Chapter 3

"Cain and Serena really work well together," a man in glasses said, raising his beer glass in their direction with a grin.

"We're work partners. Spend every day together — have to work well," Cain said easily.

Serena looked down and took a sip of sparkling water. The tips of her ears went pink.

She smiled at just the right level.

No denial. No confirmation. Plenty of room for imagination.

I took a sip of water and said nothing.

I went to the restroom partway through. Three minutes.

When I came back, Serena was in my chair.

I stood at the edge of the table and looked at her.

"Sorry, Wren!" She covered her mouth, all apology. "It's closer to the air conditioning here. I was so warm. Cain said you probably wouldn't mind if we swapped."

I looked at Cain.

He was on his phone, replying to someone. He didn't look up.

"Just sit. It's the same."

Same.

I looked around at the whole table.

Some people were staring at their food, pretending not to see.

Some had a small smile playing at their mouth.

I sat down in the other chair.

Said nothing.

Ten minutes later, a girl with blunt bangs glanced at Serena, got a barely-visible nod, then leaned over to me with studied casualness.

"So Wren, what do you do?"

"Content editor."

"Oh —" She drew out the word. "Print media. Does your monthly salary cover what Cain spends on one dinner?"

A few low laughs.

Cain didn't hear.

Or he heard and decided not to.

Serena turned and looked at me.

Her smile was as sweet as peach yogurt.

I looked down, speared a piece of meat, put it in my mouth, and chewed for a long time.

Then I set down my fork.

"Cain."

He finally looked up.

"Did you bring me here to eat? Or to put on a show for your Pack colleagues?"

The room went quiet for two seconds.

He frowned. "What are you talking about? Who did anything to you?"

Serena jumped in, voice soft and urgent.

"Are you feeling unwell, Wren? I can pour you some hot water? That seat really wasn't good, that was my fault, I'll switch back—"

I stood up.

"Don't bother."

I slung my bag over my shoulder.

"I'm giving you this seat. Every Pack dinner from now on, you sit here."

Cain's expression shifted.

"Wren, can you stop walking out every time you get upset? Can't we just sit down and talk?"

I looked at him.

"I've said it many times. You never listened once."

As I walked out of the private room, I could hear Serena's quiet voice behind me soothing him.

"Don't fight with Wren because of me. This is my fault. I shouldn't have taken her seat..."

Then Cain's impatient reply.

"You didn't do anything wrong. She's always been like this. Eat your food, don't worry about it."

I pushed open the restaurant's front door. It was raining outside.

I hadn't brought an umbrella.

I stood by the automatic glass door and the rain soaked half my dress.

My phone lit up.

Serena had posted again.

The photo was of the full table inside — the food, the drinks, and a quarter of Cain's profile on the right edge, perfectly lit.

The caption:

【Pack dinner. Someone asked me why I never get tired of working late — because someone's always waiting to eat with you after.】

【P.S. Wren had to head out early? Let's all go together next time, the food was amazing tonight.】

First comment: Cain's account.

One like.

The rain came down harder.

I deleted Serena from my contacts and called a car to Ivy's place.

I was soaked through by the time I got there.

The coldest thing wasn't the rain.

It was that one effortless like.

Three days later, I went back to the Pack House.

Not to move back in.

To get something.

My grandmother's handwritten recipe journal.

I had put it in the second drawer of the bedside table the week I moved in.

Over two hundred pages. A yellowed hardcover book held together with a rubber band. The cover had her handwriting on it in ink: "Hearth Keeper's Journal."

Every page inside was hers.

Notes as small as how much vinegar to add to cucumber salad, as detailed as the full prep order for a holiday feast.

Some page corners had little flowers sketched on them. Some margins had notes: "Wren's favorite, add more sugar."

My grandmother had been gone for three years.

This was the only thing she had left me.

I pulled open the drawer.

Empty.

I checked the entire bedside table.

Then the wardrobe, the bookshelf, under the coffee table, the top of the shoe cabinet.

Nothing.

My heart started beating fast. My fingertips went numb.

I called Cain.

No answer.

Called again.

Still nothing.

Third try, it connected.

The background noise was loud — people laughing, music. An outdoor event.

"What? I'm at the team building."

"My grandmother's recipe journal isn't in the drawer."

"What journal?"

"My grandmother's handwritten recipes. Over two hundred pages. You've seen it. Brown cover. Rubber band around it."

He thought for a moment.

"Oh, that one. I think Serena mentioned she wanted to look through it, so I let her borrow it. Should be on the kitchen counter."

Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my head.