Chapter 7 #2
“The wedding day, I ran. Literally ran in my wedding dress through the woods behind the mansion. Changed my name, came here, started over. And for almost two years, it worked. Until Van found me at the festival the other night.”
“And now your mother is coming to try to convince you to return?”
I nod. “Apparently Van told her where I was, probably hoping to use family pressure to get me back. And he told her I had another Alpha, after meeting you at the Harvest Dance.”
He grins, nodding. “So you need me to play boyfriend again?”
“It sounds so stupid when you say it out loud.”
“More like survival,” he corrects. “You’re protecting yourself the best way you know how.”
Our feet are still touching under the table, and I’m hyperaware of every point of contact, ankle against ankle, the warmth through our clothes, the way he shifts slightly to maintain the connection.
“The thing is,” I continue, “she’s expecting to meet the Alpha who has claimed me so there is no question that I am available.”
“That’s doable. So on Saturday? What time?”
I shake my head, and nibble on my lower lip before saying, “Saturday is all she said. She’ll turn up and message me so I can give her my address.
I figure Van will probably find out where I live, considering my mother found my cell number.
But if she sees me happy with a strong, scary kind of guy, she may let it be. ”
“Saturday’s our busiest day at the restaurant, but Luke and Arrow can handle it.” His arm stretching across the top of the bench behind him, fingers brushing the leather. My pulse flutters.
“I’m in,” he says.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You don’t want to know more details?”
His gaze fixes on me like I’m something fragile and flammable. “We’ll go over what we need to. Ground rules, the story of how we met, how long we’ve been together. I’ll come by tonight, and you can show me around. I’ll bring a few things, make it look like I stay there.”
I blink. “Yes. Toothbrush, maybe some clothes… guy stuff. Whatever makes it believable.”
His mouth curves just slightly, not a full smile, more like a warning. “Trust me, sweetheart, I know how to play the part.”
“I have a bit of money. Not much, but I can pay you for this. For the protection. For the help.”
His face darkens, not in anger but in something unreadable and intense. “No. This one’s on the house.”
“But—”
“This isn’t business for me.”
The words hang there, low and final.
Something twists in my chest. It’s not just that he said it—it’s how he said it. Like there’s more he’s not letting me see. I open my mouth to say something, to ask what that means exactly, but then I catch the look in his eyes.
He’s watching me too closely. Like he already knows I’m unraveling.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “I know this isn’t just some fake date to you. I can see it in your hands. You’re shaking.”
I clench them in my lap, trying to hide it. “It’s just… I haven’t seen my mom since I left. Not since everything. I don’t even know what I’d say. What she’ll say. And part of me doesn’t care, but the other part, the part she broke, still wants her to look at me like I’m not… a failure.”
I don’t know when my voice started to shake. But it is. Holt just leans in a little, like the gravity between us is enough.
“She doesn’t get to decide your worth,” he says. “Not anymore.”
I look down, overwhelmed. Then I feel his scent, sharp and dark, curling around me like smoke.
My skin prickles, chest tight. I don’t know why it hits so hard.
Why my whole body feels hot and restless and hungry.
It’s not heat. It can’t be. But there’s something about the way he smells that leaves me feeling dizzy.
I shift in my seat, rubbing my thighs together subtly under the table, trying to ignore the way I’m burning up and reacting to him .
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I lie, voice thin.
Holt tilts his head. “If we want this to look real… maybe we should lean in harder. Most parents aren’t thrilled about their Omega daughters living alone.”
I blink at him. “So you’re saying… what?”
“I’m saying serious relationship. Maybe even bonded. Gets your mom off your back and sells the story.”
There’s a gleam in his eye—like this is a game he knows he’ll win.
“And let me guess,” I say, trying to act unaffected. “You’re very convincing.”
His smile is slow, crooked. Dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart. I can be sweet when I want to be.”
Heat flushes down my neck. I want to roll my eyes but end up blushing instead. “I believe it.”
“Good. Then let’s call it a plan.”
I exhale hard, heart racing. “It’s probably… a good idea.”
“Great,” he says, standing. “I’ll come by around six and bring dinner. We can practice.”
Practice.
Alone. In my house. With him.
“Okay,” I manage. “I’ll… see you then.”
He gives me one last look. A look that says he sees everything. Every ache, every crack, every secret.
And somehow, that makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my whole life.
