17. Sadie #2
The weight in his voice makes my pulse quicken. “What does permanent look like to you?”
“Roots. Community. People who matter and who you matter to in return.” His hand tightens on mine. “Someone to come home to at the end of the day.”
“Someone?”
“Someone who smells like honeysuckle and argues with flower suppliers and remembers exactly how Mrs. Woodbury likes her weekly arrangement.” His thumb traces across my knuckles again. “Someone who makes me want to be the best version of myself.”
My breath catches. “Caleb.”
“Too much?”
“Not too much. Just... intense.”
“I don’t know how to be anything else with you.” His voice drops, becomes rougher. “You make me want things I’ve never let myself want before.”
“Like what?”
“Like lazy Sunday mornings and shared coffee and someone to tell about my day. Like building something that lasts instead of just getting through the next deployment.”
The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It could be. With the right person. The right pack.”
We look at each other across the table, the air between us charged with possibility. Around us, the restaurant continues its evening rhythm, but it feels like we’re in our own bubble.
“What about you?” he asks eventually. “What do you want your life to look like?”
I consider the question while taking another bite of perfectly seasoned vegetables. “I used to think I wanted complete independence. To prove I could handle everything on my own.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m starting to think independence and support aren’t mutually exclusive.” I glance out the window at the lights of home spread below us. “I love my business, my town, the life I’ve built. But maybe it could be even better with the right people to share it with.”
“People. Pack?”
“A pack yes.” I confirm, watching his face carefully.
His smile is slow and satisfied.
“I want that. Making you happy. Keeping you safe. Building something beautiful together.”
The simple certainty in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. “You make it sound easy.”
“The best things usually are, once you stop fighting them.”
We finish dinner as full darkness settles over the mountains.
The conversation flows easily now, moving from childhood memories to dreams for the future to ridiculous stories that make me laugh until my sides hurt.
Caleb in relaxed mode is a revelation—funny and charming and surprisingly good at impressions of various townspeople that have me nearly snorting wine.
When he mimics Reid’s precise way of explaining architectural concepts, complete with hand gestures, I laugh so hard I have to wipe tears from my eyes.
“Stop,” I gasp. “That’s terrible. And completely accurate.”
“The man talks about load-bearing walls the way other people discuss poetry.”
“And Levi actually does discuss poetry.”
“Which is why this is going to work,” Caleb says with satisfaction. “We all bring different things to the table.”
The easy way he talks about the four of us as a unit makes something warm settle in my chest. Like it’s already decided, already real.
By the time we head back to the truck, I’m pleasantly wine-warmed and completely charmed by this version of Caleb. Relaxed, funny, openly affectionate in a way that makes me feel cherished rather than overwhelmed.
The drive down the mountain passes in comfortable quiet, country music playing softly while his hand covers mine on the console. Every so often he’ll point out something in the landscape or share a memory about exploring these roads with Dean when they were teenagers.
“Thank you,” I tell him as we pull up outside my building. “For dinner, for the conversation, for showing me this side of yourself.”
“Thank you for letting me.” He parks and comes around to open my door, offering his hand to help me down from the truck. “Walk you to your door?”
“Please.”
The short walk to my building’s entrance feels charged with anticipation.
My suppressants have worn off enough that his sandalwood scent wraps around me like warm honey, making me hyperaware of how close he is, how solid and warm he feels when his hand brushes mine.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs leading up to my apartment, both of us slow to a stop.
“This was perfect,” I say softly, turning to face him in the soft glow of the streetlight. My heart’s beating so fast I’m sure he can hear it. “You’re perfect.”
His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones, and I can see his pupils dilate as he breathes in my scent. “Not perfect. But maybe perfect for you.”
“Maybe?” I rise on my toes, bringing us closer together, and his breath catches.
“Definitely,” he corrects, voice rough with want. “Definitely perfect for you.”
When he kisses me, it starts soft and sweet, but when I sigh against his mouth and pull him closer, something shifts.
His hands tighten on my face as the kiss deepens, becomes hungrier.
I can taste his restraint breaking down, can feel the careful control he’s been maintaining all evening starting to crack.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us. His body is solid and warm against mine, and when I press closer, seeking more contact, I feel exactly how much this evening has affected him. The hard length of him against my hip makes me gasp into his mouth.
“Sadie,” he groans against my lips, voice rough with want. His hands slide down to my waist, holding me against him like he can’t bear to let go.
“I know,” I breathe, because I can feel how much he wants me, can smell how his scent has deepened with arousal. My own body responds with a rush of heat, slick dampening my underwear as my omega biology recognizes an interested alpha.
He backs me gently against the brick wall of my building, his mouth finding that sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me arch against him with a soft moan.
The sound seems to undo something in his restraint, because suddenly his hands are roaming with more purpose, mapping the curve of my waist through my dress.
“You’re killing me,” he murmurs against my throat, but his mouth continues its assault on my senses, trailing kisses along my jaw until I’m trembling with want.
“Then come upstairs,” I whisper, surprising myself with my boldness. “Please, Caleb. I want?—”
He captures my mouth again, cutting off my words with a kiss that’s desperate and claiming. For a moment I think he’s going to say yes, going to take what we both so obviously want.
Then he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine while we both struggle to catch our breath. In the dim streetlight, I can see the war between desire and restraint playing across his features.
“You have to work tomorrow,” he says finally, voice strained with the effort of being sensible. “Early morning, festival prep. You need sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” I protest, my hands still fisted in his shirt. “I want you.”
The simple confession makes him groan, his grip on my waist tightening. “Fuck, Sadie. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” I breathe against his lips.
For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to give in. Then he’s kissing me once more, soft and lingering, before stepping back with visible effort.
“Soon,” he promises, his thumb tracing along my jaw. “But not when you’re tired and we’re both running on adrenaline. When we do this—and we will do this—I want you completely sure. Completely present.”
The gentlemanly restraint should frustrate me, but instead it makes me want him even more. He’s putting my needs first, even when I’m practically begging him not to.
“You’re too good to me,” I whisper.
“Never too good for you.” He presses one more soft kiss to my forehead. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you bright and early for festival prep.”
“Sweet dreams, Sadie.”
“Sweet dreams.”
I watch him walk back to his truck, my lips still tingling and my heart racing with possibility. When he drives away with a final wave, I’m left standing at the bottom of my stairs feeling like the luckiest woman in Montana.
Three men who want to court me. Who see me as someone worth building dreams around.
Maybe this is what happiness feels like. Not just contentment or getting by, but actual joy in what’s possible.
I climb the stairs to my apartment, already looking forward to tomorrow and whatever comes next in this beautiful, complicated thing we’re building together.