I sat down at my old, scarred kitchen table with Nonna. She had one of her spectacular Thanksgiving leftover sandwiches made and ready for me, but, for the first time since becoming a Werewolf, I had no appetite.
I wanted to curl in a ball and cry my eyes out and not for anything as foolish as my hair. No, I wanted to cry for my situation with Ronan. To go from such giddy happiness at finding new love to fighting and misunderstandings made me physically sick. My stomach revolted at the idea of eating, so I pushed the food around my plate and took a sip of my fresh iced tea. No sugar, one lemon, lots of ice. Perfect.
"I heard you come back this morning, but when did you leave again, Grazi?" Nonna was packing away the leftovers with quick, precise movements.
Her deft hands made short wor
