Page 22 of Full Moon Frenzy

Trapp stood there a moment longer than he needed to when she turned away to fill his cup. Muscle memory could have carried him throughout the majority of his day, but his body didn’t know how to navigate a missed line here, where every line and smile reliably landed.

Nif, the slender tiefling who worked most mornings, came out of the back, tying her apron as she pushed through the swinging door. When her head raised, Trapp couldn’t tell if he’d imagined the moment when she stopped short at the sight of him, already bending to pull out the blender jars before he could blink, lining them up without looking up at him again.

This was the part when Xenna would ask after his mother or pump him for details on Grayson’s wedding planning, maybe a good-natured grouse about the job Jackson was doing or say something glib about his newly-single status.

“We met a friend of yours,” was what she said, voice light, eyes never rising from the pastry case as she set his coffee on the counter. “From med school.”

“Med school?” There was no one he knew from med school here. Trapp made it a policy to barely know the doctors at Healers, save for the ones he was forced to interact with most frequently in the trauma ward. Grayson’s friend Shay managed the private practice next door, but other than the shifter being a member of the wedding party, Trapp had no reason to socialize with any of them. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Mmm, she told us all about it. Doctor Brunelli.”

Trapp blinked. The coffee shop doors pulled open, an entire construction crew moving through the doors noisily, prematurely ending the conversation as Trapp drifted down the counter stiffly. Doctor Brunelli. His wolf shifted, curling up, his guts clenching at the sound of her name.

Xavier came out of the back at that moment, grinning when he saw Trapp. “Hey, man. You’re in early today.”

He nodded, woodenly relaying that there had been an accident serious enough to require an emergency airlift to the hospital.

Xavier winced. “I don’t know how you all do it, day in and day out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you do.” He glanced over his shoulder to where his sister rang out the construction crew, Nif lining up the cups in a neat line. “Look, man . . . that doctor. She was in here telling a story. About you.”

Trapp felt his smile harden slightly. “I was in medical school for four years. I’d hate to think I’ve only managed to generate one story.”

“No. But I think you’d probably hate the particular one she told.”

Around them, the sounds of the coffee shop increased. The grinder had whirred to life, the door opening several more times, the rest of Cambric Creek waking up, facing the day with their vice of choice.

“ . . . What did she say?”

Xavier gave him what he could only call a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think repeating it would improve either of our mornings.”

“So it was bad.”

“I think . . .” The sheepman paused, choosing his words carefully as he operated the espresso machine. “I think she believed she was telling a funny story. And it’s not like you’ve been home nursing a broken heart since Julia left, so . . . it looks the way it looks.”

Trapp nodded, a heavy stone taking up residence within him. He could only imagine what fucking Adriana Brunelli had said about him. Here. In his home. “And everyone else?”

Xavier laughed shortly. “C’mon man. Everyone else listened. You know how it goes.”

Trapp nodded again. He did indeed.

Facts were negligible. He’d spent a lifetime at Grayson’s side to know that, and he knew firsthand that facts were usually the least important element to any situation. Rumors were survivable, and everyone loved to embroider the truth. Stories, on the other hand . . . stories were something entirely different. Stories were engines, they breathed with life of their own. People repeated stories because they enjoyed inhabiting them, and every retelling sanded away another inconvenient edge of the truth, changing shape, becoming something new as it grew.

Case in point — your break-up story. He thought of the several days he’d spent making sure the breakup looked like something he’d agreed to.

“Thanks, man.”

Xavier nodded as Trapp turned away, edging around the line to avoid Xenna and Nif. He didn’t want to see again how much this story had already altered the way they looked at him. In just a few days. Adriana Brunelli. The new doctor. The doctor Grayson’s friend Shay had called him about, when she was still interviewing.

The malfunctioning cell phone stuck the pavement so hard that it bounced, the recently repaired screen cracking again.

It wouldn’t do to show his temper here, in the middle of Main Street. He needed to go home, needed to sleep for at least a few hours. Needed to wake up clear-headed and face this head-on. Get in front of it early.

After all, fucking Adriana Brunelli wasn’t the only one who could tell stories.

First, though, he needed to go buy a new phone. Trapp directed the wheels of his truck over the smashed remains of the mobile, satisfied over the way it crunched.

Fucking Adriana Brunelli, here, in Cambric Creek. For now. He didn’t know why she was running away from whatever hospital she’d tricked into hiring her, didn’t know how she’d wound up at Shay’s clinic, but it didn’t matter.

He was going to make her sorry she’d ever heard of Cambric Creek. The sooner the better.