18. Caleb
Caleb
W ednesday afternoon at the Miller place and I can’t concentrate on the festival logistics spreadsheet.
The festival’s still over a week away, but we’re hitting the intensive prep phase, and instead of focusing on vendor schedules, all I can think about is the way she looked at me afterward—like I was someone worth trusting with her vulnerability.
And how much I want her. How much I ache for her in ways that go beyond just physical need.
The Millers are due back Sunday. I’ll need to find somewhere else, though Aunt Maeve’s already offered her spare room. Still, the idea of going backward to staying with family when I’m trying to build something permanent with Sadie doesn’t sit right.
Watching Sadie move between the three of us with growing confidence, like she’s finally accepting what we’ve been trying to show her.
The way she leans into Levi when he brings her coffee, catches my eye across the shop when Reid makes her laugh, reaches for my hand when we’re reviewing vendor schedules.
Each touch, each look, each smile makes me want things I’ve never let myself want before.
Natural. Like we’re becoming exactly what we’re meant to be.
For the first time since I got back, I don’t want to be the one who has to leave.
I grab my coffee and keys. Need movement to process what’s building in my chest. The drive toward town takes me past Willow Creek Road, where I slow down without thinking about it.
The cottage sits back from the road on what looks like several acres of land.
White clapboard siding weathered to soft gray.
Wide front porch with room for chairs and morning coffee.
Garden space that’s been well-maintained but has room for expansion.
From what I can see, it looks like four or five bedrooms, living areas that flow together on the main floor.
It’s only ten minutes from Aunt Maeve’s place.
Close enough to family but far enough for privacy.
Perfect for a pack. Room to grow.
But this afternoon, watching late light catch the windows, I can picture all of us living there.
Sadie with her hands in the soil, coaxing flowers from that well-maintained garden.
All of us having coffee on that wide porch on weekend mornings.
The four or five bedrooms would give us space to grow, and there’s even what looks like a built-in nesting room on the upper level. Building something that lasts.
The fantasy of her in that space, surrounded by things we’ve chosen together, makes my cock stir with want and something deeper.
After Sunday, after the way she responded to all of us, it feels possible. Real.
I need to find my own place though. Not just because the Millers are coming back, but because I’m ready to stop borrowing other people’s lives and start building my own.
I pull into the driveway, heart beating faster than it should.
Time to show her what I’m thinking. See if she wants the same future I do.
My phone buzzes. Text from Sadie. Festival prep going smoothly today. Reid’s supplier connections are amazing. Think we might actually pull this off without disaster. You heading over soon?
Her energy comes through even in text messages. Confident, optimistic. Thriving in a way I haven’t seen from her before. Working together is good for her. She’s not drowning in stress anymore.
This is what she looks like when she doesn’t have to handle everything alone.
I text back. On my way. Want to show you something after we finish today?
Mysterious. I like it. See you in twenty.
Instead of dinner out, I have a different idea. Something that might be exactly what we need.
At five-thirty I’m standing outside her shop, watching through the window as she and Levi organize vendor schedules while Reid handles supplier confirmations on his phone. The three of them working in sync, each filling gaps the others leave. It looks right.
But it’s her I can’t stop watching. The graceful way she moves, how her hair catches the light when she turns her head. My alpha instincts recognize her as mine in ways that bypass rational thought.
When I push through the door, the bell chimes and she looks up with that smile that does something warm to my chest and sends heat straight to my groin.
“Perfect timing,” she says, gesturing at the organized chaos of papers and sample arrangements covering every surface. “We just finished coordinating the last vendor placement.”
Her honeysuckle and vanilla scent wraps around me immediately, richer than usual, and I have to fight the urge to cross the room and bury my face in her neck.
“Everything confirmed?” I ask Reid, who nods with satisfaction.
“Suppliers locked in, volunteer schedules distributed. Your logistics spreadsheets made the difference.” Reid closes his laptop with the air of someone who’s used to completing complex projects. “Unless disaster strikes between now and next Saturday, we’re actually ready.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Sadie warns, but she’s grinning. Three days ago she was panicking about timeline. Now she looks confident. In control.
