Chapter 7: The Town
Chapter 7: The Town
POV: Stella Morris
Location: Pine Hollow
Timeline: Present
I kept my smile in place.
"Okay. Thank you for letting me know."
Mrs. Reed let out a quiet breath, then turned and walked away.
I stayed in the doorway and watched until she rounded the corner at the end of Main Street and disappeared. Then I let my face do whatever it wanted.
I stood there for maybe two seconds, looking at that empty corner.
It's not like an ordinary human could actually hurt a werewolf with her bare hands.
But Vanessa never tried to hurt me that way. She just wore me down — steadily, methodically, with a kind of patience that made it worse.
The person who owed me an apology was never Mrs. Reed.
Whoever should have been standing here, head down, saying those two words was out there somewhere in another city.
Living her life, completely unbothered.
Mrs. Reed wasn't a good person. But she was a good mother.
She sent her daughter away, making sure she was far from this town where everyone had already seen through her for what she really was.
I finished the thought with disgust, then turned to straighten up the shop.
I put the two chairs back in place, wiped the fingerprints off the glass display case, and swept up a few pieces of tissue that had been trampled across the floor.
When I was done, I pulled two apple pies from the case, wrapped them up, and walked across the street with the paper bag hanging from one hand.
The bar had just closed for the night.
Even though business had slowed to a crawl, Tyler and Bill still kept the shop open on their usual schedule.
The bell above the door chimed when I pushed it open.
Tyler was slumped over the bar counter with his phone. Bill was in the corner, polishing glasses.
They both looked up at the same moment, clocked the bag in my hand, and their expressions shifted in exactly the same way.
"Apple pie?" Tyler half-climbed over the counter to get a better look, sniffing at the air. "Dorothy's apple pie is the best thing in this town, I swear."
Bill had already set down his glass and walked over. He took the bag, looked inside, and exhaled like a man who'd been waiting all morning for this.
I gave them both a nod, which was as much of a greeting as I had in me, then cut around the bar and headed for the stairs.
The second floor was quiet.
I'd been gone three days. The windows had been shut the whole time, and there was that particular stale warmth that settles into a closed room.
I crossed to the window and pushed it open first. Cool air came in through the gap.
Then I cleaned.
By the time I finished, the only thing I hadn't touched was the wall.
It was always the wall.
The guns lined up in neat rows, all different makes and models, their black frames throwing flat shadows against the plaster.
At an easy-to-reach height, set slightly apart from the rest, the silver-loaded one hung alone.
I stood about two meters back and didn't move.
I looked at it for a few seconds. The pull was there — it always was, that specific, stupid instinct to get closer. I looked away.
Location: Pine Hollow
Timeline: One year ago
The second morning at Grandma Dorothy's.
A dog woke me up.
It barked for nearly twenty minutes straight. I twisted around in bed, pulled the pillow over my head, tried to wait it out.
It finally stopped. I exhaled.
Three seconds later it came back louder than before.
I gave up and went to the window.
From across the street, a voice cut through the morning.
"One more sound and I'm having you fixed."
Lazy. Half-asleep.
The dog stopped immediately.
I stood there for a moment, genuinely motionless.
Well. Apparently that's handled.
Sleep was gone. I got dressed and went downstairs.
I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to stay here.
Last night had been real — the recognition in her face, the way she'd broken down, the words she'd said. Wherever I am, that's your home too. All of it real.
But feelings cool off. I knew that. A granddaughter who shows up out of nowhere carrying secrets she won't explain — that's a complication, not a gift.
So at least make a decent impression first.
I went to help in the shop.
The bakery didn't slow down in the mornings. The rush came in fast and stayed.
I worked the counter — typed out answers on my phone when customers asked questions, held up fingers to show change amounts.
Most people paused when they first saw me.
Normal. I was a face no one recognized.
I smiled at all of them the same way.
Then a woman pushed through the door like she'd been coming here for years, saw me, and stopped dead.
"I just heard Dorothy had some girl with her now and I thought, no way —" She looked me over without any particular attempt to be subtle. "It's true? You actually can't talk?"
I gave her an awkward smile. It wasn't like I could suddenly start talking and scare her. Might as well keep smiling.
Grandma Dorothy's voice came from behind me. "Mrs. Reed."
The woman waved a hand. "Fine, fine." She turned to the display case and started picking things out, still talking.
"Dorothy, I'm just saying — Wyatt is something else. He's always fooling around. Are all former soldiers like that?"
I paid attention to that.
soldiers?
Last night, through a dark window, across an entire street.
That would at least explain some of it.
Grandma Dorothy made a short, unimpressed sound.
"That boy's always been a straight arrow. Everyone in town knows that."
"Vanessa's the one who couldn't wait to let everyone know she liked him. Why are you blaming Wyatt?"
Mrs. Reed's face went red. She finished her selections and left without a lot of ceremony.
I kept working. Stayed quiet. Stayed useful.
Grandma Dorothy waited until she was gone, then dusted the flour off her apron.
She pulled four orders of avocado toast and cinnamon-apple oatmeal from behind the counter, packed them into four paper bags, and slid them toward me.
"Stellie, don't worry about all that," she said. "Take these across the street. You four can eat together."
I looked at the bags. Looked at the bar across the street.
Good timing. I still have his phone.
But that hesitation seemed to make Grandma misunderstand.
"Am I getting confused? Do you two know each other?"
She rested a hand on the counter, her voice softening a little.
"His name is Wyatt Hayes. I watched that boy grow up. He left with his family for a while, came back about three years ago."
"He's eight years older than you — just think of him as an older brother."
I nodded.
The relationship between her and Wyatt was obvious.
As a brother, though?
I picked up the bags and headed for the door.
I don't want a brother. Especially not a self-important one.
