“I’m at work,” he said. “I’m usually quiet.”

  “I can be quiet too,” she said. She barely lasted five seconds before she added, “Except when I hum.”

  He looked up. “Noticed.”

  “Is it annoying?”

  “No.” That came out faster than he meant. He cleared his throat. “It tells me when you’re thinking hard.”

  “I’m thinking hard a lot,” she said. “There’s a lot of new to learn.”

  “You’ll learn it,” he said, and meant it.

  She hummed again, a small thread of sound as she marked the board. He kept his breath even, controlled. It felt like trying not to step on a rug that kept sliding under his boots.

  They shifted to the stair landing. He pulled the third tread, set it aside, and showed her the split running on the diagonal. “See this? That hairline crack is how she tells you she’s tired.”

  “She,” Diana echoed, amused. “Of course the stairs are girls.”

  He gave the underside of the tread a knuckle tap. “We’ll replace this one. The rest can be reinforced.”

  “Good,” she said, then lowered her voice. “I’m getting attached. I don’t want to rip out more than we have to.”

  He liked that. He liked it more than he should have.

  He cut a new tread from a salvaged board in the pile. Sawdust lifted into the air, sweet as raw pine. She stood back, watching the careful way he measured twice, cut once. When he finished, he handed her a block of sandpaper.

  “You can ease the edges,” he said. “Knock off the sharp. Small circles. Light pressure.”

  She took the sandpaper with a solemn nod and started in. Her hands moved steady, not tentative. He hovered, ready to correct her grip, then hung back and let her do it. She looked up after a minute, saw him watching, and flushed with pleased color.

  “Like this?” she asked.

  “Perfect,” he said, and watched the word bring her a little taller.

  They set the new tread. He drove the screws while she held the edge firm. Knees brushed. Her sweater brushed his arm again. She didn’t flinch. He didn’t either. He refused to.

  “Tell me about shoe molding again,” she said, just to hear him talk. He could tell.

  “It hides the gap where the baseboard meets the floor,” he said. “Makes things look finished.”

  “I like finished,” she said. “Finished sounds like guests and names in the ledger and people arguing over who gets the last cinnamon roll.”

  “Twyla would bake more,” he said, which made Diana laugh.

  They moved back to the north wall for the second brace. He handed her the level; she handed him the pencil. The rhythm felt easy now. He forgot he was trying to keep distance until the tape measure came into play again.

  “Hold,” he said.

  She reached. Fingers brushed. The bond flared a second time, just as bright. The wolf pushed up hard enough to cut his breath, all teeth and claim. Mine.

  He set his jaw and anchored the feeling the way he anchored a ladder in a storm: weight down, hands sure, no give. He forced his voice to stay in the safe lane.

  “Once we open the outside, I’ll need to check the sill in daylight,” he said. “We can talk about paint after. Porch color too.”

  Her eyes lit. “I found a photograph. Robin’s-egg blue.”

  He made a noncommittal sound.

  “You hate it,” she guessed.

  “I don’t hate it,” he said. “I just prefer the porch to look like it belongs to a building that’s been here a long time. But it’s your inn.”

  She thought about that, thumb worrying the edge of the clipboard. “What if we found the old color under the trim and used that.”

  “That I like,” he said. “Let the past pick the paint.”

  “Deal.” She stuck out her hand without thinking. He stared at it for a heartbeat, then took it. Her palm was warm. His wolf surged again. Mine. He let go before he forgot the line he’d drawn for himself.

  “I’m going to rip some shims,” he said, a little rough. “You can mark the next brace location. Same spacing.”

  “Copy,” she said, and turned to the wall like a soldier receiving orders. It should not have pleased him as much as it did.

  He cut shims at the miter saw on the porch, coming back to find her crouched with the level, tongue pressed to the corner of her lip in concentration. The sight nearly undid him. He set the shims down and reached around her to adjust the bubble.

