Ivy
Thane drives… carefully.
Okay. Thane drives like a grandma, at least with me in the car. Both hands on the wheel, mirrors checked, speed exactly at the limit, not a hair over or under.
It's perfect.
Sitting in a warm, comfortable car with an alpha who signals three full seconds before every lane change feels like a luxury spa treatment after the constant adrenaline that's been simmering inside me for so long.
"You can change the music," he offers. "If you want."
"I like this." It's some soft classic rock station, turned low. I do lean forward to turn it up a little, though. "What I want is to know where we're going. I know it's a restaurant, but what else?"
"How much of a hint do you want?"
"A moderate one?"
"It's by the river."
"Ooh." I settle back in my seat. "That's fancy. All the riverside restaurants are. Should I be scared? Because you're considerably more dressed up than I am."
"No. You're perfect," he murmurs, glancing over.
The streetlights slide over his face in slow strips, gold then shadow then gold, and light up his hair where it brushes his collar. It suits him so fucking much I want to bury my hands in it.
I want to put my hands all over his biceps, too, which strain the shoulders of his suit whenever he turns the wheel.
He catches me looking and reaches up to tug at his collar. Then his lapel. Then he rolls his shoulder against the seat, subtle, like the jacket is slightly too small.
It's snug on him, and I'm noticing a slight thickness to him that wasn't there before. I guess holding a pack of psycho alphas and a maybe equally psycho omega together with his bare hands hasn't just given him a few premature gray hairs at his temples.
Oh yeah. He's getting a massage tonight.
A long one.
Not just because he's fucking hot and I want my hands all over him. I really do want to help him relax. If he doesn't decompress, he's going to spontaneously combust.
"So," he says, his eyes locked on the road. "Fair warning. Another hint. The restaurant is… traditional." He pauses and his thumb taps the wheel. "I know it's not exactly fireworks."
"Fireworks?" I echo curiously.
"Never mind," he says, clearing his throat like he almost spoiled something. "I just, uh, I know I'm the… normal one. Dinner and conversation. I understand if it's not—"
"Thane."
"—the most exciting—"
"Thaaaaane."
He stops, mouth partially open, and shuts it. The light turns green and he pulls forward, ears going pink for the third time tonight, and oh my God, he's serious.
He's worried he's boring.
It is the most adorable thing ever, and I've watched Wraith try to fold a fitted sheet.
"Do you know what I dreamed about in the tunnels?" I ask. "When I let myself dream at all?"
His eyes flick to me.
"Dinner. At a table. With someone who wanted me there." I reach over and rest my hand on his solid thigh, and the muscle jumps under my palm. "You're not boring, Thane. I fucking love that you're sweet and considerate."
He's quiet for an entire block. His hand leaves the wheel—a first—and covers mine, engulfing it.
"I'm not sweet," he grumbles. "You haven't seen me fight yet."
"I have, in clips." I lean way up and over to press a kiss to his jaw. "But I only see the sweet side of you."
He brushes his fingers against his face where I just kissed him, and he's practically on cloud nine as he pulls into the valet parking lot. He gets my door for me, offering his hand, too, and then hands the keys off to a valet who looks like a cartoon butler, swirly mustache and all.
This place really is fancy.
The hostess calls Thane "Mr. Belmont" and walks us past the candlelit dining room entirely, up a narrow staircase to a private balcony overlooking the water.
One table, two chairs. Nobody to stare at my scar or Thane's famous face.
"The owner owes my father," Thane says, pulling out my chair. "I cashed it in."
"Okay," I admit, settling into my chair. "This is incredible."
The water below the balcony glimmers with the last of the sunset, and the balcony itself is lit by strings of fairy lights winding through the railing. A candle in a glass globe sits between us, flickering in the soft breeze.
"The food's better than the view." He sits across from me and immediately tugs at his lapel again, scratching at his neck. "The chef trained in Paris. Order whatever you want. Fuck, order two of whatever you want. Or more."
I order the duck breast. He orders the ribeye, then asks the server a few questions about the wine list and picks one that tastes like blackberries when it arrives.
The duck is so good I make a sound that turns Thane's ears pink again.
"That's the chef's signature," he says, watching me chase the sauce with my fork. "Cherry reduction."
"This is the best thing I've eaten since I started living off vending machines." I point my fork at him. "And before you say anything, that includes the gas station nachos Whiskey drives almost an hour for."
"He made you eat the nachos?"
"He didn't make me. He just looked so excited, I couldn’t say no."
"Yeah, well, excitement is a red flag where Whiskey's concerned. Just a heads up."
I laugh hard enough the candle almost goes out, which makes me laugh harder. Thane watches me in absolute wonder like he can't believe the sound is happening at his table.
"Tell me something," I say, stealing a bite of his ribeye without asking. He'd say yes anyway. Hell, if I asked, he'd probably panic and give me the whole thing. "Something I don't know about you. Not Captain Belmont. You."
He chews, considering. "I wanted to be a marine biologist until I was eleven."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. I had a shark phase. A fucking long one.
My mom still has the drawings." He cuts another piece of steak and deposits it on my plate without comment, just because he can tell I liked the first stolen bite.
