20. Quinn
QUINN
I check my watch again, resisting the urge to pace the damn floor.
She’s late. And it’s driving me crazy.
It’s not like she’s hours late—just ten, maybe fifteen minutes—but it’s more than enough to set my Alpha instincts on edge. I’m tense, keyed up, restless as hell.
I keep sneaking glances at the front door like some fool with a crush, trying to play it cool, and acting like I’m totally not an obsessed lovesick idiot.
When I picked up Blake from school today, she smelled like the best fucking dessert—sweet, spiced, rich. Made my mouth water and sent a tight coil of need straight to my cock and butterflies to my stomach.
I’d live between her legs if she tastes even half as good as she smells.
I shift in my jeans, adjusting myself with a muttered curse.
I should get my head out of the bedroom, but it’s getting impossible.
She’s not a scent match for me like she is for JP, but fuck if the heat rich scent of her doesn’t send my Alpha into overdrive every time I’m near her.
She’s not even here yet and I’m wound this tight.
I take a breath and tell myself to calm the fuck down.
It’s just dinner.
But my hand tightens around my beer bottle anyway, the cool glass doing little to soothe the heat running through me.
JP sits at the counter, drumming his fingers against the marble like he’s keeping time. His gaze drifts up to me with that quiet, brooding intensity he’s perfected over the years. I let more of my anxiety leak down the bond, not even trying to hide it.
“She’s fine,” he mutters, but there’s tension in his voice—tight and low—that tells me he’s feeling it too. That same tug. That same desire burning under the surface.
He won’t admit it. He’ll make it hard on himself. He always does. He’ll deny himself and her until it breaks him or he explodes.
Sterling’s gonna have her work cut out for her with JP.
“Just be cool, Quinn,” Cass says, not even looking up.
He’s slouched at the table, scrolling on his phone like he couldn’t care less—but I can feel it humming through the bond. He’s wound tight, practically vibrating with anticipation.
We’re all waiting for her, stuck somewhere between first date jitters and wedding night nerves.
A small knock sounds at the door.
We all move at once, like a pack of over-eager idiots, bottlenecking in the doorway between the kitchen and the foyer. So much for playing it cool.
With a laugh, I shoulder my way to the front, throwing a pointed look over my shoulder as I push Cass and JP back. “Go make sure dinner doesn’t burn.”
I reach for the doorknob—just as a loud crash explodes from the kitchen.
“Shit!” JP barks, already turning. “Blake! What are you doing in there?”
There’s no real heat in his voice, just the weary edge of a dad who’s used to the antics of a five-year-old.
Blake’s delighted laughter echoes back, followed by the unmistakable splatter of something wet hitting the floor.
I don’t even get a second to process it before I hear the pounding of little feet—socks skidding over hardwood, the chaotic shuffle of pure five-year-old determination.
I jump back just in time as my kid barrels through the doorway coated in flour, dripping egg yolk from his hair and tracking a trail of white footprints behind him.
“Blake—”
Too late.
He throws the door open like a tiny wrecking ball, shoving past me like I’m nothing more than an inconvenient doorstop standing between him and destiny.
It’s her.
Sterling is standing there, wide-eyed from the abruptness of the door being thrown open and the sudden impact of Blake launching himself at her.
Despite the fact he’s flour-covered, sticky with eggs—a complete mess—she catches him anyway.
Wraps her arms around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
No hesitation. No flinching. Just warmth and instinct, holding him close while he clings like he was meant to be there.
Something deep in me shifts.
Blake’s never really known what it’s like to be around a mom. Laura died when he was only two years old. But watching Sterling hug him back…I can’t shake the thought of a baby on her hip and Blake’s hand in hers.
Then Blake pulls back, grinning up at her, completely oblivious to the fact that my whole damn world just tilted on its axis.
She’s our Omega.
And if I wasn’t sure before, I am now.
There’s no other ending to this story. No other outcome that makes sense.
It’s her. Here. With us.
Forever.
Sterling just laughs. Not annoyed. Not disgusted.
She doesn’t scowl at the mess or push him away or scold him for ruining her clothes.
She smiles, warm and easy, brushing flour from her sweater, ruffling Blake’s wild curls, giggling when more flour dusts off onto her hand.
“Well,” she teases, brushing at her front with no real urgency. “Looks like someone had fun in the kitchen.”
Blake just grins wider, completely unbothered, and Sterling steps inside like she’s crossed that threshold a million times.
