Page 16 of Wanderlust With Wolves

Because once we start talking, everything else fades away.

One hour rolls into three.

She tells me about her travels, about the people she’s met, the places that have stolen pieces of her heart.

She doesn’t just talk about places—she paints them with her words, making meseethe blue deserts of New Mexico,feelthe salt air of the Pacific Northwest,hearthe bustling streets of New Orleans.

And I?

I just listen.

I let her fill the space between us with her wild, wandering spirit, and I?—

Iwant.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to sit across from her, watching her talk, watching her eyes light up when she tells a story, watching the way she gestures with expressive hands, like she’s pulling the whole world into existence as she speaks.

She’s free, unbound by anything, always moving, always chasing something new.

And yet, here she is.

Here, with me.

I don’t rush her.

I don’t push.

Because I know she’ll leave.

She’s already told me she doesn’t stay in one place for too long.

But I also know?—

She’s stillhere.

And that means something, too.

Eventually,she sighs, stretching her arms over her head.

“I really need to work now.”

I nod, the moment shifting. I have my own obligations—a northside patrol with Vane to handle a boundary issue.

I pay for our meal before she can argue.

As we step outside, I ask, “You have plans for the rest of the day?”

Maya grins. “Only with every single spa amenity Wilding Way Resort has to offer.”

I smirk, pleased. “Good.”

She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “Good?”

I step a little closer. Not touching. Not yet.

But close enough.

“So I’ll see you later,” I say, voice low and certain.

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