No. I set the phone on the counter and step away from it. Calling would give the impression that I’m worried, and I amnotworried. I’m…concerned.
When I waved goodbye to Jared this morning as he drove off in my truck, the thought of being stranded never crossed my mind. The house is full of work waiting to be done, and the workshop has everything we need. Leaving hadn’t required a second thought.
Now, I regret the decision. Without the truck, I’m limited to what I can reach on foot. Gray light leaks through the window, the September sky hanging low and threatening rain.
A hundred scenarios flood my mind. Car accident. Flat tire. Medical emergency. Each possibility winds tighter around my chest until breathing becomes conscious work.
Practical action helps with anxiety. That’s what my therapist told me after Auren cut me out of the pack. So, I need to be practical.
I grab my boots from beside the door and yank them on, not bothering with the laces. Cool leather brushes my bare ankles as I map the route from my cottage to Pinecrest Academy. Four miles, most of it downhill, which means uphill coming back.
Not too bad if the rain holds off.
I reach for my red windbreaker on the hook by the door, and the fabric crinkles as I slide my arms through the sleeves.
“This is ridiculous,” I tell Mixie, who perches on the windowsill. “I’m not walking to town to look for a grown man.”
Her whiskers twitch in what I choose to interpret as agreement.
“But a walk to clear my head won’t hurt,” I continue, as if my cat might argue the point. “Then I’ll come back and?—”
A knock at the door cuts through my justifications.
My heart rate kicks up, and I freeze mid-step, one boot half-tied. Relief crashes through me in a wave so intense it borders on anger.
I yank the door open to find Leif on my porch, his mauve-brown hair disheveled by the wind, cheeks flushed with color, though whether from exertion or embarrassment is hard to tell. His periwinkle eyes widen at my half-dressed state, one boot unlaced and windbreaker askew.
“Emily,” he says, my name rushing out of him on an exhale. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
He clutches a paper bag in his hands, holding it out like a peace offering, and the scent of butter and cinnamon drifts from within.
“Drop off was rougher than I expected, and then I hit unexpected traffic on Harbor Street,” he continues, words tumbling over each other. “And the line at the bakery was out the door?—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt, accepting the paper bag.
His focus drops to my half-tied boot, and a small crease forms between his eyebrows. “Were you going somewhere?”
“I thought a morning walk might clear my head,” I say, offering a half-truth. “Since you were running late.”
Shame colors his cheeks. “I would have called, but my phone died.”
“Really, it’s fine,” I repeat. “I have a charger you can borrow.”
“Thank you. I promised Quinn she’d be able to reach me if needed.”
“We’ll charge it in the tool shed, just to be safe.” I step back to let him in. “Let me take care of these boots, and we can head to the workshop.”
As he steps past me into the entryway, his scent hits me with unexpected force. My Alpha instincts prickle in response, hairs raising along my arms beneath my jacket sleeves.
His pheromones tell a different story than his casual apology, the warm cedar giving away his distress with a burned quality. Whatever happened this morning left him unsettled, his biological signals broadcasting anxiety despite the composed surface.
He had said things went fine with Quinn over text, but now he’s backtracking. The timing doesn’t fit unless something happened after he left her classroom. Or the issue doesn’t involve her in the first place.
I want to ask, to push past the careful distance we maintain. But the set of his shoulders warns me off, his posture rigid beneath his casual stance.
Social expectations for acquaintances dictate that I pretend I can’t gauge his emotions from the scent he’s throwing off, and we’re not yet friends.
“I brought apple turnovers.” He gestures to the bag in my hand. “From the bakery by the dock. The one with the blue awning.”