With your family out of town for the next few weeks, Emily and Sam Uley had welcomed you into their La Push home — a warm, bustling place that seemed to breathe with the laughter, footsteps, and the chaotic energy of the boys from the reservation.

Seth had known you were coming. And damn, was he nervous.

How was he supposed to explain something as life-changing as an imprint? Would you understand? Would you freak out? Would he ever find the courage to tell you the truth — or should he just keep his distance and pray his feelings didn’t swallow him whole?

A thousand questions churned in his mind, looping and tangling until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He needed to tell you. He had to tell you. Seth Clearwater wasn’t a coward, he reminded himself as he straightened his spine and marched toward the guest room you were staying in, rehearsing the words in his head.

He pushed the door open with something resembling confidence, only to stop short.

The room was empty. Seth let out a breath, shoulders sagging.

Of course.

You were probably in the kitchen with Emily, helping with dinner or chatting the way you always did. He was just about to leave when something caught his eye — a small, black book peeking out from beneath a folded pair of bootcut jeans and a soft grey top.

A diary. Your diary.

His heart thudded once, hard. Seth glanced around the room, listening for footsteps, for voices, for any sign that someone might walk in. But the house was silent. Too silent.

Curiosity tugged at him: strong, insistent, impossible to ignore.

With hesitant fingers and a whisper of guilt, he picked up the diary and opened it. The pages were worn, the writing familiar. Personal. Intimate. Words meant for no one but yourself.

Still, he read.

He read your thoughts. He read your worries. He read the quiet truths you’d never said aloud. And then, he read the parts about him.

Your fondness. Your affection. Your impossibly tender feelings: all for him.