  “Little more to the left,” he said, his voice low because it had to be. “There. Hold.”

  She held. He set the brace and drove the screws. The wall firmed under his hand, a small victory you could feel, not just see.

  “Better,” he said.

  She smiled up at him, bright as the work light over their heads. “Better,” she echoed.

  Diana brought up the stew around noon. They ate at the desk, Rowan with his back to the room so he could see the door without thinking about it. Diana made him take a second roll and he let her get away with it.

  “You always sit like that?” she asked, sipping her tea.

  “Like what.”

  “Back to the wall. Eyes on the door.”

  “Habit,” he said.

  “From what.”

  “Life.” He wiped his hands. “I’ll pull the exterior clapboard after lunch. You don’t need to be out there for that.”

  “I can hand you things through the window,” she offered. “Keep the pass-through civilized.”

  He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “Fine. But if I say step back, you step back.”

  “Understood.”

  They cleared the dishes. He grabbed his bar and pry set, then paused at the threshold. She stood there with the clipboard tucked to her chest, stubborn and gentle in the same breath. He didn’t know how he’d been so careful for so long and still ended up here, with his wolf pacing every time she said his name.

  “Diana,” he said.

  She looked up quickly, like she always did when he spoke, as if the sound mattered. “Yes?”

  “Good work,” he said. “You’re not a volunteer who wants to play at fixing things. You listen.”

  “High praise,” she teased lightly, but the color in her face said it mattered. “Go open your wall, Rowan. I’ll mind the inside.”

  He gave a short nod and stepped onto the porch. The afternoon had brightened, the square carrying the ordinary music of small-town life. He breathed in wet wood and tea and the lingering sweetness of scones. His hands set to the clapboard. His mind set to the work.

  Behind the steady rhythm of pry and pull, the wolf kept moving, circling the same word until it left an echo in his ribs.

  Mine.

  5

  DIANA

  The sound of clapboard being pried from the exterior wall created a steady rhythm as Diana washed the lunch dishes. Through the window, she could see Rowan working methodically, his movements efficient and sure. Each board came away clean, revealing the bones of the building beneath.

  She was wiping down the desk when footsteps echoed from the porch. Not Rowan's heavy work boots, but something lighter, more deliberate. Diana looked up to see a thin man in a pressed gray suit standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand and an expression that suggested he'd found something distasteful.

  "Ms. Merrick?" His voice carried the clipped authority of someone used to being obeyed. "I'm Gerald Finch, aide to the council. I'm here to conduct the preliminary assessment."

  Diana straightened, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Of course. Please, come in."

  Finch stepped inside, his pale eyes cataloguing every detail of the lobby. He made a note on his clipboard, then another. Diana couldn't see what he was writing, but his expression didn't suggest approval.

  "I trust the renovation work has begun?" he asked, not looking up from his notes.

  "Yes, Rowan started this morning. He's working on the north wall structural issues now."

  "Rowan Baneville." Finch's mouth pursed slightly. "Interesting choice of contractor."

  Something in his tone made Diana's spine stiffen. "The Council assigned him to the project."

  "Indeed. Though I would have expected someone with your... background... to request more oversight." He glanced at her meaningfully. "Given your human unfamiliarity with shifter customs."

  The words hit like a slap, polite on the surface but cutting underneath. Diana felt her empathic gift stir, picking up currents of condescension and something sharper. Disapproval, maybe. Or testing.

  "Where exactly should I be looking to learn about shifter customs?" Diana asked, keeping her voice level. "I'd hate to offend anyone through ignorance."

  Finch blinked, clearly not expecting the direct response. "Well. I suppose the Council library has appropriate materials. Though most humans find the subject matter... challenging."

  "I'll manage." Diana moved behind the reception desk, claiming the space as her own. "Is there something specific about the renovation that concerns you?"

  "The timeline, primarily." Finch consulted his clipboard again. "The Council expects a certain standard of efficiency. We can't have the town's primary hospitality venue indefinitely disrupted."