"Then my dad took me to my first NHL game, and the goalie got run over by a forward and got up and kept playing, and that was it. Sharks were over, much to his relief. And Wraith’s. Because… uh. Yeah."
He clears his throat.
I have a theory of why Wraith was relieved the shark phase was over, but that’s an inside thought.
"You watched a man get flattened and decided that's the job for me,” I say instead.
"I decided I wanted to be the wall." He shrugs one big shoulder. "Somebody has to be."
I get the feeling he isn't just talking about hockey.
"Your turn," he says. "Something I don't know."
I twirl my fork through the cherry reduction while I think. Most of my secrets are already out there. And most of them are heavy.
Tonight isn't for heavy.
"I read," I say. "Like, a lot. Or I did, before."
"What kind of books?"
"Everything. The backs of shampoo bottles if nothing else was available.
" I sip the blackberry wine. "When I was a kid, the library was the one place nobody bothered me.
The librarian used to hold new books she thought I'd like.
She'd hide them under the desk for me, and when I came up to the counter to check out, she'd slide them over like we were doing a drug deal. "
Thane sets his fork down and leans forward to watch me. "What was the contraband?"
"Dragon books, mostly. Then murder books. And then romance. Um, sometimes all at once." I point my fork at him again. "Don't tell Valek that. He'll be insufferable about 'murder' and 'romance' in the same breath."
Thane snorts, then grows serious again. "Why did you stop? Because of…"
He trails off, but he doesn't need to finish. I know what he's asking.
And it doesn't sting the way it used to.
Not on this balcony, not with the water all lit up and glittery below and delicious warm food.
"My ex thought reading was me ignoring him." I shrug the shoulder with the scar. Thane's eyes stay on mine instead of going to it. "So the books went away one by one."
"Guess you'll have to start collecting again," he says softly.
I manage a little laugh. "Guess I will."
"What were your favorites?" he asks, swirling his wine around.
"Why? So you can read them?" I tease.
"So I can buy them." He says it like it's already done, then catches my expression and backpedals. "Uh. If you want. I just thought… well, you already spend a lot of time in the loft, and it's perfect for reading. We could put in bookcases. Real ones, with those Pinterest ladders and everything."
"Pinterest ladders?" I echo, fighting for my life to hold back the giggle attack. "Wait, have you researched this?"
"Not that specifically," he says, almost defensively, "but things that might make the pack house nicer for an omega, yes. Of course I have. I want you to be happy."
Gods, I love him so much.
"Okay," I say, grinning again. "But we'll need really tall bookcases so the best smut can go on the top shelves where Whiskey can't reach them. The last thing I need is Whiskey reading my fairy smut out loud."
"Whiskey is six foot eight."
"Yeah. We'll need very tall bookcases."
He laughs at that, and this time, it's a bigger, full-bodied laugh.
I'm laughing, too, and I'm also realizing I don't hear Thane laugh enough.
He chuckles, snorts, and exhales in amusement.
But genuine laughter is rare from the alpha who spends every waking minute holding the sky up so the rest of the pack doesn't get crushed.
I want to make him laugh more.
I want to make him do a lot of things more. Like let someone else carry the pack for five fucking minutes so he can relax for once.
The server clears our plates and Thane orders dessert without asking me, which ordinarily might annoy me, except that he tells me without being prompted that they only have one dessert here and it's chocolate torte. So we don’t exactly have any options to discuss.
The chocolate torte is so dense and rich, I would forgive him immediately anyway. Hell, he could kidnap me after this and I don't think I'd mind as long as I had the fucking torte stuffed in my mouth.
I tell him that, and he laughs again.
This time, his warm, calloused hand finds mine.
Just then, as if the universe itself is celebrating this peaceful moment between the Ghosts' pack alpha and me, the breeze catches the fairy lights and sends tiny spots of gold skittering and twinkling across the table between us, lighting up the little scars and marks across his knuckles.
And now I'm thinking about marks.
My fingers drift to my shoulder before I catch myself, to the smooth, slightly raised scar tissue beneath the thin strap of my dress. It's my mark now, and nobody else's.
My next mark will be the first page of something new.
And I know who I want it from.
"What are you thinking about?" Thane asks, his thumb following my own knuckles, bumping between them thoughtfully.
I already feel the blush crawling up my neck. "You."
He tilts his head. Kind of like Wraith does, I notice. They really are brothers. "What about me?" he asks.
"Just… how much I like you." I squeeze his hand and lean back in my chair, thinking about what I'm going to say next.
I can't just hit him with fuck me and mark me as soon as we get home.
He's kind of adorably bashful, actually.
"And how I have plans for you tonight that involve a little more than a massage. "
I grin at him again.
Now his whole face is on fire, not just his ears, and he pushes his hair back from his face and grins sheepishly back at me.
"The date's not over yet, Ivy."
I blink. "It's not?"
"Not even close."
His eyes hold mine across the candlelight, and as dark as they already are, they somehow darken further. My stomach swoops. He stands, still holding my hand, and drops enough cash on the table to buy a second dinner.
"Where are we going?" I ask, letting him pull me to my feet.
He leans down, his mouth close to my ear and his breath warm against my throat, stirring my hair enough to tickle my scar.
"Just trust me."