Like this, her and Blake, her in our home, her laughter echoing through the kitchen—isn’t the single most desirable fucking thing I’ve ever let myself dream of.
I swallow hard, clenching my fists at my sides. Fighting the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her, fighting the memories that come roaring in behind her smile.
It’s been so damn long since I let myself think about Laura—Blake’s mother. But somehow…I know she would’ve liked Sterling.
And it’s been even longer since I let myself want this—A partner.
A complete pack.
Someone soft and warm to come home to.
But standing here, watching her with my son like it’s the most natural thing in the world…I want it again.
God help me, I want her.
Sterling kneels to Blake’s level, gently brushing flour from his cheek, grinning as he launches into a rambling story about making pancakes.
I step forward, forcing my voice steady, casual, smooth—nothing like my heart pounding behind my ribs.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say.
She looks up at me, gray eyes wide, cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe something else.
“Hey,” she greets with a smile, but I can feel her nervousness.
I take her coat, and before I can stop myself, before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in. Just a little.
Just enough to let my nose skim against the curve of her neck, inhaling deep, slow, deliberate. And press a light chaste kiss to her cheek. I know I’m pushing the boundaries of acceptable. But when I feel her shiver, and her scent spikes…
A barely-there sound catches in her throat—half breath, half whimper. Her hands twitch at her sides, fingers curling in, and I remember that purr from earlier.
The one that made me want to puff out my chest like King Kong. And when she perfumed, the sudden release of pheromones nearly had me pinning her against the wall, scent-marking every inch of her skin.
I was rock-hard the rest of the damn afternoon.
I step back—just a little. Not enough to really give her space. Truth is, I can’t seem to. Everything in me is screaming to pull her in, keep her close, claim what already feels like mine.
“Come in.” My voice is lower now, rougher. “We’re all in the kitchen.”
I barely manage to keep my hands to myself, resisting the raw need to drag her into my arms and feel every soft, warm curve pressed against me.
She swallows hard, nodding once.
“Thanks,” she says softly, stepping inside before I shut the door.
“Want something to drink?” Cass asks from the doorway to the kitchen. I’d completely forgotten anyone else existed.
The warm scent of roasted garlic, seared chicken, and butter-warmed bread wraps around us as I show her into the kitchen. It’s familiar, homey, and grounding, ordinary.
But nothing about this moment feels ordinary.
“Um…Probably just water for now.”
He hands her a glass and the normalcy of it settles some of the tension winding me up.
Sterling stands just inside the doorway, her shoulders tight, fingers tapping against the rim of her glass. I can feel how on-edge she is—like she’s waiting for a reason to regret showing up. So I jump in before the tension gets a chance to settle.
“You find the place okay?” I ask, keeping my tone light. “Driveway’s a nightmare. Cass still can’t back into it without clipping the fence.”
Cass grunts from the table. “One time.”
“Three,” JP says without looking up.
Sterling gives a quick smile. “Only got lost twice.”
“That’s a new record,” I say, and the corner of her mouth twitches. Progress.
“How was the drive? Any traffic?”
“Not really,” she says, still fidgeting with the glass. “I passed a herd of deer and a woman walking a goat. So…Twilight Harbor is holding up its reputation.”
That gets a laugh out of all of us, and her shoulders relax, just a little.
I gesture toward the stove. “Hope you’re good with chicken. Cass’s out to prove he can cook without setting off the smoke alarm.”
“Hey,” he cuts in, flashing a grin, “I can cook. He’s the one who nearly lit the kitchen on fire trying to reheat pizza.” Cass motions at JP.
Sterling’s lips curve, soft and amused. “I like chicken.”
The awkwardness begins to fade as the conversation continues.
She listens while we talk, quiet and curious, her gaze drifting between us as we fall into our usual rhythm of teasing and banter.
Eventually, she turns to me, head tilted slightly, and asks, “So…how’d you end up in Twilight Harbor?”
I tell her about the job I left behind in Seattle—about the long hours, the pressure, the emptiness. I tell her a little about losing Blake’s mom and about how I found myself here, somehow trading skyscrapers for sea air.
How Cass, JP, and I came together, how we built this life from scratch. This pack. This home.
“How did you guys meet each other?” she asks.
“I met Cass when he was at WU,” I say, grinning into my glass. “We ended up as roommates before he quit school and came back here.”
I pause, already laughing inwardly at the memory.
“You don’t need to tell that story, asshole.” Cass throws me a withering look. But I don’t care.