“So,” she says, turning to me with curious eyes that make my pulse quicken. “What’s this mysterious something you wanted to show me?”
Levi and Reid both look interested, and for a second I wonder if I should invite all of them. But this feels like something I need to do with just Sadie first.
“A place I’m thinking about buying. I’d love your opinion before I call the realtor.”
The drive to Willow Creek Road takes fifteen minutes.
Comfortable conversation about festival preparations, but underneath I’m hyperaware of everything about her.
The way her scent—honeysuckle and vanilla—fills my truck and makes my mouth water.
How she hums without realizing while watching the scenery pass.
How the late afternoon light catches the soft skin of her throat.
Every breath I take is filled with her, and my jeans are getting uncomfortably tight.
When I turn onto Willow Creek Road, she sits up straighter.
“This is a beautiful neighborhood. All these old trees.”
“Wait until you see the house.”
I park in front of the cottage and watch her face as she takes it in. The wide porch, the mature oak trees, the garden space that’s wild but full of possibility. The wonder in her expression makes my chest tight and my cock throb with the need to make her mine.
“Caleb.” Wonder in her voice that goes straight to my groin. “It’s gorgeous. Like something from a storybook.”
“Want to look around?”
The front windows are tall enough to peer through, and we can see gleaming hardwood floors that catch the late afternoon light. The place looks immaculate, recently updated but maintaining its character.
“We can’t just look in someone’s windows,” Sadie protests, but she’s already moving toward the front porch.
“There’s a for-sale sign. We’re potential buyers checking out the exterior.”
She laughs, the sound making something primal stir in my chest. “That’s not how it works.”
“Sure it is.” I boost myself up to get a better view through the living room window. “Come look. You can see the kitchen from here.”
What I don’t tell her is I spoke to the realtor earlier, she told me no one is living here and we are welcome to walk around the outside of house today.
Sadie hesitates for a moment, then joins me at the window. Our shoulders brush as we peer inside together, and the contact sends heat racing through me. Her honeysuckle scent wraps around us both, and I have to grip the window ledge to keep from pulling her closer.
“Oh,” she breathes, and the sound goes straight to my cock. “It’s beautiful. Look at that kitchen.”
I try to focus on the house, but all I can think about is how she’d look in that kitchen. Hair falling around her shoulders as she makes coffee in the morning. The domestic fantasy mixing with something much more primal.
We walk around the cottage together, peering through windows like a couple of kids exploring somewhere we’re not supposed to be.
But there’s nothing innocent about the way I’m hyperaware of every move she makes.
She points out details I hadn’t noticed—the way the afternoon light would hit that kitchen window, how the built-in window seat in the living room would be perfect for reading.
Every time she gets excited about something, she touches my arm without thinking.
Brief contact that leaves heat trailing in its wake and makes my cock throb with want.
Her scent grows richer each time, like her omega biology is responding to my proximity, and it’s taking everything I have not to press her against the side of the house and kiss her senseless.
“The garden’s in great shape too,” she says, examining the well-maintained flowerbeds. “Someone really loved this place. Look at the way they’ve maintained the layout. Roses along that fence line, herb garden by the kitchen. Everything’s ready to go.”
When she bends to examine a flower more closely, I catch a glimpse of soft skin at her lower back where her shirt rides up. My hands ache to touch that spot, to trace the curve of her spine.
“What would you plant?” The question comes out rougher than I meant it to.
She considers seriously, hands gesturing as she talks, and I’m mesmerized by the graceful movement.
“Maybe expand the cutting garden for arrangements. Add some bee-friendly flowers along the front walk.” Her eyes brighten as she looks at me.
“This place could be incredible with just a little personal touch.”
The way she looks at me when she says it makes blood rush south. Like she’s picturing us here together, building something real.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She turns to face me fully, and something shifts in the air between us. More charged. “Caleb, this is perfect. Not just the house, but the feeling of it. Like it’s been waiting for the right people to bring it back to life.”
The right people. Plural.