Page 116 of Fate, Interrupted

“I’m going to use that at parties.”

He tries not to smile. “You don’t go to parties.”

“I go to trivia nights,” I say. “It’s the same principle.”

He looks at me, amused, trying not to show it. I’ve become very familiar with this look. I’m still not immune to it.

“Pack etiquette,” he continues, “is built around territory. If a wolf from outside enters another pack’s region, the respectful thing is to present yourself to the pack leadership. Explain who you’re, what you’re asking for.”

“And if they don’t like the answer?”

“Then you leave.”

“And if they do?”

“Then you don’t.”

I trace the rim of my mug with my fingertip. “So, wolves have a guest policy.”

“In a way.”

“Very civilized,” I say. “We have Yelp reviews.”

He gives a sorta smile.

I look past him, through the open doorway into the living room, where the bookshelves run along the far wall in the familiar order I’ve been rearranging and tinkering with for three years. Currently, biography bleeds into literary fiction because I ran out of shelf space in March and made a pragmatic decision I’ve been second-guessing ever since.

“You didn’t come here tonight just to tell me about another town,” I say.

I know what he’s not saying yet. I’ve known since he sat down. He’s a man who has already decided to leave Larkin and is simply working up to the words. Paxton is not a casual word. He didn’t come here to tell me about a pleasant small town three hundred miles away.

“What aren’t you saying?”

He draws a slow breath. “We could go there.”

The words arrive without drama, making them heavier, coming without announcement.

I blink once.

“You mean leave.”

“Yes.”

“Like—move there.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Whenever you want.” He paused. “Honestly, the sooner the better.”

“You mean, tonight?”

“If you want.”

“You’d leave your pack,” I say.

“Yes.”