Kenna dated. A lot. And she was disappointed by Lizzie’s lack of interest in dating. She told her to get out there and have a little fun. She was convinced Lizzie would meet someone worth more than a little fun along the way.

Kenna was entitled to lots of dates. Her marriage of ten years finally ended, after repeated attempts to have children had failed. Her husband had still wanted kids, but she hadn’t been prepared to keep trying. She’d finally moved on to another phase of her life. While ultimately amicable, there had been a number of rough years near the end of her marriage. She trooped through with a truly amazing attitude.

So her dates were well-deserved, and they couldn’t happen to a nicer, more generous person. That said, Lizzie had to be careful about showing any interest in a man between the ages of eighteen and fifty-five, because Kenna was convinced Lizzie was missing out. Her friend made it her mission to encourage Lizzie’s dating interest and to matchmake whenever possible.

Lizzie intended to skip dating discussions and get right to the point—she had big news about magic and werewolves. And Kenna was the only one she could possibly share it with. The only one she wanted to share it with. Her mistake was in thinking Kenna wouldn’t jump on any reference to a man.

She definitely jumped. “The one you texted about? I knew it! He’s cute, isn’t he? I knew it!”

So Kenna expressed some dismay when Lizzie finished her thought. “…he might be a werewolf. And he has some connection to the book. His family diary, or something.” She trailed off in volume at the end. The “or something” came out in a low mutter.

“You haven’t burned the book yet? A puzzle two years in the works and still unsolved. I was sure you would eventually bust a blood vessel late at night and chuck it in the fireplace,” Kenna said.

No mention of the guy or the werewolf thing, so far. Hmm.

Relieved that Kenna was temporarily distracted from the topic of John, Lizzie took a moment to take a few breaths. Whew. “Oh yeah, it doesn’t burn,” she said absent-mindedly.

At her friend’s laugh, Lizzie looked up quickly. “What?” She blinked in confusion.

“Not that I’ve thrown it in the fireplace, or anything.” Lizzie tried not to look too guilty. “I did a little cautious experimentation with the oven and also with a candle in those first few months. Back when I was more motivated. Two years of failure wears on a girl...and sparks creativity.” And any minute now, werewolves…

“Wait—what? A fricking werewolf? Have you lost your mind?” A quick pause, then—“I don’t even care if he’s cute.” She interrupted Lizzie as she was beginning to explain. “No, don’t tell me. Let’s have coffee. Your house or mine?”