The wolf I Loved Twice

The Burnt Toast Chronicles

Violet's POV

Three weeks.

That’s how long it had been since I dragged a bleeding, half dead wolfman from the side of the mountain and into my barely functioning car. Since then, my tiny home had become a chaotic storm of confusion, laughter, and emotional whiplash mostly because of one tall, naked, silver haired amnesiac with a puppy complex.

"RayRay, no! That’s not how you fold a towel!"

The bathroom door flung open to reveal Ryan standing proudly in a cloud of steam, holding a towel in a way that looked more like he was preparing for a toga party than storing laundry.

"But this looks fun," he said innocently, flashing a grin that made my heart skip.

I groaned, trying to be mad, but I couldn't. Ever since I jokingly called him RayRay a week ago when he tripped on the mop and said, "Oops," like a toddler, the name stuck. He even signed his name as RayRay when he borrowed my phone to order noodles.

"You’re hopeless."

"And yet, you keep me around," he teased, following me back to the living room, where the scent of burnt toast lingered from his latest attempt at breakfast.

Yes, breakfast. Or rather, what was supposed to be breakfast but ended up a crime scene in the toaster.

Ryan's POV

Human stuff is hard.

No one tells you that using a toaster requires skills. Or that rice has different moods. Or that clothes shrink if you wash them hot. I’d been learning through violent trial and error. Violet said I was like a puppy messy, loud, overly enthusiastic, and likely to destroy the furniture if left unattended.

She wasn’t wrong.

But every night when she dropped onto the worn couch with a tired sigh, hair tied messily on top of her head, I would stare. Because I didn’t know where I came from, but being here with her felt like home. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the way she talked to herself when she cooked, how she hugged her pillow when she watched sad movies.

It made me feel like I belonged.

Violet's POV

RayRay was adjusting, slowly. He insisted on helping around the house now, even though he couldn't tell the difference between a whisk and a toilet brush at first. But he tried. And I admired that.

"I'm making dinner tonight," he declared with pride one evening, a spoon tucked behind his ear like a carpenter's pencil.

I blinked. "RayRay are you sure?"

"I've been watching YouTube. I am now a certified rice master."

Thirty minutes later, the rice was on fire.

And I was on the floor, laughing until my sides hurt, as he fanned the smoke detector with a magazine titled Cooking for Dummies. He looked so offended by the rice's betrayal, like it had insulted his ancestors.

Ryan's POV

Violet's laugh was addictive.

I found myself doing stupid things just to hear it pretending to use the remote as a phone, mimicking dramatic movie lines, playing dress up with the neighbor’s cat (which did not go well). Anything to pull that pure, musical laugh from her lips.

And the way she looked at me when I tried? Like I wasn’t just some stray she dragged home.

Like I mattered.

I still didn’t know who I was. But I knew I wanted to be her reason to smile.

Violet's POV

He was getting more confident. Fewer puppy eyes, more playful arrogance. He started calling himself "man of the house" until I reminded him I paid the bills.

"Okay, woman of the house, but I’m like... the house prince."

"RayRay, did you just call yourself a prince?"

"Absolutely. You should see the way I fold toilet paper now. Regal."

I rolled my eyes. But inside, I was a mess. I shouldn't be getting attached. He could remember everything tomorrow and walk out that door. But I couldn't stop the flutter in my chest every time he smiled at me.

Or how my body reacted when he walked out of the shower in just a towel.

Ryan's POV

There was something between us. I could feel it.

Sometimes I caught her staring at me when she thought I wasn't looking. Sometimes our hands touched for a little too long when passing a bowl or brushing past each other. One night, she fell asleep on the couch and I carried her to bed. She curled into my chest, mumbling something about pancakes and wolves.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Not because I was uncomfortable.

But because for the first time since waking up without a name, I felt safe.

I didn’t remember my past, but I was starting to believe my future might be here, in this creaky house, with this fierce, beautiful, soft hearted woman who yelled at burnt rice.

Violet's POV

RayRay had made himself part of my life. He went from guest to roommate to something more. Something I wasn’t ready to name yet.

He started building a garden behind the house with spare wood and found flower seeds. Said he needed something that belonged to both of us. I didn’t cry. Not really. Just a little sniffle when he wasn't looking.

And sometimes... when we stood too close in the kitchen, or our hands brushed while washing dishes, I found myself thinking about his lips. What they might taste like. How they would feel pressed against mine.

The tension was building. Day by day.

And we were both too scared to make the first move.

Yet.