Wow, hello one hundred reviews! So glad you all are still enjoying this. I love this story, these characters, and the relationships I've built and expanded in this world. Obviously, I'm a bit in my feels as I write this, but I am truly excited to see it play out. I hope you are, too.

Bethany

I'd like to call myself stupid for not wanting Embry to move in sooner, but Paula says self-deprecating remarks like that are counterproductive. I still think it.

He's only been here for a few weeks, but it feels like it's always been this way. The three of us, eating dinner together, him running Sadie to school or to Nessie's in the mornings. The cabin is closer to the shop than the hospital, which lets me sleep in. This is a win for everyone involved.

Today is Sadie's birthday. Seven years ago today, I was in biology, begging my stupid professor to let me go to the hospital, and holding my mom's hand and screaming and crying, and then there was a little perfect human in my arms – my little perfect human – and she was screaming and crying and nothing else mattered.

It's fitting, because now, she is also screaming and crying. I'm surprised it only took Embry three weeks to play witness to one of her meltdowns, but his presence brings a much-welcomed calming effect to this apartment.

Sadie hadn't batted an eyelash when Embry moved in. Actually, her exact words were close to "That's cool. Can we watch a movie?"

"I don't want to go!" she screams, although her sound is muffled by the pillow she's got clutched to her face. But her legs are free, and they nearly clock me in the temple as they flail.

Sadie was up late last night with growing pains. She's already the second-tallest in her class, and if I had to guess based on the fact that it's the third time this week this has happened, next week she'll hold the top spot.

"Sadie, you're gonna be late. Let's go," I say, attempting to pry her pillow from her clutches and use my best Mom Voice.

She only moans, and I sigh. Time to try coercion. "We got cupcakes, remember? You're gonna have a party in class today to celebrate your birthday. And we're going out to eat tonight with Nana and Tiffany."

She mumbles something I can't catch, but Embry steps up to the bed. "And juice boxes, yes."

Her grip loosens on the pillow. "My favorite?"

"Yep. Apple juice," Embry responds.

Sadie's grip falters, and I seize the opportunity, pulling it away from her. Her little round face is snot covered and blotchy.

"Maybe Embry can braid your hair?" I say, throwing a pleading look in his direction. "I bet he could make it look extra nice for your birthday today."

Embry grins. "You bet I can."

Sadie whimpers, but nods, finally crawling out from under her covers.

"That's sort of bullshit," I mumble under my breath, and Embry's deep chuckle follows him to the bathroom.

Twenty rushed minutes later, the three of us pull up to the elementary school, and Embry throws on the flashers of my Jeep while I help unload Sadie's stuff. Embry stays in the car to keep it warm while Sadie and I head to the front. She rips her hand from my grasp to run ahead.

"Sadie, be careful! It's super slick today," I call after her, but she's already caught up to her friend Kenzie. The little girl's blonde ponytail is tight and perfect and wrapped with a little pink ribbon. She'll have a headache by recess. It's giving me a headache just looking at it.

And then my stomach sinks. Because where there's a Kenzie, there's a… Kenzie's mom.

"Bethany, good to see you," Olivia says. "Haven't seen you in a few weeks."

I give her a once over. She's wearing skintight jeans and a (real) wool coat, all without a speck of toothpaste or crumbs or even fuzz. She's wearing high-heeled boots that come up past her knees. Who does that – especially in Forks? Or maybe the better question is, who puts on an outfit like that to drop off a kid for first grade?

Her nails are perfectly rounded and pink, and good God did that rock get bigger? It takes a conscious effort for my eyes not to bulge.

My outfit, in contrast, is typical of a day off. Leggings, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. None of which are speck-free.

"Olivia," I grate out in as nice a tone as I can manage this early and on this little caffeine. "Yeah, I've been busy lately. Embry drops her off when I can't."

She clicks her tongue. "And Embry is Sadie's father?"

"I—"

"Hello," a deep voice says from my side, and I'm transported back months ago, when Embry had intervened on my mother's front porch. I don't know how he always knows to come to my rescue. At this point, I really don't care. "I don't think we've met yet. I'm Embry." He extends a hand to Olivia.