The moment Harper pushes through the restaurant doors, she zeroes in on us already seated at a corner booth. Her hair is half wild, and her grin wide. Without even asking, she slides in next to me, jostling me over with her hip like we’re in high school and the last fry is up for grabs.
“I’m starving,” she declares.
As if summoned by divine timing, Arrow strides out from the kitchen, holding a towering stack of polished-metal tiffins in one hand and a pile of empty plates balanced on his forearm like he was born doing this.
His sleeves are pushed up, revealing forearms that could get their own fan club—a dusting of flour, tattoos, flourishes of muscle and tendon.
He sets the containers and plates down with an artful clatter, then clicks each open like he’s performing a magic trick. Heat and rich scents bloom in the air. My stomach actually growls.
“We’re starting with stuffed French toast soaked in bourbon syrup. Eggs Benedict with lemony hollandaise. Candied bacon for the people who like their breakfast with a side of danger. And hash browns so crispy they filed for a restraining order against soggy potatoes.”
Arrow glances my way as he lifts a lid, revealing golden slabs of French toast. “Everything’s seasonal, house-made, and morally questionable.”
“I’d risk my soul for this toast,” I mutter.
Arrow looks entirely too pleased by that. “Then I’ve done my job.”
Harper doesn’t wait. She’s already serving both of us like she’s feeding wolves. She slaps a heap of bacon on her plate and winks at Holt across the table. “You all always feed Cindy like this? Because I’m going to be attending all meals at this rate.”
Holt arches a brow, glancing my way. “If she thinks you could handle all three of us?”
Arrow’s gaze flicks to me at that. I try not to combust on the spot.
It’s getting hard to breathe. They’re flirting. This is actual flirting. With me.
“You boys always this charming?” I ask, reaching for the bacon to distract myself. “Or is this just how you win over your regulars?”
“We don’t feed just anyone,” Arrow adds quietly, slicing into his eggs. “We cook for people who matter.”
That does something to me. Right in the soft place I try to ignore.
I pretend to focus on my plate, but my body is already misbehaving. Everything feels… heightened. Both their scents crash over me again, deeper, coiling like an inferno between my thighs.
I shift in my seat. I’m not in heat. That’s still weeks away. But the air feels charged, thick, as if it’s sticking to my skin. My stomach flips, and it’s like every nerve I own is tuned specifically to him.
Harper catches on instantly. Of course she does.
“You’re awfully quiet, Cindy.”
“Just thinking about licking the plate,” I mumble.
“Sure you are.” And she’s already filling my plate again. “Anyway, where’s the third musketeer?”
Arrow leans back slightly, arm draped behind Holt. “Luke’s getting supplies for the event tomorrow. Said he’d be back in an hour, but I give it twenty minutes before he texts asking where to get the vanilla beans from.”
Harper points her fork like it’s a weapon. “And here I thought the three of you never left each other’s sides. Like cursed, themed triplets.”
“We do separate,” Holt says mildly. “Occasionally.”
“Okay, but for real,” Harper continues, clearly on a roll. “Savage Reapers? That’s a hell of a past. I mean, going from crime to candied bacon? That’s not a pivot. It’s a pirouette.”
I nearly choke on my hash brown.
My fork pauses in midair, and I give Harper a slow, sideways look. One that screams What. Did. You. Just. Say?
“Jesus, Harper,” I mutter under my breath. “Maybe lead with literally anything else?”
“What?” she says innocently, already licking syrup off her finger. “It’s public record.”
“Yes, and so is grand theft auto, but you don’t bring it up at brunch.”
Arrow just laughs, the sound dark and amused. “She’s not wrong, though. It was a pirouette. Graceful landing and everything.”
“More like a nosedive,” Holt mutters, finally speaking up, his voice deep and steady. “We hit bottom first. The food came later.”
I glance between them. “So you didn’t wake up one day and decide to trade switchblades for spatulas?”
Arrow smirks. “No, but the sharp edges still come in handy. Kitchen’s just a different kind of battlefield.”
Harper makes a low whistle. “That’s unnecessarily hot. Stop that.”
I stab another bite of potato, only half paying attention to the food now. “And here I thought you were just overly enthusiastic about seasoning.”
“I am,” Arrow says. “I just used to apply it to a different kind of meat.”
“Okay,” I say quickly. “We’re moving on before I accidentally find that attractive.”
Arrow grins and flicks his fingers along the side of the table like a metronome.
We laugh, and it’s surprisingly easy. The four of us. No tension, whether we meant for that to happen or not.
Still, I keep glancing at Holt.