...COMES DESSERT

The sun has just receded behind the treeline when we finish eating. Mom’s sweet berry tarts are delicious as always, and the way she smiles each time Anthony compliments her cooking is incredibly heartwarming. To Mom, his charm far outweighs the annoyance he causes me on a daily basis - but I let it slide because I know that his gratitude and friendliness to her is genuine.

“I’ll be inside if you two need me,” Mom says, sliding a bit of deadwood into the fire to brighten it. “I’ve got to keep preparing for that cleansing ceremony. I’m hoping to be ready for it in a few days.”

I want to say something about the ritual, but I don’t want to start a fight in front of Anthony. “Thanks again for dinner, Mom.”

“Thank you very much!” Anthony adds.

Mom nods gratefully, disappearing inside the tent with our empty bowls.

For a few moments, the only sounds I hear are the crackling of the fire and the movements and chatter of the other townspeople. They’re familiar sounds, and usually they put me at ease. But tonight, I just can’t get my mind to settle down.

Anthony breaks the silence between us. “Bell, can I talk to you?”

His phrasing seems odd to me. “Of course you can. What kind of question is that?”

In response, he stands up and signals for me to follow him. I oblige, walking behind him as he leads me away from the tent and towards the edge of town. Once the glow of the fire seems far enough away, he stops. “I’m worried about your mom.” There’s a note of caution in his voice.

“I am too. She can’t go through with this ‘ritual’ she has planned for this week-”

“No, not about that.” He turns to face me, and once I see him I realize I misunderstood - it wasn’t caution in his voice, it was something else. He looks me up and down, pausing when he meets my eyes. “...Listen, I’ll explain later.”

I cock my head to the side in confusion, and for once I can’t quite tell what’s going on inside Anthony’s head. Ever since we were kids, I could always read him like an open book - but right now, he seems way more reserved.

Suddenly, I feel his arm gripping my wrist and yanking me toward him. “Anthony, what-”

He cuts me off by placing a hand firmly over my mouth. Looking into his eyes, I know that we’re in danger. I give him a small nod, and he removes his hand.

It’s then that I hear the sound of branches and leaves snapping nearby, indicating footsteps. The glow of several torches starts to give us away, and Anthony instinctively takes a few quiet steps back behind a tree, pulling me with him. I feel frozen, too afraid to even breathe.

It isn’t long before the group’s voices drift our way. “Are you sure we got the right spot?” The first voice is deep and gravelly, but unsure.

A second replies, sounding much higher than the first. “This is where the tip leads. I’m certain of it.”

There’s a pause before the first voice speaks again. “I don’t know, I think we should just turn back.”

I glance up at Anthony and see his eyes are squeezed shut. He’s concentrating on the voices, probably trying to remember them.

“It wouldn’t hurt to just go a little farther, don’t you think? We’re already this far,” says the gravelly voice.

I feel Anthony take a slow, deep breath. I decide to shut my own eyes as well, gripping the sides of his shirt for comfort.

And then, he lets loose a loud cry, closely resembling that of a wolf’s howl. My eyes are **** open at the sudden noise. After a few moments, other wolves join in from all around us.

“That’s it, I’m going back!” The gravelly voice is full of fear now. “I didn’t sign up to be attacked by wolves!”

“What? But we have to - hey, wait!”

The heavy sound of running grows quieter as I watch Anthony’s face be once again shrouded in darkness. Soon, any evidence of torchlight from the two strange men is gone.

Only then does Anthony loosen his grip on me. Once my eyes adjust to the dimmer light, I see that he’s got a smug grin on his face.

I decide to play along. “So you’re a wolf now, huh?”

“Good one.” He chuckles. “You can thank me any time for saving our hides.”

“Thanks.”

He playfully pouts. “What, are you not going to call me a good boy? Woof!”

We both laugh. But then I notice we’re still practically touching, despite his loosened grip, and a rush of heat fills my face. Even though it’s dark, I’m sure he can see it.

I expect him to laugh at me, to call me something stupid for blushing, to make fun of me for it.

What I _don’t _expect is for him to slowly lean down and kiss me.