Mavis climbed the creaking stairs up to her small third-floor apartment. The building was an old converted house, and it showed its age and shoddy workmanship in many different ways—the uncertain plumbing, the thin walls, the cold in winter.
But leaving the city had meant taking a big, big pay cut. Mavis worked as a freelance financial consultant, and she’d had to start over from scratch here in this small town, where there weren’t many people who needed her services. She worked remotely as much as she could, but her income was definitely less than it had been. And divorce was expensive.
She did have some savings. But the uncertainty of her job, plus lawyers’ fees and the endless division of assets with Daryl, meant that she’d chosen the cheapest housing option that seemed reasonably clean and safe. She knew she might potentially have to rely on her tiny income for a while.
Mavis hoped she’d get some
money for the house, at least, once everything was said and done, because she wanted to have something squirrelled away in case Nina ever needed help. Nina’s mate, Joel, had a good job as a national park ranger, and Nina worked hard as a waitress, but anything could come up and Mavis wanted to be there if it did.
So she lived in this tiny set of rooms in the old house with thin walls and loud neighbors. And it was all right. She was happy to live anywhere close to her daughter.
Mavis knew Nina worried about her being alone, not having many good friends in this small town, being single after so many years of marriage. And it was true that Mavis sometimes wondered what it would be like to have someone to come home to.
But she had her daughter. And that was what mattered.
And she’d see Nina tomorrow again, at the dinner that Cal and Lillian were throwing as a pre-wedding celebration, for close family and out-of-town guests. Mavis was looking forward to it. She liked the pack leader and his mate; they were both no-nonsense people with good heads on their shoulders, and Cal at least was closer to Mavis’ age than to Nina’s, which was a nice thing sometimes.
She’d enjoyed what time she’d spent around them. But of course, they were caught up in each other, in their wedding, and in the baby they had on the way. Lillian was five months pregnant, and the expression on Cal’s face whenever he looked at her...that was a man that was very much in love.
Mavis wondered sometimes if she’d ever seen an expression like that on Daryl’s face. She couldn’t remember. And maybe that was for the best.
It was all right. She’d tried marriage, and it certainly hadn’t worked out the way she’d wanted. If she’d picked a different man, a better man, and adopted Nina with him instead of with Daryl, things wouldn’t have been nearly so terrible.
That was surely a sign that Mavis should stay out of the romance game from here on out, whatever Nina thought. She’d go to Cal and Lillian’s wedding, and she’d smile at the newlyweds and their happy anticipation of their new life together, and she’d dance silly dances with her daughter.
That was more than enough to ask for, after what she’d caused with her mistakes. She would be satisfied with that.
***
Wilson stepped through the door of the diner. He was strangely apprehensive, though he told himself that he was being ridiculous. He’d commanded Westland in combat, and any other Marines who were invited would likely be former subordinates, too. And everyone else who would be there were ordinary civilians.
Still, he found himself straightening his posture as he came inside.
The little restaurant was crowded with people already. The invitation had said that the place was reserved for wedding guests only, but it seemed as though half the town was invited. Wilson cast his eyes about the room in a practiced reconnaissance, scanning for recognizable faces.
He spotted Westland at the same time as his former gunny’s eyes lit on him. Westland broke into a smile, broader than any Wilson had ever seen on him.
“Sir,” he said, coming up to shake Wilson’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Gunny,” Wilson said, with heartfelt sincerity. He gave the man a onceover. “You look like you’re still in fighting shape.”
In point of fact, Westland looked healthy, happy, and—something more. Over and above the way his body was clearly still in condition, and the smile that seemed somehow incongruous on his face, there was an air about him. Some kind of...completeness. Contentment.
Wilson guessed that that was what being in love was like.
“Thank you, sir,” Westland was saying. “Let me introduce you to my mate, Lillian.”
That explained it. Westland wasn’t just getting married. He’d found his true mate, something many shifters only ever dreamed about. Some people even dismissed the idea of mates as pure fiction, made up by dreamy-eyed lovers.
Wilson believed in the idea of mates, but he’d never had any ambitions in that direction. He’d always been destined for the military, and stayed married to his career. And you didn’t meet many women in combat—or in the Pentagon, which in Wilson’s opinion was a shame. Sexism kept a lot of good minds and strong bodies out of the military, even these days.
Which meant that Wilson had had hardly any contact with female shifters since joining up, so even if he’d been searching for a mate, he wouldn’t have found her.
But Cal Westland had.
A woman was coming over to Cal’s beckoning hand. Wilson estimated she was in her mid-thirties, elegant and graceful...and visibly pregnant. She held out a hand.
“Congratulations to both of you,” Wilson said, shaking it. “This man is one of the best Marines I ever commanded. He’ll do right by you.”