Chapter 22 #2
“I love the idea of living right by the docks. And being within walking distance of the Saturday Market is appealing.” I rise to follow her, using the counter for support, and turn on the kettle.
“But if I’m being honest with myself, my knee isn’t always up for long walks, and I’d likely drive to the docks anyway, so is it worth the added expense to live right on the water? ”
“Not if the view doesn’t inspire you.” She turns to grab a drying towel and props her hip against the sink. “Does staring at the vast blue water fill you with the desire to put your fingers to your keyboard and write?”
I hang my head. “Can’t say much of anything inspires me to write these days. Maybe I’ve lost the passion for it.”
“Passions ebb and flow.” She leans over to set the mugs back into the insulated bag, bringing her body temptingly close to me. “They’re like the ocean in that way. The tide will come back when you’re ready.”
Her nearness, the warmth of her body, and the faint trace of soap and cedar that lingers beneath the rain stir a desire I’ve been trying hard to ignore.
She has no idea what it does to me, especially when her breathing softens as she speaks about tides and time, giving me a calm so real it blankets over me.
When she straightens, our shoulders brush, and the brief, accidental contact sends my pulse stumbling.
I’ve known plenty of Alphas, all loud, commanding, or eager to fill every silence, but Emily isn’t like that.
Her presence carries a grounding weight that tugs at me until the gravity to move closer nearly wins.
But Alphas are biologically wired to protect the wounded. Her quiet insistence on feeding me and scolding me into sitting down means nothing more. But the part of me not ruled by logic that aches for gentleness and safety doesn’t believe it.
She turns back to me, silver hair catching the lamplight. “You’ll figure it out when the time is right. And if you ever want to explore other parts of Pinecrest, you can always use my number to give me a call. I’d be happy to escort you around.”
The words shouldn’t sound intimate, but my brain whispers that she’s offering more than to act as a tour guide.
But what if she’s not, and I ruin the quiet friendship building between us by asking for more? I’m a Beta, after all, and it’s rare for Betas to end up with Alphas. We’re just not appealing on the same instinctive level as Omegas.
The lights flicker, and the heater stutters, a warning ping echoing through the cabin.
I look upward, as if I can see the storm raging above us. “Uh oh.”
With a snap and a sigh, the power goes out, and the world drops into shadow.
For a second, it’s silent except for the rain pounding on the roof.
Then, Emily cups my elbow, her hand warm through my cardigan. “Let me help you settle, and then I’ll find the lanterns.”
My pulse flutters as her strong, capable hands steady me while she supports my weight over to the sofa. I’m glad for the dark as her easy strength guides me down onto the cushions. I grope for the throw blanket, drawing it across my lap to hide the effect she has on me.
I’ve never considered myself a delicate man, nor did I ever think I’d want to be, but the effortless way this female Alpha handles me sends a molten pull straight through my hips.
Emily strides back to the counter, pulling open a cabinet. Within seconds, she has a rechargeable lantern in hand and a box of matches tucked between her fingers.
“Who knows how long the grid will be down,” she mutters, flicking the lantern’s switch. Nothing happens. Her brow furrows, and she pops open the battery compartment, inspecting it in the weak light.
“There are some candles over by the desk,” I say, pointing.
She sets down the lantern and moves to find them. She returns with a handful and arranges them on the table, lighting each one until the cabin glows with soft, uneven light.
Emily turns to the dead fireplace. “All right, let’s get you heat that doesn’t rely on the grid.”
She kneels on the hearth and tugs the screen aside, checking inside before heading for the wood box by the door.
“I appreciate your help.” I tug the blanket closer, the air cooling with the heater now out. “Fire-building isn’t exactly in my skill set. I’d have been sitting here freezing until Kyle came home.”
“I’ll teach you next time,” she murmurs as she arranges kindling and logs.
She crumples paper into loose knots, creates a bed of pencil-thin sticks, then lays two small logs crosswise on top.
“Did your gran teach you this, too?” I ask, because talking is easier than admitting how the sight of her in this intimate setting fills me with an ache for a different kind of warmth than can be found by a fire.
“Roofing crews and cold winters,” she says as she strikes a match. “Old habits stick.”
Flame blooms along the paper, scurries into the kindling, and the little logs take with a low rush. She settles the screen back into place, adjusting the vent until the fire burns steadily.
Warmth pushes out, chasing away the chill. Emily lingers in a crouch, studying the burn, and a barely audible rumble rises from her chest, like a cat purr translated through a human throat. It vibrates the air more than it does my ears.
An Alpha’s comfort, my brain supplies. The realization knocks me a little stupid, and I clutch the blanket over my groin harder.
She stands and brushes her palms on her jeans, then crosses to the sofa. “Feet up.”
“I don’t need…” I trail off when she ignores me, tugging a second blanket from a nearby basket and tucking it over my calves.
“The cold will stiffen up your knee.” The rumble lingers under her words. “Best to keep it warm instead of pretending it’s fine.”
“I am fine,” I lie, my face as hot as the fire. “This is—you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” she says, then crouches by the hearth again to add one more log. Sparks climb the flue.
My knee eases, and the ache in my hip loosens. Emily is all competence and quiet strength, silhouetted by the flicker of flames, and I snuggle down into the cushions.
I should be careful. It would be too easy to grow used to this.