard and I struggled to get out of bed, Lily was the one who made sure I was taken care of.

It was the knowledge that I had of how loyal she was as a friend that made me not start the old disagreement about the reasons why I was left. Instead, I simply listened as she listed the reasons why working for her dad was a bad idea.

When she was gone, I found myself back at the sketch pad, the page turned to the stranger’s portrait.

Unease sat low in my belly as I stared. He was so familiar, but I knew I’d never seen him before the market on Saturday.

“What mystery do you hold?” I asked the sketch, my finger trailing over his jawline, imagining the feel of his short beard under my finger. “And why do you scare me?”

The sketch had no answers, and as I closed the cover, I knew I had none either.

THREE

Caleb

Lookingaround the kitchen as I walked carefully through Willow’s living space, my first impression was how clean it was. Not just surface clean, butcleanclean. The smell of chemicals lingered under the fragrance of fresh flowers and, from a glance around the room, possibly six different aromatic candles.

This room was an allergy sufferer’s worst nightmare.

Her furniture was a bland neutral. There was alotof beige. As I moved towards the hall, I couldn’t help but think that this was not the house of an artist. I expected splashes of color. Bold prints with garish contrasts. Instead, I was faced with…beige.

The first bedroom faced the street and was utilized as an art studio. Which made sense, since she spent so much of her time at the store on Main Street. But again, the room lacked personality. White walls with distressed white weathered hardwood flooring, and a simple gauze curtain that shut out the curious passersby. Two easels sat center stage, and an L-shaped workbench was the only other furnishing.

Some canvases sat facing the wall, while others of muted landscapes dotted the room. None were mounted onto the wall, and I wondered if that was another trait of her self-confidence. Or lack of it. More frustratingly for me, this room told me little about Willow either.

Conscious of the thin covering between me and the street outside, I moved to the next room.

The bathroom was pristine white, featuring a sleek washbasin, a spotless toilet, and a bathtub with a modern shower overhead. The simplicity and meticulous organization of the space told me as much about Willow as anything else in the house.

Which was little.

Other than the fact she obviously had too much spare time to spend cleaning.

Pushing open the door to the remaining room, I stepped into her bedroom and let out a low chuckle.Herewas where she spent most of her time, which took me by surprise, considering she had a home studio. While by no means messy, this room was just more lived in. I could tell from the slightly rumpled bedspread, still in neutral tones, but it looked worn and well used.

Her bed took up most of the space. Pushed up against the corner of the room, it faced the pine trees. Her drapes were pulled wide open, allowing an uninterrupted view of the woods behind her house.

I knew she closed them at night while she slept, but I appreciated the simple view nonetheless. A desk sat in the opposite corner, again facing outwards. She seemed to spend alot of her time lookingout, if the positioning of her furniture was anything to go by.

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