  Diana pulled out her own notebook, the one where she'd been sketching room layouts and tracking Rowan's progress. "We're ahead of schedule on the structural work. The north wall should be secure by tomorrow, and then we move to the stairs."

  "And you're confident in Mr. Baneville's assessment of the work required?"

  "Completely. He knows the building better than anyone except Miriam herself."

  Finch made another note. "I see you're... closely involved in the day-to-day work."

  There was something loaded in the way he said it, like close involvement was somehow inappropriate. Diana's jaw tightened.

  "I'm learning how the inn functions so I can maintain it properly," she said. "That seems like responsible ownership to me."

  "Of course." Finch's smile was thin. "Though I do hope you're not interfering with the contractor's ability to work efficiently."

  From outside came the sharp crack of another board being removed. Diana glanced toward the window, catching a glimpse of Rowan examining the exposed wall frame.

  "He hasn't complained," she said dryly.

  "Naturally. Mr. Baneville is... accommodating." Finch closed his clipboard with a snap. "I'll need to inspect the work areas before I file my report."

  "Be my guest. Though you might want to ask Rowan before you get too close. He's particular about safety protocols."

  Finch's eyebrows rose slightly. "I hardly need a contractor's permission to conduct official Council business."

  "No, but you need his expertise to avoid getting hurt." Diana smiled sweetly. "Old buildings can be unpredictable."

  The aide studied her for a moment, clearly trying to decide if she was being deliberately difficult or genuinely helpful. Diana maintained her pleasant expression and waited.

  "Very well," Finch said finally. "I'll conduct my inspection and submit the preliminary report this afternoon."

  He moved toward the stairs, pausing to examine the work area where Rowan had replaced the third tread. Diana watched him test the new board with his foot, making notes about the quality of the repair.

  "The work appears adequate," he said, like he was disappointed not to find fault.

  "Rowan's very thorough."

  "Indeed." Finch descended the stairs and headed for the front door. "I'll return next week to assess progress. Please ensure all permits and documentation are readily available."

  "Of course."

  He paused in the doorway. "Ms. Merrick, might I suggest you consider hosting some sort of community event? The Council appreciates gestures of goodwill from new business owners."

  Diana felt a spark of inspiration. "Actually, I've been thinking about that. What would you say to an Autumn Hearth Gathering? Nothing fancy, just an evening of shared stories and food by the fireplace."

  Finch's expression shifted, surprise replacing condescension. "That's... actually quite appropriate. The town enjoys its traditions."

  "Then I'll plan something for next week. Give people a chance to see the progress we're making and meet me properly."

  "Excellent. I'll note that in my report." For the first time since he'd arrived, Finch looked genuinely pleased. "The Council values community engagement."

  After he left, Diana stood in the doorway watching his precise figure disappear around the corner. The encounter had left her feeling like she'd passed some kind of test, though she wasn't entirely sure what she'd been tested on.

  "Pompous ass."

  Diana turned to find Rowan standing just inside the door, wiping sawdust from his hands with a rag. His pale eyes were fixed on the spot where Finch had vanished.

  "You heard that?"

  "Hard not to. He's got a voice that carries." Rowan's jaw was tight. "What did he want?"

  "Preliminary assessment. Making sure I'm not screwing things up too badly." Diana closed the door and leaned against it. "Also making sure I know my place as the human outsider."

  Rowan's expression darkened. "He say that?"

  "Not in so many words. But the message was clear enough." Diana shrugged. "I think I handled it okay. Even got him to approve my idea for a community event."

  "What kind of event?"

  "An Autumn Hearth Gathering. Story sharing, food, fireplace ambiance. Show the town that the inn is still a place where people can come together." Diana pulled out her notebook and flipped to a fresh page. "Think it'll work?"

  Rowan was quiet for a moment, considering. "People here like traditions. Give them something that feels familiar and they'll warm to it."

