Chapter 12
Harris
Five Years Later…
Twisted Oak hasn’t changed much.
Same quiet streets. Same swaying trees. Same cozy diner where the coffee’s strong and the gossip stronger. The old wooden welcome sign still stands at the edge of town, hand-carved and weathered, the same way it looked the first time she drove past it.
But everything in my world is different now.
Because she’s in it.
I walk through the front door of our cabin—the same one I built bigger, warmer, ours now—and the scent of cinnamon hits me first. Then laughter. And then the sound of little feet running full speed down the hall.
I barely have time to set down the bag of groceries before a blur of curls and giggles launches at me.
“Daddy!”
I scoop our daughter into my arms and spin her around, her laughter echoing off the walls.
She’s got her mama’s eyes and her wild heart. Smart and fearless, always asking questions and never sitting still. Her name is Ivy, and she’s the fiercest little cub in the pack.
“Hey there, wild cub. You been helping your mama?”
“Kind of,” she says, all innocence and sass. “I stirred the stuff. But then I spilled it. So I had to clean the floor. And I got distracted. ”
I grin. “I’m shocked.”
She beams and presses a kiss to my cheek before squirming down and racing back toward the kitchen, where the smell of vanilla and sugar is thick enough to bite into.
“Don’t run!” Lark calls out from behind the counter, a smudge of flour on her cheek and an apron tied around her waist. She turns to me with a smile that still knocks the breath right out of my lungs. “Hey, handsome.”
“Hey, yourself.”
I cross the room, wrap my arms around her from behind, and rest my chin on her shoulder. Her body fits against mine like it always has. Like it always will.
“You smell good,” I murmur. “Something cinnamon-y?”
“Snickerdoodles,” she says, leaning into me. “For your pack meeting later.”
“God, I love you.”
She smiles and twists to face me, her hand resting on my chest. “Still?”
“Always.”
I kiss her, slow and sweet, tasting sugar and home and forever. She hums into my mouth, one hand sliding into my hair.
There are still moments where I can’t believe she’s real. That she chose this. Chose me .
In five years, we’ve built a life I never dreamed I could have. She runs a local marketing business now, helping small shops in town with social media and branding. She turned her skillset into something that makes a difference here. People trust her. Hell, they adore her.
I’m still at the firehouse, still chasing flames, but I come home to them . Every night.
My mate. My cub. My pack.
And speaking of...
The front door opens again, and Logan steps inside, followed by Tucker, Crew, Miles, and Jensen. They all greet Lark with hugs, steal a few cookies off the cooling rack, and ruffle Ivy’s hair as she darts between them like a tiny tornado.
Jensen has a toddler on his hip now—his son, Dean—and I shake my head at how fast time flies. The younger generation of our pack is growing. Strong. Loved. Safe.
“Pack meeting or cookie raid?” I ask.
Miles shrugs. “Why not both?”
Lark laughs and shakes her head, handing Ivy a book and promising a bedtime story in a few minutes. Ivy scampers up the stairs after Miles’ son, leaving a trail of giggles in her wake.
Lark leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be upstairs in a bit.”
“Don’t be long,” I murmur.
Then it’s just the guys and me in the living room. We settle into our usual spots. The fire crackles, casting warm shadows across the walls. This room has seen strategy, laughter, heartbreak, and brotherhood.
Miles pulls out a folder and passes it to me. “Update on that fire last week. It was a lightning strike that started it.”
I nod, tossing the folder onto the counter. “Anything else we need to discuss?”
We talk about a budgeting meeting coming up, and the meeting eventually turns into beers and banter. Old stories. New jokes. Someone burns the popcorn and blames Miles’ toddler.
And the whole time, I feel her upstairs. Lark.
When the guys clear out and the house quiets, I head up to check on my girls.
Ivy is asleep in her room, curled up with a bear plushie Lark made her last Christmas. She looks peaceful and innocent—the best part of both of us.
Lark is sliding her robe over her shoulders when I walk into our bedroom. She smiles. “Everything okay downstairs?”
I nod, closing the door behind me. “Yeah, just going over things.”
She crosses to me and places a hand on my chest. “You’re tense.”
“Not anymore,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.
She leans up and kisses me, slow and thorough. And just like that, the world shrinks down to what matters. Her. Us.
We fall into bed with practiced ease. She fits against me like she was made for this life. For me.
“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.
“Always,” I breathe.
Later, when she’s curled against me and our room is filled with the soft sound of her breathing, I look out the window at the stars above Twisted Oak.
Five years ago, I found my mate on the side of a broken dream.
Now I wake up every day inside a new one.
And every night, I thank fate for bringing her home.