Chapter 95: Dinner At Sylvia's

Sylvia's house was a beautiful A-frame cabin nestled in the woods not far from Graeme and Greta's childhood home. On the way there for dinner, Graeme told August about how he and Greta would sneak out to meet Sam in the woods halfway between their houses.

"There is an old, rickety wooden bridge that crosses over a deep ravine. It's closer to Sam's house than ours, but it was the perfect meet spot," he chuckled, remembering how he and Greta would sneak out his window when the moon was high.

Some nights the woods would be covered in beautiful, glistening untouched snow, and the sounds of their feet softly crunching would echo against the trees. The trees on those nights creaked just like doors—the wood bending to the wind rushing around them.

"Our parents always knew we snuck out," Graeme laughed. "We thought we were so clever, but nothing got past mom and dad. They let us go, knowing these woods were safe. Knowing we were meeting Sam," he glanced over at August, the past shimmering around him like an aura of nostalgia. "They let us feel like we were rebels."

"That sounds fun," she replied. "Much more fun than my crowded town. We had trees, but nothing like this. In eighth grade, a friend and I used to hide behind a bush on the way home from school and smoke. That was me being a rebel," she chuckled.

"My little August Moon smoked?" he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh yeah. I did lots of bad things. You would be surprised," she chuckled.

"Like what?" he asked, curious to hear more about her past.

"I got into kind of a bad crowd when my mom and I moved in with Alan. My friend Lisa showed me how to steal clothes and stuff from stores. That's when I started smoking, too. Um… maybe that's it," she shrugged, realizing the list didn't sound impressive at all.

"So innocent even then," he smirked and pinched her cheek playfully. "You were playing at being rebellious."

"Was sneaking out to meet Sam not playing at being rebellious?" she laughed, challenging him with her eyes.

"I was very young when I did that—before mom and dad died. Rebellion for me was leaving the pack I guess," he said, focusing back on the road to Sylvia's.

August nodded silently. Their childhoods were nothing alike. He had been without his parents from such a young age, and she couldn't imagine having had to endure it. It had left him traumatized, of that she was certain.

Once they arrived, Sylvia greeted them on the porch. Like most places August had seen on pack land, there was no driveway—presumably because there were so few cars—so Graeme parked next to a tree.

The area in front of Sylvia's house had a fire pit with several wooden chairs arranged in a circle. The house itself was glowing, an inviting light from inside cast out into the dark around it through two levels of windows that angled to form an A.

A balcony on the second level extended over the porch, and the porch itself had piles of cut wood on either side readily available for the next bonfire. Sylvia stood at the threshold of her home, an open red front door next to her, with her arms extended wide in greeting.

"Welcome! Come in my dears. Greta and Sam are already inside," she beamed at August and Graeme and ushered them in. "Do you like wine, August?" Sylvia asked, as she followed them into the living room.

"As long as there's no moonshine added," August replied, and Graeme chuckled next to her.

"Oh dear, what happened at the bonfire? Did my children not take care of you?" Sylvia asked.

"They took care of me," August laughed, suddenly shy about the topic that she had inadvertently brought up. "It was my own fault."

"It was not your fault," Greta called from further in, and they followed the sound of her voice to find her and Sam lounging together on a sofa next to the fireplace. Greta stood and offered August a glass of red wine. "This one is safer, I promise," she winked.

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"Something certainly happened," Sylvia was standing with arms akimbo. "This must be some story."

"Not really," August laughed uncomfortably. "There was a little drama with the ex-girlfriend, and I drank too much. Pretty unoriginal."

"Oh dear," Sylvia replied. "Violet was there?"

Behind August, Graeme bowed his head and focused intently on his shoes. "I'll get you a drink, brother," Sam grunted and rose from the sofa, gesturing for Graeme to follow.

"Pretty unoriginal aside from you reading minds, my love," Greta smirked and squeezed August's arm.

"That's what happened with Violet?" Sylvia gaped before her face quickly softened, and she placed a comforting hand on August's back. "Are you okay, my dear? I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"Yes, I'm okay," August reassured her. How did she end up being comforted like she was something delicate again? She groaned internally. "You have a beautiful home, Sylvia. I've always wanted to see the inside of an A-frame house. They are so unique."

"Oh, well thank you. I considered just moving into the back of the shop after David passed," she admitted, her voice growing quieter with the mention of her mate. "But I couldn't. There are too many memories here to leave."

"What's for dinner, Mom?" Graeme called from the kitchen. Greta's mouth quirked into a small smile, realizing her brother was changing the subject on purpose.

"I made spaghetti," Sylvia called and moved further into the kitchen to find him. "Nothing fancy."

"It smells amazing," Graeme growled, lifting the cover of the pot to take a peek.

"Okay, okay. It's ready. Why don't you take the garlic bread to the table and get yourselves situated," Sylvia chuckled and took Graeme's place over the stove.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"So did the girls tell you about Charlotte's revelation today?" Sylvia asked as they began eating.

The couples' eyes found each other over their bites of pasta. Sam grunted. "I heard about it," he said.

Graeme's eyebrows shot up as he looked at August. "Sam got to hear about it already," he teased accusingly.

August chuckled and bit off the spaghetti noodles that were dangling over her plate. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled by the food. Graeme reached across the table and wiped the sauce that was flung across her cheek as they both giggled.

Everyone else at the table watched in amused silence. Sylvia still couldn't get over seeing Graeme like this—completely enraptured by the girl in front of him. He had never been like this as long as she had known him. He had been a child when his parents died, and then he had to grow up so quickly.

There was part of Sylvia that wondered if she and David couldn't have done more to help him when he was set adrift by his circumstances. Graeme had been flailing, trying to find his way. But everyone trusted the elders to guide him on his path to Alpha. And everyone was also lost in grief over the loss of the Alpha and Luna. If only they had been able to see things more clearly at the time.

"It seems my mate was waiting for the most dramatic retelling possible," Graeme said then, flashing August a smirk.

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