Page 29 of A Pack for the Wedding
"I am," Luna says. "I'm like a stress ouroboros."
Mason squints. "A stresswhat?"
"Ouroboros," Knox says. "It's a serpent eating its own tail."
Mason stares at him for a long, flat second. “How do you—” He stops there, deciding he doesn’t actually want to know. He turns his attention to Maren instead, and the conversation naturally fractures. Within minutes, Maren is asking Mason about his trucks, which somehow devolves into a full explanation of why American-made truck beds from the nineties are superior to anything currently on the market. Meanwhile, Luna and Knox discover they share the same unhinged opinion about a reality TV called "Are You Hot?"
Around ten-thirty, Arthur's coworker (a guy with a braided beard I learn is named Trey) takes over the bar. Arthur pulls offhis apron, grabs a chair, and drags it to the head of our booth, next to Knox.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, sitting down backwards on the chair, arms folded across the backrest. "I am officially off the clock."
"You look very pleased with yourself," I say.
"I just made eighty-six dollars in tips on a Thursday. I'm delighted."
Luna grabs her phone. "Okay, nobody move. I need a picture of this."
"Of what?" Knox says.
"Of all of us! When am I ever sitting at a table with Beth's pack?" Luna holds the phone up. "Everybody lean in. Arthur, can you stop making that face?"
"This is my face," Arthur deadpans for a second.
She takes four photos in rapid succession. In the last one, Arthur has thrown an arm across the back of my chair, Maren is mid-laugh, Knox looks like he’s trying very hard to remember how human beings naturally smile, and Mason is staring at the camera like it just asked him to go take out the trash.
Luna shows me the screen.
We look quite good, if I dare say so.
"I'm posting this," Luna says.
"Tag the bar," Arthur says.
Maren finishes the last of her drink and sets the glass down with a decisiveclink. "Alright, guys. As pleasant as this has been, I have to be at the bakery at four to proof the sourdough. If I don't go now, the mixture will die, and I will cry."
"Alright babe," I say. "Was great hanging out!"
"Good to actually talk to you properly," Knox says, raising his glass an inch. "Not just in passing."
"Likewise," Maren says. "Next time I'll quiz you on the paranormal romance thing. I have follow-up questions."
Luna pulls her legs up, Maren shimmies past, and there's a brief negotiation of elbows and tote bag straps before she's free. She hugs me, hugs Luna, gives a little wave to the three alphas, and heads for the door.
Luna checks her phone. Then checks it again, a smile creeping across her face.
"I think I'm going to call it a night too," she says, pocketing her phone with suspicious casualness. "Early start at the library tomorrow. Very busy. Lots of... books to organize."
I narrow my eyes. "You mean Derek just texted you back and he's free to"—I make air quotes—"walk you to your carnow?"
"It's a work night," Luna says, standing up with a speed that directly contradicts her casual tone.
"Uh-huh," I say.
She grins, conspiratorial and completely unashamed.
"Go, go," I say, waving her off. "But I want details tomorrow. Actually, scratch that, just give me the PG-13 highlight reel."
She smirks, kisses my cheek, and grabs her jacket. I watch her weave through the thinning crowd, and then the bar noise rushes in to fill the space she left behind.
