#skye clanton

Hawthorne’s week had been unusual to say the least. He had gone to bed in New Orleans, thinking as he so often did of Skye, and woke at home again. At first he had been horrified. The last thing he had wanted was to be home but then he realized he was no longer a Wolf. It had been one revelation after another at that point. They seemed to tumble onto one another. Then, just as suddenly, he was back in New Orleans again. The universe appeared to have restored itself but now Hawthorne was left with unenviable task of figuring out what it all meant. He had settled at a small coffee shop not too far from where Skye worked as he contemplated how to explain his absence for the past week. How did one explain such an unusual occurrence? Would she understand? Would she forgive him?

Hawthorne was not looking forward to this meeting or the forthcoming marriage. However, his reluctance had little do with the young woman. He felt nothing but empathy for her situation. He had seen the females leaving the homes of the males they were assigned in his pack, how they flinched and loathed being touched. He didn’t want to be that male and had avoided any such assignments. And now it appeared he was paying for his reluctance as he was now assigned to this poor female for the remainder of her days. 

He managed to locate her contact information in the packet provided and decided it was best to take matters in hand. He suggested a meeting in the lounge of the hotel - feeling it most sensible to meet in a neutral but discreet location. Now that he was here however, he rather wished he had put it off a little further. Masking his emotions was a skill he had mastered since childhood so he kept a stoic expression as he waited for Skye Clanton to make her appearance.

Hawthorne was apprehensive. In his hands he had another bouquet - this time of pale blush peonies - because this seemed at least an easy thing to do. Plus picking them out was a pleasurable excuse to go to the florist’s shop. He knocked on the door and expelled the nervous breath. This would be fine. It would be fine. He could do this. He could have this life. “Good evening Skye.” he greeted as the door opened.

[Delivered to Skye Clanton’s residence]

Hawthorne stood outside Skye’s door and smoothed his crisp white shirt. A bouquet of cheerful daisies lay over one arm. He shrugged back his shoulders and knocked. As the door opened he smiled just a little, a difference that he could readily lay at her door. “Hello Skye. How are you today?”

Thinking of you

~ Hawthorne