5

Miley

I could never quite grasp why I took a job at the community center. Little about it appealed to me, except for the organizational aspect. While many visitors aimed to plan birthdays or retirement parties, I occasionally found myself dealing with wedding receptions or even the weddings themselves.

Blake and Troy's frequent mate announcements kept the demand for weddings high. Requests to rent out the recreation center, the barn, or any available land on the Beaufort Creek side were pouring in. Beach parties were less common but straightforward to manage.

Yet, I was growing weary of festivities and matrimony. Even sorting through dating website emails felt tedious. "Meet your match today!" they proclaimed. While I never signed up, I couldn't help but entertain the idea. Meeting someone seemed like a distant fantasy – initiating a conversation was already a challenge, let alone actual meetings. It was a self-deception. Despite my contemplation, I never clicked on those emails to take the plunge.

Sighing, I entered the lobby of the community center. This wasn't the life I envisioned during my time in hiding. I had imagined finding a quiet place, tending to a garden, maybe participating in the farmer's market like Karla and Cora, living their idyllic life in Canada.

Financially, I didn't need the pack's support; Leon had generously covered my apartment expenses. Money wasn't the issue.

Pushing the glass door, I let the breeze into the lobby. "I'm just bored."

The public rejection the other day left a strange feeling. I couldn't claim any feelings for Alonso; there were no tingles in my gut or heaving chest at his sight. If anything, the lack of breath-catching around a guy would only mean allergies, not something deeper.

Men made me feel peculiar, not in a creepy way, but just unsure of what to do with myself. Sometimes, an individual would enter the community center seeking something extra to do—volunteer work, perhaps. Handling those lists became my responsibility. Occasionally, an attractive guy would show up, but nothing extraordinary ever unfolded. I never felt compelled to follow up with a text or, heaven forbid, a call. Guys simply weren't my thing. For fun, I preferred watching rom-coms and enjoying a bottle of wine alone.

Finding someone to date who wouldn't mind my life in hiding posed a challenge. Alonso would have been ideal, as he knew everything about me. With him, I wouldn't have to lie or fear him leaving as soon as he discovered my combat skills and daytime makeup palette.

All I wanted was to be a normal woman participating in a regular competition with other normal people. Setting aside my shifter status, a simple ride into town for fresh air would be welcome. The constant talk of mates in the community had become tiresome. Mating ceremonies dominated discussions, making escape impossible.

Standing in the open doorway, I felt the breeze rustle my hair, knowing people were likely gossiping about the recent rejection. I could still hear the heartbeats, marking my inability to recover from the awkwardness. Pushing the door wider, I stepped outside, walking on the main path while staring at the recently erected greenhouse, likely Alonso's doing.

He eluded me, avoiding my presence as if instructed by Leon. Where was my brother now? The thought of him enjoying time in Canada without informing me intensified the fear of missing out. Panic surged, prompting me to head towards the greenhouse. If Alonso was inside, he might leave, but it seemed like the best place for a panic attack.

Entering briskly, I stood in silence, hoping for something to happen. The lack of sound or movement brought serenity. It was a respite from the usual gossip and drama, from small talk and the questions about my mate status and reluctance to attend town events.

The quiet instilled hope, sparking a desire to explore the unfamiliar plant life in the greenhouse. I envisioned becoming the caretaker of this haven. A dream of tranquility and escaping the nightmares took root. Amidst towering plants and vibrant hues, I felt a yearning for peace.

Near a plant with orange bulbs, I reached out for a bulb only to be warned against it. Startled, I moved away and collided with a palm tree that seemed to whisper. The silence shattered suddenly, echoing with cracks and booms, transporting me back to Tehran, to the car, to the explosive device beneath us—beep, beep, KABOOM.