  "Good. Because I just committed to hosting it next week." Diana started sketching a rough timeline. "Think the lobby will be presentable by then?"

  "Should be. Might still have the smell of fresh paint, but nothing that'll scare off guests."

  "Perfect." Diana made notes about food, decorations, invitations. "Will you come? To the gathering, I mean."

  Rowan's hand stilled on the rag. "Not really my scene."

  "But you'll be welcome. If you want."

  He nodded once, noncommittal. "We should get back to work. Daylight's burning."

  They returned to the renovation, but Diana found herself thinking about community and belonging, about proving herself worthy of a place she desperately wanted to claim. The Autumn Hearth Gathering felt like more than just a social event. It felt like a declaration of intent.

  She was here to stay. She just had to convince everyone else of that, including herself.

  6

  ROWAN

  Rowan tucked Diana's project plan into his jacket and headed across the square toward the Hollow Oak Book Nook. The afternoon sun slanted through the maple trees, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. He needed a reference manual for the electrical work, something comprehensive enough to guide him through the inn's outdated wiring system.

  The bookstore's windows gleamed in the golden light, hand-lettered signs advertising new arrivals and staff recommendations. Through the glass, he could see Lucien Vale behind the counter, dark hair falling across his forehead as he catalogued a stack of leather-bound volumes.

  The bell above the door chimed as Rowan entered. Lucien looked up, his green eyes narrowing slightly when he recognized his visitor.

  "Rowan." The greeting was neutral, carefully polite.

  "Lucien." Rowan approached the counter, noting how the panther shifter's shoulders tensed. "Need a favor."

  "That depends." Lucien set down his pen and leaned back against his chair. "What kind of favor?"

  "Looking for an electrical manual. Something detailed enough for old building work." Rowan pulled out Diana's project plan, unfolding it on the counter. "Inn's got some complicated wiring situations."

  Lucien's eyes flicked to the papers, then back to Rowan's face. "Working on the Hearth and Hollow?"

  "Council assignment."

  "Right." Lucien's tone suggested he had opinions about that arrangement. "Let me see what we've got."

  He rose from his chair with fluid grace and disappeared into the stacks. Rowan heard the soft sound of footsteps on the upper level, books being shifted and examined. A few minutes later, Lucien returned carrying a thick volume bound in dark blue cloth.

  "This what you're after?" He set the book on the counter. "Henderson's Guide to Historical Electrical Systems. Fourth edition, 1987. Out of print now, but it covers everything from knob-and-tube to early circuit breakers."

  Rowan opened the book, scanning the detailed diagrams and technical specifications. "This'll work. What do I owe you?"

  "It's a loan, not a purchase." Lucien's voice carried a warning. "I expect it to be back in the same condition."

  "Course."

  Lucien picked up Diana's project plan, studying the neat handwriting and careful measurements. "She drew this herself?"

  "Yeah. Takes good notes."

  "Miriam chose well, then." Lucien folded the papers carefully. "Human or not, the woman's got sense."

  From the back room came the soft sound of movement. Moira Marsh appeared, her mahogany curls escaping from their loose bun, reading glasses perched on her nose.

  "Rowan?" She smiled warmly, though he caught the subtle way she positioned herself beside Lucien. "How's the renovation going?"

  "Moving along. Diana's got a good eye for what needs doing."

  "I'm sure she does." Moira reached for the project plan. "May I?"

  Rowan nodded. Moira spread the papers on a clear section of counter, her fingertips tracing the room layouts and repair schedules.

  "Such careful work," she murmured. "You can see how much she cares about getting it right."

  She closed her eyes, her hands hovering just above the papers. Rowan felt the subtle shift in the air that meant magic was being worked, gentle and protective.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "Just a small charm," Moira said softly. "For clarity of purpose. Success in the work ahead." Her eyes opened, meeting his. "The inn deserves to thrive again."