She looks shocked as she takes in all six feet four inches of him, and I'm not too proud to say that Embry is much more attractive than what I've seen of Kenzie's father. Judging by the way Olivia's mouth pinches, she knows it too. Point: Bethany.

"So nice to meet you, Embry," Olivia says, clipped and nasally. "I was just saying how I haven't seen much of Bethany lately."

Embry takes the bags of snacks from my grip and slots his fingers through mine. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "I like to bring Sadie to school when I can. It helps lighten Bethany's load."

"Oh, how sweet," Olivia says. "I can't even imagine being a single working mom."

Fire erupts in my veins, and I'm opening my mouth before I know what's going to come out. But once again, Embry beats me to the punchline. "What makes you think she's a single mom?"

This stops Olivia short. And me. My heart stutters beneath my ribs.

"Well, I—you aren't married," she fumbles, "is all I was saying."

My eyes wander to Olivia's ring, and I sort of want to rip it off and shove it down her throat. Embry's thumb runs across the back of my hand.

"I don't think Sadie cares all that much about the specifics," Embry says. To his credit, he's making this conversation sound much more pleasant than it actually is. "And isn't that what matters? Teaching our children what healthy relationships look like?"

Holy hell, there's a lot of subtext to unpack here. What makes you think she's a single mom? Our children. I mean, I knew that Embry felt strongly toward Sadie. He's brought up adoption on a few occasions. I just didn't expect it to set my heart on fire when he told someone other than me.

"Yes," Olivia says slowly, smoothing a hand over her hair. "Right, of course. I just meant—"

"We should really go drop these in the office," I say, gesturing to the snacks. "And then we might go have hot car sex before work or something. I don't know yet."

Where did that come from? I have no idea. Do I regret it? No.

Her mouth falls open, and I tug Embry forward before she can respond. I don't think we manage to get out of earshot before we start laughing.

"Did you see her face?" Embry wheezes, holding open the door for me.

"She—ugh. I hate her," I say, leading the way to the small office off the main lobby. "You're the best, you know that?"

He gives me a wink and leans down to my ear. "Do you really want to have hot car sex before I go in to work?"

My only answer is a wink of my own. By the time we return to the parking lot, Olivia's shiny SUV is long gone.

My mother has a date. A date. A Valentine's Day date, even. It makes my head spin. I've never really stopped to think about it, but I don't think my mom's just been alone at home all this time since Dad died.

But a Valentine's Day date is the universal signal for let's get freaky, so I choose not to ask for details.

I hate Valentine's Day. But Embry, the big softie that he is, loves it. When I woke up this morning, there was a stuffed bear and a card on my bedside table. I'd clutched the bear to my chest as I read the note (handwritten, because of course Embry handwrote me a love letter).

Bethany,

Happy Valentine's Day. I know this isn't your thing, but I just had to tell you that you are the most stunning woman I have ever seen. Your smile could start wars. And end them. It ends me every time I see it.

You are a great mom, and I'm so lucky you let me share all the little pieces of the life you've worked so hard to build. I know it's a big deal for you, and I'm glad you trust this enough to let me in.

Sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. I wanted to get to the shop early, so I could get off early.

Tonight, we're doing something. You can pick what. Whatever, wherever (as long as we pick up Sadie by bedtime, because that girl can scream if she's cranky (wonder where she gets that from :) )) Even if it's just movies on TV and Sully's, it will be perfect, because you are perfect.

Can't wait to see you. Love you more than anything.

Embry

And when I go into Sadie's room, she's got a miniature version of the same teddy bear sitting on her nightstand. How I'm still alive after all the times my heart has burst, I'm really not sure. It's got to be some kind of sorcery. Witchcraft.

With my mom predisposed, Tiffany is more than happy to keep Sadie for the evening. I make sure to pack Sadie's dolls and plenty of stuff to keep her occupied, although Sadie and Tiffany get along well without any added stimuli.

As I drive back from the rez, I start to think that Tiffany might need a new title. I mean, is it fair that Sadie calls my mom 'Nana', but Tiffany is just 'Tiffany'? Maybe I'll ask her what she prefers. She'll probably say it's up to me, because that's the kind of person she is.

