Page 66 of Lycans & Lattes

Sandra considered me, her shoulders bunching the longer I went on.

I pinned her with a glare. “And lastly, I vow to tolerate your overly salted biscuits for the rest of my life and eat them with a fucking smile if it means that Wyatt and I can live happily together, the way he wants.”

All attention shifted to Sandra.

Her eyes slowly widened after a long moment of silent contemplation. “You think my two-hundred-year-old recipe for the flakiest buttermilk biscuits is oversalted?”

“I told you, Mom,” Eloise cut in, and her mother gave her a scathing look.

Sandra drew in a long breath. “You can leave now.”

My heart sank.

I panned the room of wary faces, hoping someone would stick up for me, but no one did. Still, I held my head up in triumph. I meant what I’d said. I would accept their disapproval, and I’d be with Wyatt through anything.

I had enough family from the people in this town to make up for it, anyway.

I turned toward the door.

“When he wakes up,” Sandra called, and I paused to glance back. “Tell my son his mate is very brash and wouldn’t know good baking if it hit her right between the eyes.” Her face softened even as my gut clenched. “And tell him that I think you’ll make a worthy queen.”

My throat tightened into a knot as my eyes welled, but I held my chin high and watched as every wolf offered a respectful nod.

Then I returned the gesture and left victorious.

32

Willow

Ispent the night curled around Wyatt, smoothing the hair from his face as he tossed and turned. But when I woke up to the sound of ceramic shattering downstairs, he still hadn’t fully roused. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched. At first, I thought it was Harlow fumbling around while making her morning cup of coffee, but then I heard more voices—a very distinct sort of clamor that occurred only when the café was open.

“What the . . . ?”

I hastily dressed, yanked my hair up into a messy bun, and stumbled downstairs. Perplexed, I took in the sight of a very open café: Avery bustled from table to table, delivering orders, Iris worked the register, and Jordyn bussed tables while Randy and Dean took photos with excited tourists on the front stoop.

My eyes fell to Harlow, who was working the espresso machine with all the skill of a concert pianist. “What’s going on?”

“What do you think?” she replied with a grin. “We’re running the café so you don’t lose revenue.”

“But . . .” I looked at Eloise, who was restocking the cabinet. Billy emerged from the back with a steaming tray of clean mugs, and Ramona was restocking the kids’ craft corner, when something caught my attention. “How did they all get staff T-shirts?”

“Agnes has a screen printer,” Harlow said with a shrug.

My eyes welled with a surprising surge of tears.

“Why don’t you go have a long bath,” Avery offered. “I’ll run some breakfast up.”

I nodded as I sniffed back my tears. It was a wild realization to know that there were people in my life who would jump in whenever I needed them—and that the number far exceeded what I’d first thought.

The entire town of Maple Hollow seemed to be saying, “We see you. We’ve got you. We won’t let you fall.”

It wasn’t until the last customers stumbled out and the floors were swept that the others let me perch on a barstool for their post-work chatter.

“I didn’t mean to stab him!” Eloise exclaimed, clearly exasperated as the others tsked. “I was aiming for Gregory.”

“What did the pack end up doing with him, anyway?” Avery asked.

Dougall sighed. “We sent him to my cousin’s pack out in the Pacific Northwest to be part of a toxic masculinity rehabilitation program run by a wolf named Leaf.”