Chapter 12 Theo #3
I come back with a warm washcloth and a blanket. She’s curled up on the couch, still naked, looking thoroughly debauched and completely satisfied. I want to memorize her exactly like this.
I clean her up properly this time, then settle back onto the couch and pull her into my arms. The blanket goes over both of us—both still naked, skin against skin—and she snuggles into my chest with a contented sigh.
“That was amazing,” she murmurs.
“Just wait until I can actually take my time.” I press a kiss to her hair. “I have plans.”
“Plans involving the potting bench?”
“Among other things.”
She laughs, and the sound warms me from the inside. This is real. She’s here. She’s ours.
Not just mine—ours. But for tonight, she’s in my arms, and that’s enough.
We end up watching some movie neither of us pays attention to, her head on my chest, my hand tracing patterns on her bare back. The quiet feels earned now—intimate in a way it wasn’t before.
I have Lucas and Nate. I’m not alone. But this—an omega in my arms, our omega—this is what’s been missing. Having her here, warm against my side, makes the last ten years feel like holding my breath.
“Tell me something,” she murmurs. “Something I don’t know.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Something from the years I missed. Something that matters.”
“I have a tradition,” I say after a moment. “Every spring, when the first seedlings sprout, I talk to them. Tell them about my day, what’s happening in my life. Old Mr. Henderson used to do it—said plants grow better when you pay attention to them. I thought he was crazy until I tried it myself.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s weird.”
“It’s beautiful and weird.” She tilts her head to look at me. “What do you tell them?”
“Depends on the day. Sometimes it’s work stuff—problems with drainage or pest control. Sometimes it’s about Lucas being annoying or Nate being impossible to read.” I pause. “Sometimes it’s about you.”
“Me?”
“I’d tell them about the girl I used to know.
How she laughed at everything, even when it wasn’t funny.
What her smile looked like when she was proud of something.
How I still thought about her even though I tried not to.
How I’d see someone with auburn hair on the street and my heart would stop for a second before I remembered.
” My voice drops. “They’ve been hearing about you for a decade, Cara.
You’re very famous among my tomato plants. ”
She laughs, but there’s something wet in her eyes. “Theo...”
“I know. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic.” She kisses me—soft, quick, tender. “It’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever told me.”
“Including the stuff in your books?”
“I wrote those books. I made that up.” She settles back against my chest. “This is real. Real is always better.”
We stay like that for a long time. Breathing together. Existing together. The TV murmurs in the background, and outside the window, snow has started to fall again, soft and quiet.
“I should probably go,” she says eventually. “Before Grandma sends a search party.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
“Five more minutes,” she murmurs.
“Okay.”
“And then five more after that.”
“Whatever you want.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I drive her home at ten, the roads slick with fresh snow. She sits close—closer than the bench seat requires—her hand on my knee while I navigate the familiar turns. Every few minutes, her thumb strokes back and forth, and I have to remind myself to focus on the road.
“You’re distracting,” I tell her.
“I know.” She doesn’t move her hand. If anything, her thumb strokes higher. “You started it.”
“Pretty sure you started it. In the greenhouse.”
“Details.” But she’s smiling.
I walk her to the door because that’s what you do. The porch light is on. The curtain twitches—Eileen, keeping watch.
“Grandma’s watching,” Cara says.
“I know.”
“She’s probably thrilled. This is exactly what she wanted when she ‘needed help’ and guilt-tripped me into coming back.”
“You think she planned this?”
“I think Eileen Donovan has never done anything without a plan in her entire life.” Cara shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “She’s been not-so-subtly asking about all three of you since I got here.”
“Smart woman.”
“Manipulative woman.”
“Same thing, sometimes.”
She laughs, and the sound warms me from the inside out.
We stand there, breath fogging in the cold air. Her cheeks are pink from the temperature, her eyes bright. She looks happy. Actually, genuinely happy.
I did that. I made her happy.
“Thank you,” she says. “For today. For the greenhouse and the risotto and just... being you.”
“Thank you for letting me.” I cup her face in my hands, feeling the cold of her cheeks, the warmth of her breath. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Are you asking me on another date?”
“I’m asking for what I want.” I grin. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing?”
“It’s exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.” She rises on her toes and kisses me. Soft. Sweet. Full of promise. “Yes. Same time tomorrow.”
“I’ll bring plants.”
“I have no idea what to do with plants.”
“I’ll teach you. Everyone should know how to keep something alive.”
She laughs against my mouth. “Goodnight, Theo.”
“Goodnight, Cara.”
I watch her go inside. Wave at Eileen’s silhouette in the window—pretending I can’t see her seems rude. Then I get in my truck and drive home with her scent still clinging to my clothes and her taste still on my lips.
The snow falls heavier now, coating the roads in white. I drive slowly, carefully, thinking about everything and nothing.
My phone buzzes when I’m halfway there.
Lucas: How did it go?
I pull over to answer. Safety first.
Theo: Good. Really good.
Lucas: Define good.
Theo: Made her risotto. Told her about talking to my tomato plants. She called it romantic.
Lucas: You told her about the tomato plant thing?
Theo: Apparently I tell her everything now. It’s a problem.
Lucas: That tracks. You’ve always been an open book.
Theo: Unlike some people.
Lucas: I have appropriate professional boundaries.
Theo: You came home at 10pm raving about her books and kept me up until 3am.
Lucas: That was... important information sharing.
Nate: Stop texting. Some of us are trying to sleep.
Lucas: It’s 10:30.
Nate: I have a shift at 6.
Theo: Nate. She’s worth losing sleep over.
A long pause. The snow taps against my windshield. I watch the wipers clear it away, over and over.
Nate: I know.
That’s as close to an emotional admission as Nate Thorn ever gets. Coming from him, it might as well be a sonnet.
Theo: Your turn tomorrow?
Nate: Maybe.
Lucas: That’s a yes.
Nate: That’s a maybe.
Lucas: Nate Jean Thorn.
Nate: Don’t use my middle name.
Lucas: Then stop being evasive.
Nate: Fine. Yes. Tomorrow. Now go to sleep.
I pull back onto the road, grinning like an idiot.
Tomorrow Nate will see her. Tomorrow we’ll be one step closer to something that felt impossible a week ago.
There are still conversations to have. Still things to figure out. But for the first time in a decade, I let myself want something without apologizing for it.
And it feels like spring.