I've been to visit with her a few times on my own since the day we brought her flowers. She's got a small office at the back of the souvenir shop, and the small bistro-style table and chairs are perfect for gossip and small talk.

Tiffany is… amazing, in short. She's funny, and tough, and Embry got his love of idioms from her. When I'd brought up the little surfer figurines in the display window during my last visit, she'd said, They're a dime a dozen, but the tourists eat them up. This was as she was pulling out the photo albums she'd brought from home, just for me, so that we could pore over more of Embry's baby pictures. She let me keep a few of my favorites.

According to Embry's ominous note, I also have to figure out what I want to do tonight. It's a Tuesday, so any overnight shenanigans are out of the question. But I want to show Embry that I'm taking it seriously. Because it's important to him.

When Embry gets home from the shop in the evening, I'm finishing a load of towels. Since he's moved in, our laundry has multiplied. He's really good about helping, though, and I've yet to find a pair of socks anywhere but the hamper.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. "Happy Valentine's Day."

I crane my neck to catch the underside of his jaw. "Hey yourself." He smells like the garage – rusty and sweaty and sort of delicious. I resist the urge to lick him, but only just. "I loved my note."

"Figure out what we're doing tonight?" he says, peeling off his shirt.

I let my eyes trace the lines of his torso as he heads to the bathroom. "Each other would be fantastic," I call after him.

He glances back to me in shock, and his eyes are sparkling as he chuckles. "If that's what you want, I'm game. You have until the end of my shower to decide for real. Unless, of course, you'd like to join me."

I think part of the reason I don't like Valentine's Day is that it's usually full of unmet expectations. I've had enough of those to last a lifetime. But after we get done in the shower, and Embry settles next to me on the couch steamy and handsome as ever, I think I maybe get it a little bit.

"Well?" he asks, sliding my feet into his lap and beginning to rub. It's something he does often, especially after a long shift. "What's the plan?"

"I want…" I study his face, his eagerness and sincerity. And I can't help but mess with him a little bit, because I want to see him squirm. And laugh. "I want to do something we've never done together before."

"Oh?"

I nod slowly, chewing my lip. "Let's spice things up a little."

He gulps, and his thumb slips off the side of my foot. "Okay… What did you have in mind?"

"It's..." I look to the ceiling, trying to keep my grin under control. "Well, to be honest, it could get pretty messy. And it might change the way you look at me."

"Impossible," he says, but I swear I think he's sweating. I don't know what explicit sexual fantasy is racing through his mind. I make a mental note to ask him about it later. Whatever it is, based on the way his eyes are wide and dark, I don't think I want to rule it out just yet.

"It's more fun with a big group of people, but I think we'll manage," I say, rubbing my foot across his upper thigh. I most certainly don't look down, even though something is definitely firming up under the fabric. "And sometimes it hurts. But I kind of like that."

"Bethany, please." He swallows thickly, but still has to clear his throat. "I'm dying here."

"Not yet you're not." I hop up to my knees, bracing them on either side of his hips. "Because you and I, Embry Call…" I lean down to his ear, dropping my voice to a raspy growl. "We're going to eat hot wings tonight."

He lets out a slow breath, but it catches in his throat and turns to an incredulous laugh. "It's cruel to bring a man to the brink of death like that." Despite his words, his hands come to rest on my hips, and his thumbs run across the exposed skin there.

I place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and my smile splits my face. "But it's so much fun. And don't worry. I'll make up for it later."

I sneak several peeks at Embry an hour later. He's next to me on the floor, our backs against the sofa and our legs entangled under the coffee table, hot sauce smeared across both of our faces as we share a container of ranch and a stack of napkins.

A year ago, I had no idea he existed. How is that possible?

I was living my life, thinking I was fine and happy – okay, maybe not happy, but I wasn't unhappy. I thought I was doing a good job. And maybe I was. I don't know. I can't remember how I felt before Embry.

"She reminds me of Olivia," he snorts, not bothering to ask before he gets up to refill the wine glass I've just emptied.

