Sourdough: K.C.
The silence of the bungalow after Tess left was a different kind of loud than the 3AM wake up call. It was the sound of a normal house in a normal town, yet the wolf paced the perimeter of my mind like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn’t let him win. I drank the coffee that Tess had made, then grabbed my gear and headed to the lumber yard. Wade was already there, forklift humming as he moved a pallet of shingles. He gave me a short nod as I pulled up, and for the first time in a long time, the “Alpha” stayed in the truck. I was just K.C., the guy with a custom flooring contract and a deadline. “Order’s staged in the back shed, Chopra,” Wade shouted over the engine. “The oak planks came out smooth as glass. If I had the scratch, I’d put ‘em in my own place.” I headed
- Writer
