The Stranger I Already Knew

By six-thirty, Flour & Honey smelled like warm butter, cinnamon, and the last batch of sourdough Rosalie Bennett should not have started. “Rosie, if you put one more tray in that oven, I’m leaving you here.” Rosalie glanced over her shoulder. Tessa Morgan stood behind the counter with her coat already on, one hand wrapped around a paper cup and the other planted on her hip. Her expression suggested the threat was no longer theoretical. “You said that at six.” “I meant it at six.” “And yet.” “And yet I have terrible boundaries.” Rosalie smiled. Outside, rain streaked the bakery windows, softening the little town beyond them into smears of yellow light and dark pavement. The evening rush had ended early because of the weather. Only two customers remained. Mrs. Parker, who had been buying Friday bread from Rosalie since Flour & Honey opened, stood near the door fastening her scarf. “Don’t stay too late, Rosie,” she called. “I won’t.” Tessa snorted. Mrs. Parker pointed at her. “Make sure she means it.” “I have failed at that job for twelve years.” “You both worry too much,” Rosalie said. Mrs. Parker gave her the patient smile people reserved for obvious lies and stepped into the rain. The bell above the door chimed behind her. The bakery settled into its quieter evening rhythm. Rosalie loved this hour. The display case was mostly empty. Chairs sat slightly crooked around small wooden tables. A child had left a sugar packet folded into something that might have been a boat. Flour dusted the front of Rosalie’s black apron, and somewhere beneath the smell of bread was the faint vanilla sweetness of the cake Tessa had nearly dropped that afternoon. It was ordinary. Rosalie had worked very hard for ordinary. She pulled the sourdough from the oven and set it on the cooling rack. Tessa stared at it. “Happy?” “Very.” “Good. Lock your precious bread in a safe. I’m going home.” Rosalie laughed. “You’re dramatic.” “I spent ten minutes explaining to a man that gluten-free bread cannot contain wheat flour.” “He was confused.” “He was committed.” The last customer, Mr. Daniels, approached the counter carrying his usual box of four lemon tarts. “Night, Rosie.” “Goodnight. Tell Amelia I saved her the almond cookies.” “She’ll be here at eight tomorrow whether I tell her or not.” “That sounds like Amelia.” He grinned and left. The bell gave its final cheerful little ring. Then there were only the two of them. Tessa looked toward the windows. The rain had worsened. “You sure you don’t want to sleep at mine?” “I live fifteen minutes away.” “You live fifteen minutes away beside a forest that looks like it was designed for people to disappear in.” Rosalie began stacking clean cups. “It’s trees, Tess.” “Exactly what trees would want you to think.” Rosalie stopped. “That sentence made no sense.” “It made enough.” Tessa grabbed her handbag. “Text me when you get home.” “Yes, Mum.” “And don’t take the old forest road.” “It’s faster.” “It floods.” “It gets puddles.” “You have the survival instinct of a Victorian child.” Rosalie smiled, kissed her cheek, and pushed her gently toward the door. “Go home.” Tessa stepped outside, then immediately stuck her head back through the doorway. “Text me.” “I will.” “Immediately.” “Tessa.” “Fine.” The door closed. Rosalie watched her hurry through the rain toward her car, then turned the lock. … Ten minutes later, the bakery was dark. Rosalie climbed into her own car and sat for a moment while the heater struggled against the cold glass. She should have listened to Tessa. She knew that before she even reached the turn. The main road home added nearly ten minutes. The old forest road cut straight along the protected Blackridge woodland and brought her almost directly to her cottage. Usually, Rosalie liked it. Tonight, the trees looked different. Rain battered the windshield; the wipers barely kept pace. Headlights caught slick branches, wet signs, and the occasional flash of standing water. Rosalie leaned closer to the steering wheel. “Brilliant choice, Rosie.” She was halfway down the road when something appeared in the beam of her headlights. Rosalie slammed on the brakes. The car skidded slightly before stopping. For several seconds, she sat perfectly still. Something large lay near the ditch. Her heart began beating harder. At first she thought it was a dog. A very large dog. Then lightning flashed somewhere beyond the trees. Rosalie saw the body more clearly. Too long. Too heavy through the shoulders. Dark fur soaked almost black with rain. “Oh no.” She turned on the hazard lights. Common sense told her not to get out. Common sense sounded remarkably like Tessa. Rosalie stared through the windshield. The animal did not move. Maybe it was already dead. That thought bothered her more than it should have. She grabbed the umbrella from behind her seat, opened the car door, and immediately regretted every decision that had brought her there. Cold rain blew beneath the umbrella. “Hello?” Nothing. Rosalie approached slowly. The closer she got, the larger the animal became. Her steps faltered. Not a dog. A wolf. A huge one. Every warning about approaching wild animals surfaced at once. She should get back into the car. Call somebody. Wildlife services. Police. Anyone whose job included enormous carnivorous mammals. Then the wolf moved. Barely. A shallow rise beneath its ribs. Rosalie stopped. “Oh.” There was blood beneath him. Rain diluted it into thin red streams that disappeared into the roadside mud. Its fur was matted along one side, and even in the poor light Rosalie could see torn flesh near its shoulder. It was alive. And dying. Rosalie swallowed. “Okay.” The wolf did not react. “I’m not coming closer because I’m stupid,” she whispered, though there was nobody around to appreciate the distinction. “I’m coming closer because apparently I make terrible decisions when things are bleeding.” Another step. Then another. She crouched several feet away. Up close, it was terrifying. Even injured, even motionless, there was something powerful about it. Its paws were enormous. Its muzzle was streaked with rain and blood. One ear was torn near the edge. Rosalie lowered the umbrella slightly. “Hey.” Nothing. She could see each breath now. Too slow. She reached for her phone. No signal. Of course. “Perfect.” The wolf’s breathing hitched. Rosalie looked at it again. She knew she could not leave it here. She also knew that touching it might be the stupidest thing she had ever done. Her hand hovered over the wet fur near its neck. “Please don’t bite me,” she whispered. “I’m literally trying to save your life.” Her fingertips had barely touched it when its eyes opened. Rosalie froze. They were not the eyes she expected. Not dull. Not confused. Not wild. They were pale, strange, and painfully alert. And they fixed directly on hers. The wolf did not growl. It did not snap. It simply stared at her. As if it knew exactly who she was.