This weird feeling rolls up my spine, settles into my heart as he reclaims his place next to me on the carpet. I can't name it, but it sort of almost feels like… forever.

Fuck.

I don't get the guts to bring up my potentially life-changing revelation with Paula until a few weeks later. We've moved our meetings to her office, and they stretch through our allocated thirty minutes more often than not. It means I usually have to stay late to finish charts, but Cindy doesn't mind.

"I'd like to talk about the first time you had the 'forever feeling'," Paula says, using air quotes with her right hand as she scrawls notes with her left. "With Brandon."

I blow out a breath, shifting in my chair. "Prom night."

We've discussed the basics of that night but haven't ever taken a deep dive. I don't like to go there, and Paula knows that. I should have known she'd drag it out of me eventually.

"It was before he told you the condom broke, presumably," she offers.

"Yeah," I snort. "Before that. We were still at the dance, dancing to our song, and he was twirling me around the dance floor. He was holding me the right way, looking at me the right way. He kissed me the way I'd always seen in movies. People were staring, but I didn't mind. I almost… wanted them to be jealous, if that makes sense.

"I had the hot quarterback, and we were going to have that stereotypical summer after high school, where we'd spend every second together. And we'd go to school together, and he'd propose to me on the football field after he won the big game."

Where the hell did that come from? I reach for my coffee with a shaky hand.

Paula nods slowly, scribbling furiously. "What was the song?" She peeks at me over the rim of her glasses. "The song at prom."

I cross my legs for something to do. ""You Found Me" by The Fray. The epitome of a high school dance in 2009."

She chuckles. "And in that moment, you could see yourself with him forever. I mean, you had it all mapped out."

"Yeah," I say. "I could. I did. It's what made me go to the hotel room with him."

"That's interesting," she says.

With a groan, I sit back in my chair. "I hate when you say that."

She gives me a soft smile, lowering her glasses to let them dangle from her neck strap, and sets her pen on her notebook. "Somewhere between Brandon and Embry, you've flipped the script. With Brandon, you had sex with him because you loved him. With all the others, love was never on the table. You didn't let it enter the picture at all. Until…"

"Until Embry," I finish for her.

"It's very full-circle." Paula clasps her hands. "The first time you told Embry you loved him was in the middle of your first sexual encounter."

A flush overtakes my neck, and I pull at the collar of my scrub top in an attempt to lessen the heat. I set my coffee down.

"It's different with Embry," I say slowly.

"How so? He's no less likely to go back on his word than Brandon was."

I can't help it – I snort. "He is exponentially less likely."

Paula shifts across from me. "You can't know that for certain," she says cautiously. "Which is okay."

Panic gnaws at my stomach, but I have to defend Embry. "But I do know for certain."

"How?" Her words are not unkind, but there is a hint of disbelief.

My heart's racing. "You'd put me on antipsychotics if I told you the truth."

She blinks, but to her credit, her face remains otherwise stoic. Her hand, however, reaches for her pen so fast I almost miss it. "It's impossible to say that without knowing this truth. It's also impossible for me to understand the situation completely without knowing it completely."

I stay silent, except for the sound of my palms rubbing across the fabric on my thigh.

"Everything you say here is confidential," she reminds me softly. "As long as you or Sadie are not in any physical danger, your secrets will stay secrets."

What a bad idea I'm having right now. Telling her. What a horrible, horrible idea. This will not go well. It will only make me feel better momentarily. I'll feel so guilty afterwards, I'll make myself sick.

Embry will probably be pissed, and Jacob will be livid. We haven't even figured out how to tell Sadie yet – and she's pack – but I'm considering spilling sacred tribal secrets to a virtual stranger.

But Paula's eyes are kind, and her voice is soft, and I want her to know what I know in my heart – that Embry is different from Brandon, and I know exactly why.

"How familiar are you with the legends of the Quileute tribe?"

Recognition flashes in her eyes, and she caps her pen. "I've met several members of the tribe over the years," she returns. "Between them and my former colleague Dr. Cullen, I've heard enough to fill in the gaps."

