Evander #4
I wink at her. “Trust me, I’m just as bad. Isaac is the one to edit my briefs because I overuse the words good, bad, and terrible. I’m dyslexic, so I stick to the words I know and let him fancy it all up.”
“That must be hard when you’re dealing with numbers all day,” she says, and I can’t help but smile at her. She flushes, ducking her eyes. “What’s that look for?”
“Most assume the words would be the issue and compliment me on finding a job suited to my talents.”
She rolls her eyes, losing some of her shyness as she sits back up. “No, I know that it applies to numbers, too.”
“Tell me something about you that nobody knows,” I ask, leaning forward, brushing against my plate.
I grimace as the sleeve of my shirt dips into the gravy ever so slightly, and Cassie giggles as I roll up my sleeves.
“Hmm,” she taps her chin, humming thoughtfully. “Oh, I know. My favourite food is gravy and peas.”
I bite my inner cheek, emotions running through me too fast to fully decipher. I asked for something nobody knows, and she told me her favourite fucking food.
What does she mean nobody in her life knows this about her?
And, fuck me, gravy and peas?
“Your turn,” she says, not realising how angry I am. How devastated I am on her behalf.
“My favourite food is a dessert—chocolate fondue, or chocolate cake… or basically, anything chocolate.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, at least I know which cake to bake for your birthday.”
She flinches, quickly meeting my eyes. “Not that I—”
“Daisy,” I cut her off. “We’re going to eventually spend the rest of our lives together. We’ll share at least one birthday together, where you can make me my cake. What kind would I buy for you?”
“Not make?” she teases.
“Not unless you want food poisoning,” I admit, and she laughs again. I fucking love the sound of her laugh. “Ordering in is best, I promise you.”
“I’m not a big lover of birthday cake,” she admits. “I’d prefer a cookie.”
“I can’t wait for your birthday,” I say, wiggling my brows. “Cookie for breakfast, gravy and peas for dinner, and…”
“And?”
“Well, what else would we do on your day?”
She frowns. “My day? It’s my birthday, Van,” she says, half-laughing but it’s that awkward, forced laugh. “The day will be spent doing the rounds and probably enduring a birthday party for everyone to come and see me.”
I stare at her, waiting for the punchline, but none comes.
Fuck me, this is awful.
“That’s not your birthday, daisy.”
She blinks, pursing her lips. “Yes, it is.”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s a public event where people happen to remember you were born. That is not the same as celebrating your life.”
A surprised laugh escapes her, and her scent dims with confusion and disbelief. I wish we had a bond right now.
Not so I could feel her—although that would be perfect—but so she could feel me.
So she could feel how upset this makes me.
How much I want to fix it and make it right.
“That’s not the same thing,” I repeat.
“Then what should I do?” she asks carefully.
“Your birthday should be about what you want,” I say. “It’s not about obligations, but about you getting to do whatever it is you want.”
She blinks at me in surprise.
“I don’t think that’s how birthdays work.”
I stare at her, wishing I could shake the thought right out of her head.
She is allowed to want things. Allowed to need things. Allowed to take up space.
And fuck anyone who makes her think otherwise.
“Then what are they for?” I ask.
She opens her mouth, probably to argue about how selfish a question this is, or how it can’t work like that for whatever reason she’s come up with.
But then, she closes it again.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
The look on her face punches straight through me.
Nobody asks her that anymore.
Or at least, nobody asks and actually wants to hear the answer.
“What if I want to see my family?” she asks, scrunching her face up in confusion.
“Then we’d see your family.”
“We?”
I shrug, not wanting to drop the others in it just yet, but she’s never going to spend another birthday alone if I can help it.
Which I can.
“Obviously.”
Her cheeks immediately turn pink, and the sweetness in her scent spikes enough that I have to pretend not to notice.
“If you wanted to spend all day in pyjamas, we’d do that.”
“I don’t wear pyjamas all day.”
“You absolutely do.” I cross my arms, refusing to believe otherwise.
Everyone has sneaky pyjama days.
She gapes at me, looking so affronted. “I do not.”
“You have fairy lights in your office nest.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves everything.”
Cassie laughs, a proper one again, and it’s the best sound in the world.
“If you wanted cookies for breakfast, we’d have cookies for breakfast. If you wanted a hundred cookies for breakfast, I’d be concerned, but we’d discuss it.”
“A hundred?”
“I’d support your dreams before gently encouraging medical intervention.”
She snorts, and I have to hold back the fuck yes I want to scream at making her lose her composure.
“And if you wanted to spend the entire day hidden away with the people you love, then that’s what we’d do.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Something soft flickers across her face, a vulnerability I’m not meant to notice.
But I do.
“That’s a nice idea,” she says quietly.
I smile through the pain I’m feeling. Her easy dismissal is too telling, too punishing.
“It shouldn’t be an idea, daisy. It shouldn’t sound impossible.”
“It kind of is.”
The response hurts more than it should. Because she means it.
Because somewhere along the way, my mate learned that wanting things for herself was selfish. Something she needed to apologise for.
And I already know I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving her wrong.
She shakes her head and waves the conversation on, her smile returning to normal, and something warm settles between us. A comfortable, easy atmosphere that I wish we could’ve had from the beginning.
By the time dessert arrives, we’re both leaning close into each other, neither of us making much effort to reclaim our personal space. She’s touching me willingly, and she hasn’t apologised for wanting to once.
By the time the bill arrives, neither of us seems particularly eager to leave. I could spend the rest of my life in this bubble now.
And by the time we’re standing outside beneath the glow of the restaurant lanterns, I realise something has shifted between us.
Cassie is looking at me differently now. Less like she’s waiting for me to ruin everything, and more like she might actually want to stay.
At least a little bit.
The evening air is cool as we walk back towards the car, and as I open her door, she grasps my forearm, stopping me from walking away.
“Thank you.” Her voice is so quiet it almost breaks me.
I glance down at her, raising a brow. “For dinner?”
She nods, then hesitates. “For listening.”
The words land heavily enough that her face falls, horror replacing her gratitude. I drop my arm and wrap her into a side-hug, brushing the softest kiss to the top of her head.
“Any time, daisy. I mean that.”
She melts into my hold, breathing me in in greedy gulps, and hugs me back.
For the first time since finding my scent match, I stop worrying about whether she’ll ever choose me, and instead, I can focus on how to get her to choose the others, too.
Cassie deserves her entire pack, and if I have to drag the idiots kicking and screaming towards her, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
It’s my job as her alpha to make damn sure she gets everything in this world.
Even the mates she doesn’t know are already hers.