Thank God. I'm not sure which pack member I have to thank for taking one for the team, but I owe them a gift basket or something.

Paula tilts her head toward the small recorder on her desk, something she'd started doing once we moved our meetings to her office.

Oh. I see. I shift in the chair. We've probably only got about five minutes left before I need to get back to my shift, and I don't know how in depth I can be. Paula's warning is clear.

"Embry… takes his role within the tribe very seriously," I start. "He would never… he would never have told me about the legends if he wasn't also as serious about me, don't you think?"

"I agree," she says resolutely. "It must be nice to have someone that committed in your life. A well-earned reprieve, after all you've been through."

A reprieve. Part of me understands where she's coming from, agrees with her, even. But there's a gap between the knowledge in my brain that Embry is committed for life, and letting my heart in on the secret, too. There has to be a reason my first thought after the 'forever feeling' was the word fuck.

Okay, so the gap might be more of a chasm.

I try to put these thoughts into words for Paula, but I find myself tumbling, stumbling through half-assed explanations and grasping at straws.

"Let's call it for today," she interrupts gently. "But I'd like you to do an exercise for me."

"Homework," I say, reaching for my coffee and tipping it back to drain the rest. I'm always mentally exhausted after a session, and I'll need the extra dose to get me through the rest of shift.

"Have you been writing in your journal still?" she asks. "Dreams, fears, thoughts?"

I nod. "It's a disaster."

"Of course it is," she asks. "That's totally normal. Now that you have a little bit to work with, I'd like you try and organize those thoughts. It can be an essay, bullet points. Poetry. Prose. It's going to be hard, and messy, but I think it will help."

I have to physically swallow my groan.

After dinner, I'm checking Sadie's folders while Embry cleans up the kitchen.

"What's this, Sade?" I ask, showing her a new assignment.

Her eyes light up. "Oh! Miss Crenshaw told us we have to write a story. We get to work on it during writing time but she said we could work on it at home, too. I want to be a writer when I grow up."

"A writer?" I say, looking over the paper at her. She most certainly didn't get that from me.

Once upon a time, Brandon had expressed interest in majoring in English in college (if majoring in fuck-uppery and parties didn't work out). I don't know if he stuck with it.

Sadie nods enthusiastically. "Yes! I want to write about fairy tales. Like Disney princesses and talking animals. Miss Crenshaw said that has a name, where animals act like humans, but I don't remember it."

"I bet we could look it up, SB," Embry calls over his shoulder.

I grimace. "SB?"

"Sadie Bug. SB," Sadie responds. "That's called an agruh-nim."

"Acronym," Embry corrects, a hint of humor in his tone as he hangs the dish towel to dry from the oven handle.

"When'd you get so smart?" I ask, handing the paper back to Sadie.

She rolls her eyes. "Mommy, I'm seven now. Duh."

"Right. Duh," I repeat, and the look that Embry and I share is endearing. There's a hint of a secret there. I don't know what it means, but I really like it. "Miss Paula wants me to write, too." The admission slips off my tongue before I have time to reconsider.

"Really?" Embry asks. I hear rustling over my shoulder, and a package of cookies slides onto the table as he takes his seat at the table, completing our triangle.

Sadie squeals, reaching for two cookies at once. Embry pulls the package out of her grasp, and she squeals again, louder. They play tug of war for a few laughter-filled seconds, until Embry finally relents.

"We should write together, Mommy," Sadie says, spewing crumbs onto her math homework. "You work on your writing and I'll work on mine. And we'll be famous writers together."

"That's a great idea, SB," I say. "I'll get my journal after we finish our cookies."

Sadie's face falls flat. "Only Embry can call me that."

"Got it," I say. "Won't happen again."

She nods as she turns back to her homework, and Embry's smug grin enters my line of sight. He gives me a wink.

I stand, reaching for the fridge to pull out some milk. "Sort of bullshit I'm not the favorite anymore," I murmur, just loud enough for Embry to hear.

His chuckle sends sparks up my spine. And as I spare a glance at him over the fridge door, the look he's giving me is enough to melt me clean through the floorboards.

Once again. Fuck.